Agenda Setting, the UN, and NGOs: Gender Violence and Reproductive Rights (Advancing Human Rights)

AGENDA SETTING, THE UN, AND NGOS

ADVANCING HUMAN RIGHTS

Sumner B. Twiss, John Kelsay, Terry Coonan, Series Editors EDITORIAL BOARD

Nigel Biggar Stanley Cohen Michael Davis Mark Ensalaco Gerrie ter Haar Simeon Ilesanmi Rhoda E. Howard-Hassmann John Langan, SJ David Little Dan Maier-Katkin Ann Elizabeth Moore Juan E. Mendez Michael H. Posner Fernando Teson Agenda Setting, the UN, and NGOs: Gender Violence and Reproductive Rights Jutta M. Joachim Breaking Silence: The Case That Changed the Face of Human Rights Richard Alan White For All Peoples and All Nations: The Ecumenical Church and Human Rights John S. Nurser Freedom from Want: The Human Right to Adequate Food George Kent Power and Principle: Human Rights Programming in International Organizations Joel E. Oestreich Protecting Human Rights: A Comparative Study Todd Landman

AGENDA SETTING, THE UN, AND NGOS Gender Violence and Reproductive Rights

JUTTA M. JOACHIM

GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY PRESS WASHINGTON, D.C.

As of January 1, 2007, 13-digit ISBN numbers have replaced the 10-digit system. 13-digit 10-digit Paperback: 978-1-58901-175-5 Paperback: 1-58901-175-9 Cloth: 978-1-58901-174-8 Cloth: 1-58901-174-0 Georgetown University Press, Washington, D.C. www.press.georgetown.edu © 2007 by Georgetown University Press. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Joachim, Jutta M. Agenda setting, the UN, and NGOs : gender violence and reproductive rights / Jutta M. Joachim. p. cm. — (Advancing human rights) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-58901-174-8 (hardcover : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-1-58901-175-5 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Women’s rights—International cooperation. 2. Women—Violence against—Prevention—International cooperation. 3. Non-governmental organizations. 4. International organization. 5. Women—Societies and clubs. I. Title. HQ1236.J63 2007 342.08
78—dc22 2007007012
 This book is printed on acid-free paper meeting the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence in Paper for Printed Library Materials. 14 13 12 11 10 09 08 07 First printing

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Printed in the United States of America

To Chris

CONTENTS

Preface

ix

Introduction: From the Margins to the Center—Women’s Rights, NGOs, and the United Nations 1 1

NGOs and UN Agenda Setting: Political Opportunities, Mobilizing Structures, and Framing Strategies 15 2

Rallying for Peace and Equal Nationality Rights: Women’s Organizations between 1915 and 1945 41 3

Equality, Development, and Peace: The UN Decade for Women, 1975–1985 73 4

Women’s Rights as Human Rights: The Case of Violence against Women 103 5

Reproductive Rights and Health: Women’s Organizations and the Population Establishment 133 vii

viii

Contents 6

NGOs and International Organizations

163

Appendix: UN Declaration on the Elimination of All Forms of Violence against Women 185 Notes 193 References 205 Index 225

PREFACE

This book started out as one on the emergence of the international women’s rights regime. My plans changed, however, when I arrived in New York to gather documents and materials at the United Nations libraries. There, the last preparatory conference for the International Conference on Population and Development was taking place, and in the midst of it women’s organizations were busily lobbying and making their presence felt. So I changed my plans. Rather than tracing the evolution of international norms historically, I shifted my focus to what was happening. The events at the UN gave me an opportunity to write about those who had been missing from most of the international relations texts I had been reading: the agents—in this case the members of women’s organizations—who are actively shaping international agendas and are involved in crafting new norms. Little did I know about the challenges ahead. Theoretically, it meant leaving the familiar plain of international relations theory and venturing into the less-well-known terrain of social movement approaches to explore their goodness of fit for nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) engaged at the global level. In terms of data collection, the recommendations one generally finds in method books about “how to gain access” did not seem feasible with an organization such as the UN. It took creativity and great patience when I confronted the voicemail of an interview partner for the fifth time or when I learned that an agency had moved and that the boxes with the information I needed would remain unpacked—unless, of course, I would be willing to open, sort through, and file the documents. Also, doing research at the UN sometimes simply required luck, for example, when the person with whom ix

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Preface

I had been waiting to talk mistook me for a friend and hugged and kissed me, leaving me no choice but to ask if I could have an interview. Finally, doing research on women’s issues also was sometimes challenging. I remember quite a few moments when it was more than difficult to remain polite and tolerant toward my interview partner, who was negating that women had certain rights. But I persevered, and for that I owe thanks to many individuals. Much of my research would not have been possible without the generosity and support of individuals and international women’s organizations in New York. Special thanks go to Anne Walker and her staff of the International Women’s Tribune Center for their warm welcome and for allowing me to rummage for hours and days in their impressive NGO library. I am indebted to Kay Frailaigh of the International Alliance for Women. As a seasoned lobbyist at the UN, Kay helped me gain access to many UN and NGO meetings from which I would have otherwise been excluded, and she always seemed to have a copy to spare from her marvelous private collection of UN documents. I also would like to thank Alice Mastrangelo and Meera Singh of the International Women’s Tribune Center, Rachel Kyte of the International Women’s Health Coalition, Roxanna Carrillo of UNIFEM, and Michelle Burger of the International Planned Parenthood Federation, who connected me with women’s organizations or provided the missing context for my observations. I would like to extend gratitude to all my interview partners, who took time out of their busy schedules and offered me valuable insights. More generally, I would like to acknowledge the many women’s activists at the UN who did not grow tired of explaining their cause to government delegates or stayed up many nights to revise draft documents. Witnessing their devotion, determination, and resolve inspired my work. Thanks also go to my mentors Emanuel Adler, Michael Barnett, and Virginia Sapiro, who all played a major role in helping me crystallize my ideas for this project. I am grateful for the financial support I received from the University of Wisconsin for my field research. Crucial and invaluable throughout the writing phase were conversations and email exchanges with my colleagues and friends Amy Higer, Karen Mingst, Lisa Prügl, and Deborah Stienstra. Their enthusiasm for my project kept me going through its various dry spells. I also owe a special thanks to my friend and colleague Darren Hawkins, who read and commented on various draft chapters.

Preface

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Finally, the emotional support from my friends and family has been invaluable. I am thankful to Dieter and Vera, who offered me a wonderful place to stay during my field research in New York, and to my parents, whose transatlantic telephone calls reminded me that the world was bigger than just my project. Thanks to my friends Brian, Carolyn, Diane, Dutch, John, Kerrie, Mike, and Sam for their encouragement and many rejuvenating dinners. However, the most appreciation and gratitude goes to my husband Chris. His humor, love, and emotional support have kept me going through this project and enabled me to complete it.

INTRODUCTION From the Margins to the Center—Women’s Rights, NGOs, and the United Nations

On December 20, 1993, the UN General Assembly in New York adopted with unanimous consent the Declaration on the Elimination of All Forms of Violence against Women, condemning gender violence within both the private and the public spheres as a violation of human rights (United Nations 1993a; also reprinted as the appendix to this book). Only a year later, on September 13, 1994, at the UN International Conference on Population and Development in Cairo, government delegates approved a program of action on population that placed women’s reproductive rights and health instead of demographic targets at the center of the management of population growth (United Nations 1994). Each of these events represented the culmination of a political process that had begun two decades earlier and that was initiated and driven primarily by the activities of international women’s nongovernmental organizations (NGOs). The inclusion of these issues on the UN’s agenda legitimizes women’s demand at the national and local levels. With the support of the international community, women’s organizations around the globe can now exert pressure on governments to follow through on their international commitments. In Brazil, for example, the government installed women-staffed police stations (Heise, Pitanguy, and Germain 1994, 31–33); in Senegal, numerous villages outlawed genital mutilation (Paringaux 2000); and in Rwanda, the national parliament recently passed a bill that prohibits gender-based violence and acknowledges 1

2

Introduction

international instruments that grant women’s rights (UNIFEM 2006a). However, the achievements of international women’s NGOs are also puzzling. Until recently, the issues of violence against women and of reproductive rights and health were still perceived as exclusively domestic or rather private concerns. Why did these issues become international problems in the 1990s? In addition, there was little preexisting consensus among states as to what constitutes violence and whether or how much control a woman should have over her reproduction decisions. What for some presented a violation of rights constituted for others a custom or tradition. How did the involved actors develop a consensus? Moreover, contrary to environmental issues—where the inability of states to reach satisfactory outcomes through national actions is a catalyst for states to engage in collective action at the international level— such interdependence did not exist in the case of women’s rights. Finally, governments had to fear closer scrutiny of their domestic practices by declaring their support for the above-mentioned agreements. In the case of violence against women, the UN appointed a special rapporteur who monitors the problem and government responses around the world (UNCHR 1994).1 And in the case of reproductive rights and health, NGOs themselves established monitoring systems.2 How, why, and under what conditions did women’s NGOs then succeed in placing their issues front and center on the UN agenda? To answer these questions, I develop a theoretical framework that draws on both the agenda-setting and social movement literatures. Assuming that agenda setting is made up of various elements, including problems, solutions, participants, and opportunities, I explain the inclusion of violence against women and reproductive rights and health in the following way: Women’s organizations framed their issues in a strategic manner, seizing political opportunities in the broader institutional as well as international environments and taking advantage of the mobilizing structures they had at their disposal. With this theoretical framework, I seek to build a bridge between, on the one hand, rationalist approaches, which focus more on material power, strategic and calculating actors, and domestic politics, and, on the other, constructivist approaches, which emphasize intersubjective processes, norms and ideas, and the interaction between agents and structures. Individually rationalistic and constructivist approaches have difficulty accounting for the process whereby NGOs legitimized initially contested women’s issues. Conceiving of nonstate actors as epiphe-

From the Margins to the Center

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nomenal, realists would attribute the changes in the international agenda and the inclusion of women’s issues to changes in the distribution of power following the end of the cold war. As the only remaining superpower, the United States can now realize its interest in a free market economy, democracy, and human rights in an unconstrained fashion (e.g., Waltz 1979; Krasner 1993; Mearsheimer 1994). Though the United States has indeed been a vocal proponent of women’s rights, realists cannot explain, without referring to nonrealist phenomena, why the United States perceived these issues as in its interest in first place, especially because in the past it has been very reluctant and sometimes even shown outright hostility in committing to international human rights agreements (Forsythe 1991, 121–27; Sikkink 1993, 144–45). Nor can they explain changes in the U.S. position, as in the case of reproductive rights, from strong opposition in the 1980s to leadership on the issue in the 1990s. In more readily acknowledging the role of transnational actors and perceiving actors as rational strategists, liberal theories of international relations would locate the sources of women’s recent successes at the national level, pointing to the role of domestic institutions and the pressure exerted by interest groups (e.g., Putnam 1988; Moravcsik 1993). Though they add important pieces to the puzzle, these theories exhibit two shortcomings. First, by treating the domestic level as the exclusive site of agency and interest formation, these theories ignore how new interests can be developed through states’ interactions with other actors, in this case NGOs, at the international level (Keck and Sikkink 1998, 4; Price 1998, 614). Second, liberal theories define institutions too narrowly, equating them solely with the formal political apparatus and ignoring both their normative component—that is, norms, values, symbols, and traditions—and how institutions privilege certain actors while marginalizing others or provide an arsenal for collective action (Barnett 1999, 8). Finally, constructivist approaches capture the ideational components of structures and how they constitute the identities and interests of actors through intersubjective processes and socialization (e.g., Adler 1991, 1997; Wendt 1994; Katzenstein 1996). However, they are prone to neglect the actors (Checkel 1998, 325). As Barnett (1999, 7) points out: “Constructivism has tended to operate with an oversocialized view of actors, treating them as near bearer of structures and, at the extreme, as cultural dupes.” Focusing attention solely on the structure diverts attention from the agents, their strategic behavior, and how they use

4

Introduction

normative structures to their advantage. Conversely, scholars (e.g., Klotz 1995; Risse-Kappen 1995b; Keck and Sikkink 1998) who have paid more attention to the actors and demonstrated the importance of NGOs in the emergence of shared understandings and new interests have, with some exceptions (see, e.g., Risse, Ropp, and Sikkink 1999), neglected to detail the conditions under which these actors are influential (Checkel 1998, 325). Why do certain ideas advocated by NGOs become privileged and institutionalized while others become marginalized, and why is there variation between issue areas? To answer these questions, I compare two issue campaigns of NGOs: violence against women, and reproductive rights and health.

Violence against Women and Reproductive Rights: An Overview

The cases of violence against women and reproductive rights are interesting for comparison because their trajectories in gaining inclusion on the UN agenda were quite similar. Against the backdrop of the UN Women’s Decade from 1975 to 1985, and inspired by the shelter movements and the struggle for the legalization of abortion in Northern Europe and the United States, small groups of women organized international tribunals in both cases—the International Tribunal on Crimes against Women in Brussels in 1976, and the International Tribunal and Meeting on Reproductive Rights in Amsterdam in 1984— bringing together women from across the globe who shared their experiences and drew attention to the problems they faced. In the case of violence against women, the participants condemned all forms of male domination as a violation of women’s rights; and in the case of reproductive rights, women identified international population control policies as problematic. In both issue areas, the international meetings inspired the formation of international networks to exchange information among women in different countries and to coordinate additional campaigns and other actions at the international level. During the late 1980s, women’s organizations developed solutions to the problems they had identified. The various expert group meetings conducted by the UN Division for the Advancement of Women in Vienna on the subject of violence against women provided excellent opportunities in this respect by bringing together both social scientists and representatives of women’s NGOs. The studies presented at the meetings for the first time offered systematic evidence that violence against

From the Margins to the Center

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women was an international structural problem caused by the low status of women. They prompted participants to call for the criminalization of gender-based violence. In the case of reproductive rights and health, women’s organizations initiated so-called dialogue meetings in the 1990s, with members of the population establishment—particularly those involved in the development and delivery of international family planning programs, such as the World Health Organization, Population Council, United Nations Population Fund, and Rockefeller Foundation. The technical expertise of these population establishment members and the experiences of women’s health activists resulted in various proposals for more women-centered population policies that respect women’s rights and provide women with greater control over their reproduction decisions. Finally, during the early 1990s, women’s organizations mobilized government support for their issues. At the UN World Conference on Human Rights in Vienna in 1993, governments recognized violence against women as a serious human rights violation. And at the International Conference on Population and Development in 1994, participants identified reproductive rights and health as a key to lowering population growth. In addition to these similar trajectories, the two issues also are characterized by interesting differences. First, in contrast to the issue of violence against women, which was adopted rather swiftly and with little resistance, reproductive rights constituted a more difficult case. Women’s organizations encountered significant opposition from conservative forces, including the Vatican and both Catholic and Islamic countries as well as groups within the women’s movement that resisted including the issue on the UN agenda for different reasons. Whereas the former equated reproductive rights and health with a radical pro-choice position and a euphemism for the legalization of abortion, groups within the women’s movement feared co-optation and therefore rejected working within the population establishment. Hence, reproductive rights and health constitutes a “harder” case for determining the conditions under which NGOs can be more or less successful in making their voices heard. Second, because the campaign regarding reproductive rights began almost a decade later than that regarding violence against women, it allows us to specify the extent to which the activities of NGOs at an earlier point in time influence those of NGOs in the future. Finally, the two cases are interesting because they involve different types of issues.

6

Introduction

Contrary to reproductive rights and health, violence against women involves bodily harm. This variation makes it possible to examine how the nature of an issue affects, on the one hand, the strategies and tactics NGOs adopt and, on the other hand, the perceptions of those whose support NGOs seek to enlist.

Theoretical Framework

The theoretical argument I develop in this book has two aspects. First, I demonstrate the political salience of agenda setting in international organizations for NGOs. Second, I conceptualize how these nonstate actors may influence the content of emerging agendas. Agenda formation is the first step with respect to the emergence of new norms and interests. It provides opportunities for relatively weak actors to extend their power because negotiation skills, knowledge, and persuasion are as important as material resources (Pollack 2003; Light 1982). Moreover, the agenda-setting process holds the possibility that actors will be able to influence subsequent stages in decision making because it determines which issues will be organized into politics and which ones will be organized out (Schattschneider 1960); how an issue will be defined; and, as result, which institutions and actors will take up the issue (Livingston 1992). Finally, the agendas of international organizations perform a legitimization function by signaling to states which actions in global politics are considered appropriate and which ones are not. As such, agendas can empower NGOs at the national level to exert pressure on their governments to take action to follow through on their international commitments or shame states by revealing the gap between practices and international agreements. Agenda formation is competitive, with different actors struggling for scarce agenda space. Short of material resources, NGOs can engage in strategic framing to legitimize their issues. That is, they can attempt to package the problems they identify and the solutions they consider appropriate so policymakers will find them attractive. Such new frames— which are intended “to render or cast behavior and events in an evaluative mode and to suggest alternative modes of action” (McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald 1996b, 2)—are frequently contested because they are perceived as too radical and as challenging the norms and ideas of existing frameworks. Whether these frames will ultimately be accepted is contingent on both the degree to which they resonate or fit with the

From the Margins to the Center

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beliefs, ideas, and norms of other actors whose support NGOs seek to enlist and the broader institutional and international context. The dynamic interaction of two primary factors is critical in this respect: first, the political opportunity structures in which NGOs are embedded; and second, the mobilizing structures NGOs have at their own disposal. The political opportunity structure captures the broader institutional and international environment in which NGOs are embedded and which facilitates or inhibits the development of consensual frames (McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald 1996b, 2; see also Tarrow 1994). “Structure” is broadly defined, comprising both the formal political factors that rationalistic approaches consider important, as well as the normative and cultural dimensions that constructivist approaches emphasize. Furthermore, the political opportunity structure is dynamic. On the one hand, it can facilitate framing efforts by providing external resources for NGOs; on the other hand, it can inhibit the actions of NGOs by functioning as a “gatekeeper” determining which issues and actors are considered legitimate and which ones are not. I identify several factors of the political opportunity structure as necessary for the development of consensual frameworks. First, access to institutions and the agenda-setting process is pivotal for NGOs to enable them to introduce their pet problems and solutions and to convince policymakers of both their significance and their validity. Second, influential allies are important because they generally possess institutional resources that NGOs themselves lack, ranging from material power to institutional prerogatives and prestige. Third, changes in political alignments or conflict can be facilitating factors. Though the former might bring into power actors whose ideas are more in alignment with those of NGOs, conflicts may be conducive because they weaken the opposition and offer opportunities for NGOs to present their frames as a bridge for the divided parties. Neither of these factors making up the political opportunity structure is really new, but for the most part they have been studied in isolation or in an unsystematic fashion. This study seeks to help fill this gap in the literature by clarifying when and under what conditions they matter as well as whether some factors are more important than others. Political opportunities are important but not sufficient. Whether NGOs can seize them and translate them into support for their frameworks is contingent on the mobilizing structures these nonstate actors have at their disposal. These structures—defined as “those collective vehicles, informal as well as formal, through which people mobilize and

8

Introduction

engage in collective action” (McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald 1996b, 3)— refer to the networks of NGOs. Thus, mobilizing structures are the source of agency, enabling NGOs to pursue change at the international level despite their lack of material resources and to manipulate information to their advantage—that is, to be strategic. Three elements of the mobilizing structure are pivotal for NGOs. First, organizational entrepreneurs play a leading role in international campaigns, because these are individuals or organizations with experience, vision, and charisma, as well as many connections to individuals inside established institutions. Second, the support of a heterogeneous international constituency is critical. This constituency, comprising individuals from different cultural, political, and societal backgrounds, denies policymakers the chance to discredit frames as representing only the interests of particular groups and enables NGOs to exert pressure at different levels. Third, experts are necessary for the development of acceptable frames. In addition to scientists with theoretical and technical expertise, they also include affected people who can testify to their experiences as well as individuals who possess procedural knowledge, giving them familiarity with the rules and practices that prevail inside international organizations. Again, neither of these factors is really new, but what is a novelty is that this book seeks to determine their relative importance and how they interact with political opportunities. The theoretical framework developed in this book builds on both rationalistic and constructivist approaches to offer a better explanation for how, why, and under what conditions NGOs can be more or less successful in legitimizing their issues. Employing the concept of framing, it takes account of the intersubjective dimension in policymaking and the constitutive nature of issues, which has been emphasized by constructivist approaches. In acknowledging the role of strategically calculating actors, it goes against the common sentiment that NGOs are innocent actors, altruistically struggling for the common good of society. Instead, the framework draws on rationalist approaches by assuming that the activities of these organizations are motivated by both instrumental and normative logic. Moreover, concurrent with neoliberal institutionalists, it takes seriously the role of domestic and international institutions. But it broadens the formal definition to also include normative components, and it is cognizant of both their constraining and enabling capacities. Finally, the framework is dynamic. It hypothesizes not only that political opportunities and mobilizing structures codetermine each other but also that the composition of both can

From the Margins to the Center

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change over time, being assets at one point and constraints at others. In short, rather than viewing rationalistic and constructivist approaches as mutually exclusive, I combine their assumptions in new and different ways to provide a more nuanced picture of the role of NGOs in international organizations.

Plan of the Book

Although much of this book is about the evolution of women’s rights in the United Nations, the conditions under which NGOs can influence the definition of new issues and interests in international organizations is the major impetus for this study and the thread weaving through the individual chapters. The book constitutes an attempt to move theorizing about international organizations forward by, first, drawing on alternative approaches more closely associated with domestic politics and political sociology; and, second, by employing methods more common in the field of comparative politics, such as archival research, interviews, and participant observation. Though the translation process to the international level is not without problems, the increasing involvement of NGOs in global politics, on the one hand, and the state-centeredness of conventional international relations theories, on the other, requires us to draw on other subdisciplines in political science that already have a tradition of theorizing about these civil society actors. In chapter 1, I develop the theoretical arguments outlined above. Following a discussion of the agendasetting process, I define the concepts of framing, political opportunity structure, and mobilizing structures and delineate the dynamic interaction between them. Chapters 2 and 3 provide historical background on the role of women in international organizations. The first wave of the international women’s movement is featured in chapter 2, which covers the years from 1915 until World War II and is divided into two sections. The first discusses the First International Women’s Congress, which a small group of mostly European women entrepreneurs organized in The Hague in 1915 in opposition to World War I. The congress was the first of its kind and was surprising to many, given the risks involved of getting to The Hague and the controversy surrounding this international meeting. In many respects, the congress was a watershed in women’s political engagement at the international level. The participants

10

Introduction

developed a number of peace proposals, including a conference of neutrals, for which they mobilized support among governments by traveling around Europe. The second section of chapter 2 is devoted to women’s quest for equal nationality rights. It focuses on two groups: equalitarians, who favored equality in all areas; and reformers, who wanted equal political rights but protection in all other areas, especially with respect to employment. This section highlights how the presence of more radical groups in a constituency can enhance the bargaining power of more moderate ones. Thus the activities of equalitarians in connection with the Pan-American conferences in the late 1920s and early 1930s strengthened the position of reformers lobbying in the League of Nations, first by mobilizing the support of Latin American countries, and second by making the reformers’ demands for equal national rights look moderate and legitimate in comparison. Chapter 3 is devoted to the second wave of the women’s movement. Specifically, it examines the UN Decade for Women between 1975 and 1985 and the three UN World Conferences for Women that took place during it: in Mexico City in 1975, in Copenhagen in 1980, and in Nairobi in 1985. Though much has been written about these conferences, few systematic inquiries exist. I detail how representatives of women’s NGOs learned to use the UN framework to their advantage over the course of the conferences. In contrast to the first two meetings in Mexico City and Copenhagen, which were highly politicized due to the split between Northern and Southern countries, the Nairobi conference was much more focused. By the mid-1980s, because women had learned how to work together despite their differences, they held important conference positions, engaged in linkage politics, and astutely employed institutional rules and procedures to put women’s issues front and center on the UN agenda. Chapters 4 and 5 are devoted to the case studies—respectively, violence against women and reproductive rights. With the help of the theoretical framework, I delineate the conditions under which women’s NGOs legitimized both issues, show how the frames employed by these organizations changed over the course of their campaigns, and detail how the strategies and tactics developed by women’s NGOs working on the issue of violence against women served as master frames for those involved in the campaign for reproductive rights. Chapter 6 provides the conclusion of the book. Following a summary of the findings, it highlights the opportunities and limits of NGO

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influence in international organizations. To probe the generalizability of the study, I also contrast the influence of women’s NGOs in the agenda-setting process in the UN with that of women’s NGOs in the European Union, in this chapter focusing on violence against women only. The comparison highlights how both the involved actors and changes in the institutional setting shape the contents of interpretative frameworks. In addition, it offers further insights into the conditions under which NGOs can be more or less influential. The impact of NGOs seems greater in multipurpose organizations with less binding agreements, such as the UN, than in special-purpose organizations with binding policies, such as the EU. In the final section of the chapter, I summarize the findings of the empirical case studies, discuss their implications for broader theoretical debates, and conclude with policy recommendations for NGOs. The influence of NGOs in international organizations is the result of the dynamic interaction between strategic framing, political opportunities, and mobilizing structures. Though the analysis builds on other studies of NGOs, it differs from these in several respects. First, inquiries about other types of NGOs, ranging from human rights to the environment, have already pointed to the importance of the various factors constituting the theoretical framework employed in this book. However, many scholars have studied them either in isolation or unsystematically. This study makes a contribution by probing the influence of these factors simultaneously, thereby delineating how and when they matter, and which ones are more or less important. Second, there is an ongoing debate within the NGO literature about the relative importance of structural variables vis-à-vis agents. Some scholars argue that the rules, norms, and practices prevailing in international institutions determine the growth and influence of nonstate actors, such as NGOs (e.g., Reimann 2006; Boli and Thomas 1999; Passy 1999; O’Brien et al. 2000). Others, by contrast, stress the role of the actors (e.g., Keck and Sikkink 1998; Price 1998; Khagram, Riker, and Sikkink 2002). Though these analyses offer crucial insights, investigating the dynamic interaction between structures and agents promises more comprehensive and new knowledge regarding the impact of NGOs. For example, and without taking too much away from my conclusions, it shows that NGOs’ influence is increasing over time. Though their framing efforts have an inchoate quality in the beginning and are greatly influenced by structural changes, later ones are much more strategic due to the increase in mobilizing structures.

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Introduction

Third, there has been a significant lack of comparative research with respect to the impact of NGOs. With a few exceptions (e.g., Metzges 2006; Friedman, Hochstetler, and Clark 2005; Risse, Ropp, and Sikkink 1999; Keck and Sikkink 1998), most studies have been based on single cases looking at an individual organization or a particular issue. Although multiple case studies are time consuming, they offer important insights regarding the conditions under which NGOs can be influential, to what extent earlier campaigns facilitate or hamper future campaigns, and why certain issues become accepted and legitimized while others are marginalized.

Methodology

The method of this book is comparative and historical. It contrasts women’s organizing at the international level across time and different issue areas, employing process tracing to determine the influence of NGOs, the conditions under which they were more or less successful, and the factors that were critical. The evidence in this book stems from three different types of data sources. First, I relied on primary UN and NGO documents gathered at the UN Division for the Advancement of Women and the Resource Center of the International Women’s Tribune Center in New York City. The former included reports of UN meetings and conferences, and statements of individual governments, as well as resolutions, declarations, and NGO documents comprising position papers, newsletters, statements, press releases, and reports. Moreover, I used press coverage of both NGO and UN activities with respect to both issues. Second, I conducted more than forty in-depth interviews with representatives of women’s NGOs, UN officials, and government delegates. With regard to the interviews with NGO representatives, I generally met with the directors of the respective organizations as well as individual staff members. My questions focused on the campaigns in the two different issue areas, delving into the strategies and tactics they had employed, the difficulties they had encountered, their perceptions of the UN, and the structure as well as resources of their organizations. In the cases of UN officials and government delegates, I asked my interview partners about their general perceptions of the role of NGOs in the UN system and their recollections of the campaigns concerning

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violence against women and reproductive rights. The interviews lasted from one to two hours each. They were tape recorded and transcribed. Finally, I drew on participant observations of various meetings—including an expert group meeting on “Gender and the Agenda for Peace,” in New York City, December 5 to 9, 1994; the annual meeting of the Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women, in New York City, January 16 to February 3, 1995; the preparatory meeting of the Fourth World Conference on Women, in New York City, March 15 to April 4, 1995; and various NGO strategy meetings. These observations of different types of meetings provided me with a better understanding of the role NGOs play in the UN framework; of interactions among NGO representatives, UN officials, and government delegates; and of debates within the NGO community.

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1 NGOS AND UN AGENDA SETTING Political Opportunities, Mobilizing Structures, and Framing Strategies

Over the course of the past decade, nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) have played an increasingly important role in defining the agendas of UN organizations.1 A glance at UN specialized conferences illustrates how NGOs have played a crucial role in winning international recognition among governments for issues that once were considered low politics and exclusively domestic concerns, including the environment, human rights, women’s rights, development, and refugees.2 Despite the growing importance of NGOs in UN agenda setting, however, their role and influence have been insufficiently theorized, and many questions remain unanswered. How do NGOs influence the agendas of UN organizations? Why do some of their issues become included and not others? Why are they influential at certain times but not others? And what are the important factors determining whether NGOs are more or less successful in introducing new issues? This chapter attempts to help fill this gap in the literature by developing a conceptual framework that can explain how, why, and under what conditions NGOs are able to shape and define the agendas of UN organizations. The framework draws on various elements of the agenda-setting and social movement literatures, applying them to the international level. Assuming that agenda setting proceeds in several stages, it 15

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suggests that NGOs attempt to exert influence by engaging in framing processes, defined here as the strategic packaging of new ideas and interpretations. In this process, NGOs encounter a significant degree of conflict as the values and beliefs of their frameworks frequently challenge those already in existence. Whether or not the frameworks of NGOs will finally be accepted and recognized as legitimate is contingent on the dynamic interaction of primarily two different factors: the political opportunity structure in which NGOs are embedded, and the mobilizing structures that NGOs have at their disposal. Though changes in the former provide a window of opportunity for NGOs to introduce new frames, the latter enable them to seize it. The chapter is divided into three sections. The first section is devoted to the dependent variable: the agenda. I establish the political salience of agenda setting; identify the agenda’s locus; and, drawing on the “garbage can” model, delineate the agenda-setting process. In the second section, I turn to NGOs and conceptualize both the framing processes in which they engage as well as the political opportunities and their organizational resources that might facilitate their efforts. In the concluding section, I discuss the relationship between the various variables that I identify as pivotal.

UN Agenda Setting

Of the various phases in the policy cycle, the influence of NGOs is argued to be greatest in the agenda formation. According to Risse (2002, 265), this is not surprising. Because NGOs provide “moral authority and knowledge about causal relationships, they are particularly crucial when it comes to paradigm shifts on the international agenda.” Although agenda-setting has less of an impact especially when compared to decision-making, it is nevertheless politically salient. First, through it “some issues are organized into politics, while others are organized out” (Schattschneider 1960, 8). Second, the process determines how an issue will be defined and in turn determines which institutions or actors might take it up later (Mazey and Richardson 1996). Finally, agenda setting is “a primary tool for securing and extending power” (Light 1982, 2). Failure to influence it “dooms the prospects of action on one’s perceived major problems, it compels attention to issues one may find inappropriate, undesirable, or injurious” (Livingston 1992, 311). Agenda setting in international organizations is complex and

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multifaceted. Therefore it is important to determine which of the many agendas NGOs target. Studying agenda setting in the domestic context, Cobb and Elder (1972, 85–86) distinguish between two different types of agendas: (1) a “systemic agenda” and (2) a “formal or institutional agenda.” The former contains “all issues that are commonly perceived by members of the political community as meriting public attention and as involving matters within the legitimate jurisdiction of existing governmental authority.” In contrast, the latter has a much narrower focus, consisting of “that set of items explicitly up for the active and serious consideration of authoritative decision-makers.” This distinction is also useful for this study. The “formal or institutional agenda” within the UN, containing all those issues which are “actively” and “seriously” considered, is that of the General Assembly. It manifests itself in declarations, resolutions, or international conventions and, when adopted with consensus or close-to-consensus, carries the support of most UN member states. Contrary to the formal agenda of a national parliament, however, an agenda adopted by the General Assembly is far less consequential because it is nonbinding, leaving its implementation to the discretion of individual member states. Nevertheless, it is significant. According to Claude (1966) and others (e.g., Risse and Sikkink 1999, 88), the General Assembly’s agenda has a “collective legitimization function.” It defines what actions governments ought to engage in and what actions they ought to abstain from in the international arena. Its collective legitimization is also the reason why NGOs consider the agenda to be an appealing target. The backing of the international community gives weight to the demands of these otherwise weak actors at the domestic level. It may have what Keck and Sikkink (1998, 13) call in their study of transnational advocacy networks a “boomerang effect,” describing it in the following manner: Where governments are inaccessible or deaf to groups whose claims may nonetheless resonate elsewhere, international contacts can amplify the demands of domestic groups, pry open space for new issues, and then echo back these demands into the domestic arena.

In other words, with the support of the UN and its member states, NGOs might be able to propel their own governments into action by holding them accountable or by “shaming” them when they breach international commitments. Though important, the UN agenda should not be mistaken to be identical with states’ interests. Although there

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might be some overlap, the agenda is much more normative. It is intended to regulate relationships between states and may have constitutive effects altering, over time, the interests and identities of UN member states. Agendas do not simply exist out there; they come into being through a political process. I draw on the “garbage can” model of organizational choice developed by Cohen, March, and Olsen (1972) and Kingdon (1984) to capture how agendas evolve.3 This model suggests that agendas are the product of four relatively independent streams: problems, solutions, participants, and choice opportunities. Problems are conditions that people both inside and outside the organization find no longer acceptable and that require attention from decision makers. Policies are solutions ranging from further research to education, laws, and resource allocation. Participants with different resources drift in and out of the decision-making process with their pet problems and solutions. Choice opportunities are changes in the political climate, political realignments, and earmarking events that create openings or a window for change to occur. These different streams—problems, solutions, choice opportunities, and participants—exist rather independently of each other. However, at various points in time, they come together or are “coupled.” This is when decisions are made and agendas come about. Kingdon (1984, 2) describes this moment of choice opportunity as a garbage can into which various kinds of problems and solutions are dumped by participants as they are generated. The mix of garbage in a single can depends on the mix of cans available, on the labels attached to the alternative cans, on what garbage is currently being produced, and on the speed with which garbage is collected and removed from the scene.

In other words, decisions or agendas are the function of a particular mix of “garbage,” which is determined by who participates in a meeting, which solutions are proposed, and what problems people are concerned with. The garbage can model provides a useful tool for analysis because it views agenda setting as a dynamic process in which the interaction of actors and structural changes determine the problems or the solutions that policymakers may consider. Following the logic of the model, NGOs are “participants” and as such exert influence by framing “problems” or offering “solutions” in a strategic manner that involves seizing “choice opportunities.”

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Framing Processes

Short of material resources, NGOs mobilize support for the problems they identify and the solutions they develop by engaging in so-called framing processes. The term “framing processes”—coined by sociologists such as Goffman (1974) and applied to the study of social movements by Snow and Benford (1988) and Snow and others (1986) as well as others (e.g., McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald 1996b)—refers to the “conscious strategic efforts by groups of people to fashion shared understandings of the world and of themselves that legitimate and motivate collective action” (McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald 1996b, 6). They “render events or occurrences meaningful,” and “function to organize experience and guide action, whether individual or collective” (Snow et al. 1986, 464). Moreover, they “provide a perspective from which an amorphous, ill-defined and problematic situation can be made sense of and acted upon (Rein and Schön 1991, 263). Though generally manifested in ideational statements, frames also find expression in the strategies and tactics of their advocates (McAdam 1996, 341; Surel 2000, 498).4 The concept of framing exhibits several characteristics that are relevant for this analysis. First, it captures what both liberal theories and constructivist approaches neglect. It takes account of the way in which “actors deliberately package and frame policy ideas to convince each other as well as the general public that certain policy proposals constitute acceptable solutions to pressing problems” (Campbell 1998, 381). The concept makes us aware that NGOs are not just carriers and transmitters of mobilizing ideas and beliefs, but are what Snow and others (1986, 464) refer to as “signifying agents.” They are actively engaged in the construction of meaning. NGOs consciously and strategically interpret relevant events or conditions to garner the support of bystanders or to demobilize antagonists. Second, framing processes take account of the intersubjective dimension in the formation of agendas. Problems and solutions do not simply exist out there; instead, they are the result of social constructions and collective attributions. They are “produced in the course of interactions with other individuals and objects of attention” (Snow and Bedford 1988, 198). Third, framing processes draw attention to “a point largely recognized but not thoroughly digested by constructivists” (Barnett 1999, 7): the conflicts over meanings and shared understandings that lie at the heart in the definition of new issues and interests. How a problem is

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defined or an event is interpreted is subject to contestation because those engaged in the framing have different and often contradictory ideas, beliefs, and interests. According to Schön and Rein (1994, 29), these struggles “over the naming and framing of a policy situation are symbolic contests over the social meaning of an issue domain, where meaning implies not only what is at issue but what is to be done.” Drawing on Snow and Benford (1988), I distinguish between three relatively independent types of framing processes: (1) diagnostic framing; (2) prognostic framing; and (3) motivational framing. Diagnostic framing involves the identification of a problem and the attribution of blame or causality. People need to recognize a condition as unacceptable before they can act on it. This process necessitates what McAdam (1982) refers to as “cognitive liberation” and defines as a movement away from individual blaming and toward system critical framing. Rather than explaining the existence of a particular condition as a function of individual deficiencies, people begin to attribute the existence of a situation to structural conditions (McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald 1996b, 9). The rapid spread of AIDS in Southern countries provides a good example of this process. Though the disease was initially attributed to the irresponsible behavior of gay men and drug users, it has increasingly been understood in socioeconomic terms, and, more specifically, related to poverty (Gordenker et al. 1995, 30–32). The shift from individual blaming to system-critical blaming is an important component of diagnostic framing. The realization that a condition is pervasive rather than incidental, and the result of prevailing structural dislocations instead of individual behavior, may instill a sense of efficacy and hope that something can be changed by acting collectively. As McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald (1996b, 5) point out, “At a minimum people need to feel aggrieved about some aspect of their lives and optimistic that, acting collectively, they can redress the problem. Lacking either one or both of these perceptions, it is highly unlikely that people will mobilize.” Successful diagnostic framing encourages the search for solutions. Prognostic framing involves the identification of solutions to a problem. These can range from technical fixes to legal instruments (e.g., international treaties or declarations), research, the transfer of resources, and education (Gordenker et al. 1995). However, prognostic framing can also involve the development of strategies, tactics, and targets. For example, it may involve decisions as to whether NGOs will work inside or outside existing institutions or whether they want to mobilize support through formal strategies, including lobbying or the provision of

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information, instead of so-called voice strategies, such as demonstrations or sit-ins.5 For the most part, prognostic framing occurs independent of diagnostic framing and has its own rules and dynamics. However, more often than not, one can detect a direct relationship (Snow and Benford 1988, 201) between the causes identified as critical and the solutions or alternatives that are considered to be appropriate remedies. For example, if poverty is recognized as a primary cause for the spread of AIDS in developing countries, economic aid from developed countries may very well be among the preferred solutions. Although diagnostic framing and prognostic framing are important for the mobilization of support, they are not sufficient. As Klandermans (1984) points out, the identification of causes and solutions is only instrumental in what he refers to as “consensus mobilization”—the mobilization of support for one’s ideas and aims. However, it does not necessarily propel people into action. Participation requires motivational framing. Motivational framing offers a rationale for action that goes beyond diagnostic and prognostic framing. It provides a reason for why people should take action with respect to a particular issue; or, as Snow and Benford (1988, 202) put it, “Motivational frames function as prods of action.” Motives can be framed in different ways. They can be couched in moral or normative terms. For example, development NGOs often justify their demands for Northern aid by appealing to social justice. However, a call for action can also involve reference to already-existing international norms and standards. In fighting for the abolition of torture against political prisoners, human rights organizations such as Amnesty International invoke the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which grants individuals fundamental rights and freedoms independent of their political orientation, religious beliefs, or sex. Finally, motivational frames might be defined more hopelessly or cataclysmically, and thus describe what happens if ameliorative action is not taken. For example, NGOs working for nuclear disarmament used to refer to doomsday possibilities of nuclear confrontation or the “Armageddon.” In summary, the mobilization of support for new ideas involves three different framing tasks: diagnostic framing, which offers systemic explanations for the existence of a particular problem; prognostic framing, which involves proposals for alternative courses of action; and motivational framing, which is a call to arms. Though the identification of causes and solutions mobilizes the support of individuals for new

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ideas, motivational framing is aimed at getting people to engage in corrective action. Being the product of interactions among individuals, each of these three framing processes is, as was suggested above, highly conflictual (Tarrow 1994, 123). The beliefs and perceptions of NGOs about the causes for the existence of a particular problem or appropriate solutions are frequently incommensurate with and challenge the beliefs and perceptions of those actors whose support they seek to enlist. In such cases, NGOs have to engage in what Snow and others (1986, 464) refer to as “frame alignment” and define as the linkage of different frames so that their ideas, beliefs, and interpretations are congruent. Though frame alignment can take different forms, the one most relevant for our discussion here is frame extension, which involves the enlargement of a frame’s boundaries so that it encompasses interests or points of view that are incidental to the frame’s primary objectives but of considerable salience to potential adherents (Snow et al. 1986, 472).6 Whether NGOs are ultimately successful in mobilizing broad-based support for a particular issue or action frame is contingent on the degree to which its content resonates with those for whom it has been developed. According to Snow and Benford (1988, 208–10), three criteria appear to be particularly decisive: the empirical credibility of the framework, the degree to which it corresponds to and verifies events within the broader environment; the experiential commensurability, whether the frame speaks to the experiences of the individuals for whom it has been developed; and the frame’s narrative fidelity, the degree to which it resonates with cultural myths or symbols. Frames that resonate with a large number of actors and across different contexts are frequently employed by other NGOs. They become so-called master frames, which provide the ideational and interpretative anchoring for subsequent struggles (Snow and Benford 1992). Whether the frames of NGOs ultimately become accepted and legitimized is contingent on the dynamic interaction of primarily two conditions: the political opportunity structure in which NGOs are embedded, and the mobilizing structures that NGOs have at their disposal.

The Political Opportunity Structure

The political opportunity structure refers to the broader institutional context that provides opportunities for or imposes constraints on

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NGOs engaged in framing processes. This concept—developed by Eisinger (1972), Tilly (1978), McAdam (1982), and Tarrow 1983), and more recently by McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald (1996a) for the study of social movements at the domestic level and in comparative perspective7—exhibits several features that make it attractive for applying it to the international level. First, the concept draws attention to the fact that NGOs are not atomistic but social actors, whose actions, perceptions, interests, identities, and ideas are constituted by the institutional context. The frames that NGOs develop contain symbols or other cultural references that make up the societal texture. Second, the political opportunity structure takes into consideration that the context in which NGOs are embedded is dynamic and changing. At one point, this structure can provide, to borrow a term from Swidler (1986, 123), a sociologist, a “tool kit” for action by making material and symbolic resources available; but at another, it can function as “gatekeeper” privileging certain actors and frames while marginalizing others (Mazey 2000). Third, the political opportunity structure is broadly defined. It is made up of both formal institutional features that rationalistic approaches consider important, such as meeting cycles, voting rules, and political alignments, and the cultural and normative components that constructivists emphasize. Though this broad definition is obviously not without problems and has been a point of contention in the social movement literature, where some worry about the concept’s integrity in light of the many variables that have been identified as critical,8 I aim for analytical clarity and parsimony when applying the concept of political opportunity structure to the international level in the following way. Mindful of the problem of too many variables, I limit myself to three that Tarrow (1988) and others (e.g., McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald 1996b) have identified as the most pivotal: access to the institutions that NGOs seek to influence, influential allies, and political alignments or conflicts. I only selectively draw on other secondary variables to further define these three primary ones, thereby distinguishing between institutional and extra-institutional ones.

Access to Institutions Probably one of the most critical aspects of the political opportunity structure is access to the institutions that NGOs seek to influence.

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Without it, introducing new issues or circulating solutions will be difficult. Over the course of the past two decades, NGOs have gained increased access to the UN through a series of focusing events as well as changes in the institutional discourses, rules, and procedures. Focusing events within the broader environment—such as political crises, disasters, and wars—create, according to Kingdon (1984, 177), “opportunities for advocates of proposals to push their pet solutions, or to draw attention to their special problems.” The majority of my interview partners identified the end of the cold war as such a focusing event making the UN more accessible to civil society actors. As Charlotte Bunch of the Center for Women’s Global Leadership points out: “when the Cold War ended an opening came. New voices were heard, and a new dialogue was possible” (Bunch 1995). Focusing events have a “cognitive punch effect” (Adler 1991, 55). They make policymakers aware of the pervasiveness and severity of a particular problem or call into question policies that they had previously taken for granted. This was echoed by Anne Walker of the International Women’s Tribune Center, who explained the heightened receptivity of UN policymakers to NGOs in the following way: “The end of the cold war confronted UN policymakers with new problems, such as ethnic conflict in Rwanda and Somalia, refugees, problems to which they had no answers” (Walker 1994). Extra-institutional focusing events are also critical because they can set in motion institutional ones. Confronted with new international conditions in the early 1990s, UN policymakers organized a series of socalled specialized conferences—beginning with the UN Climate, Environment, and Development Conference (UNCED) in Rio de Janeiro in 1992; followed by the World Human Rights Conference in Vienna in 1993; continuing with the International Conference on Population and Development in Cairo in 1994; and concluding with the World Summit for Social Development in Copenhagen and the Fourth World Conference for Women in Beijing in 1995. These conferences provided opportunities for NGOs to introduce and circulate their ideas.9 First, they had been organized with the intention to identify new agenda items or to develop action plans for existing ones. Second, these conferences were attended by the majority of UN member states and received quite a bit of media coverage. Third, they were preceded by preparatory conferences at the national, regional, and international levels to which NGOs had been invited to provide input and information. Fourth, the conferences were accompanied

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by so-called NGO Forums that were held in the same place and around the same time as the official conferences. Though much more informal than the government meetings, they were attended by NGOs from around the world but also frequented by government officials who were looking for new ideas (Willetts 1996b, 49–50). Focusing events can also precipitate changes in institutional discourses—the “gatekeepers” of institutions. Institutional discourses— defined, according to Jenson (1987, 65) as “beliefs about the ways in which politics should be conducted, the boundaries of political discussion, and the kinds of conflicts resolvable through political processes”—have a direct bearing on access. Jenson continues: “The universe of political discourse functions at any single point in time by setting boundaries to political action and by limiting the range of actors that are accorded the status of legitimate participants, the range of issues considered to be included in the realms of meaningful political debate, the policy alternatives feasible for implementation, and the alliance strategies available for achieving change.” In short, discourses determine what is considered acceptable and appropriate within a particular institution. In the UN, the end of the cold war triggered a movement away from a security discourse centered on the state and toward a discourse that placed a greater emphasis on the well-being and rights of the individual. This shift made the UN more accessible to NGOs. The institutional discourse of individual rights was more in alignment with the issues promoted by these nonstate actors who represent civil society and claim to speak for the weak and voiceless. In addition, the end of the cold war has been a catalyst for changes in institutional rules and procedures. Since the early 1990s, the UN has relaxed the criteria for NGO accreditation.10 Though in the past accreditation was regulated through Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC) Resolution 1296, requiring NGOs in consultative status with the UN to have an “international character or focus,” the criterion was dropped during the preparations for UNCED. Regional, national, and even grassroots NGOs were for the first time accredited, resulting in the largest number of NGOs ever participating in a specialized conference. All in all, the conference attracted 7,892 NGOs from 167 countries (Rogers 1993, 59).11 Accreditation enhances the ability of NGOs to exert influence. Besides being able to attend UN meetings and conferences, NGOs in consultative status with the UN enjoy a number of other privileges, such as making brief oral statements, submitting written statements, and obtaining UN documents (Willetts 1996b, 43).

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Furthermore, accreditation enables NGOs to push for further access. As a result of their pressure, NGOs obtained a change in the conference proceedings. Instead of being confined to the corridors and the visitors’ balcony, as was the practice in the past, NGO representatives are now allowed onto the negotiation floor, expanding their opportunities to lobbying government delegates. Moreover, many more meetings are now conducted as “open” rather than “closed” ones, permitting NGO representatives to monitor the negotiation processes. Finally, the relaxation of accreditation rules has enabled NGOs to pave the way for future changes in institutional procedures. Since UNCED, UN policymakers and NGOs have been discussing how to establish mechanisms for the permanent representation of NGOs in UN proceedings (Willetts 2000). In sum, focusing events have made the UN more accessible for NGOs over the course of the past decade. However, a series of constraints remain. Even if changes in NGO participation have occurred, this does not mean that all rules have been suspended, that UN meetings and conferences are a “free for all,” or that the UN is run by NGOs. States are still the primary actors within the UN, limiting access when considered necessary. For example, whenever sensitive or controversial issues are discussed, the format of the meeting is changed from an “open” to a “closed” or “informal” one, making it much harder for NGO representatives to receive information or to hold governments accountable. In addition, having greater access to the UN also poses challenges for NGOs. They have to comply with institutional rules and procedures if they are to be taken seriously. The provocative and confrontational practices in which NGOs might otherwise engage to get people on the streets may be ill suited for institutions in which conciliation and appeasement are encouraged. Moreover, working within and through institutions entails the risk of co-optation and loss of independence, which is why NGOs, according to Conca (1996, 116), have to perform a constant balancing act between gaining access and retaining a portion of their oppositional character. One way in which NGOs might be able to ameliorate this tension between access and independence is through influential allies who function as intermediaries or transmission belts.

Influential Allies Influential allies can facilitate the mobilization of support for new issues and solutions as a result of the resources they possess (Keck and

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Sikkink 1998, 23–24; see also Gamson 1990). Four types of allies are discussed in greater detail here: two extra-institutional ones, foundations and the media; and two institutional ones, UN secretariats and governments. Financial support from prestigious foundations—such as the MacArthur Foundation, Ford Foundation, Pew Charitable Trusts, and Rockefeller Foundation—have contributed to the growth as well as the visibility of NGOs at the international level over the course of the past several decades (Reimann 2006, 53–54; Keck and Sikkink 1998, 98–99; Gordenker and Weiss 1996, 32).12 As one of my interview partners noted: “Foundations have enabled NGOs to operate at a global level” (Walker 1994). As a result of their support, NGOs are now able to maintain international offices and staff, publish newsletters and other materials, hold international meetings, conduct international campaigns, and participate in UN meetings. This has not always been the case. During the 1970s and 1980s, for example, many women’s NGOs still had to scramble for financial assistance from foundations. However, today many of the larger ones receive regular support from at least two if not more foundations. June Zeitlin (1995) of the Ford Foundation explains this development in the following fashion: “Foundations are always in search of new and cutting edge ideas, and today women’s issues are considered a hot item.” A similar logic for supporting NGOs applies to another potential extra-institutional ally—the international media. The media is critical for NGOs. According to Gamson and Meyer (1996, 287), “[they] play a central role in the construction of meaning and the reproduction of culture. Journalists choose a story line in reporting events and commentators of various sorts develop arguments and images that support particular frames.” The importance of the media is also stressed by Tarrow (1994, 127), for whom they “provide a diffuse vehicle for consensus formation that movements on their own could never achieve.” Contrary to NGOs, the international media can reach diverse and large segments of the public in relatively short amounts of time. CNN is a prime example in this regard. Moreover, newspapers, radio, and television are the primary sources of information for most people about daily international events. As Wapner (1995, 321) notes in connection with environmental NGOs: “Through television, radio, newspapers and magazines transnational activist groups bring hidden spots of the globe into people’s everyday lives, thus enabling vast numbers of people to ‘bear witness’ to environmental abuse.” However, the media are far from neutral bystanders. Whether and how NGOs and their activities are covered are affected by media norms

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and practices (Gamson and Meyer 1996, 287). As Kielbowicz and Scherer (1986, 75–76) write: “Movements are affected by the media’s preferences for dramatic events, by journalists’ reliance on authoritative sources, by cycles or rhythms, by the influence of reporters’ professional values or orientations; and by how the media environment, mainly the degree of competition, influences the news.” In short, coverage is not free of bias. Instead, it is driven by what is considered “newsworthy” or “controversial,” by space limitations, by the orientation of a particular paper or TV station, or the aim to present competing perspectives. As a result, the media may represent the issues and ideas that NGOs advocate in an undesirable manner. It can exaggerate or amplify certain aspects that may otherwise be considered incidental, report events out of context or without any background information, and single out individuals or groups whose views are not necessarily representative. Moreover, winning media attention might pose a dilemma for NGOs. It might require them to stage visible protest actions, such as those frequently employed by Greenpeace activists, and thereby risk the support of institutional allies who are often less fond of such practices. To prevent this from happening, NGOs sometimes engage in a division of labor, with some staging protests outside established institutions and others lobbying and mobilizing support inside. Inside the UN, secretariats have been identified by various scholars as relevant institutional channels through which NGOs can exert influence (e.g., Willetts 1996b, 49; Gordenker and Weiss 1996, 21) because they are generally in charge of preparing UN meetings and conferences as well as the relevant reports or background papers for them. Faced with time constraints and insufficient staff and expertise, secretariats frequently rely on NGOs for input. For example, they conduct surveys calling explicitly on NGOs to make a contribution; hire NGOs as consultants to write reports; and organize so-called expert group meetings on particular topics, to which they invite representatives of the civil society sector. A critical link in the cooperation between NGOs and secretariats is the support of the secretary generals, who can facilitate the mobilization of support for certain ideas and interpretations as a result of the prerogatives associated with their offices (Gordenker and Weiss 1996, 36). Maurice Strong, who served as secretary general of UNCED in 1992, provides an excellent example to illustrate this point. Many of my interview partners attributed the presence and influence of NGOs at UNCED to his presence. Going against the majority of governments,

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Strong lobbied and pleaded for their participation as early as the first preparatory conference in Nairobi in November 1990. Morphet (1996, 89) quotes him as saying, “We must also expand the participatory process that has meant so much to us here—participation of people through NGOs in the implementation of Agenda 21 [the conference document], and indeed in the United Nations itself. I believe we need to review entirely the system of arrangements within the United Nations for greater participation of these organizations.” Strong’s advocacy role was no coincidence. He himself had been active in the NGO community. During the 1980s, he had formed the Earth Council—a network of eminent persons. Further, when he served as secretary general of the first environmental conference in Stockholm in 1972, his experiences working with NGOs had been extremely positive. “It was precisely the first Earth Summit in Stockholm in 1972 that led to the creation of more than 100,000 NGOs around the world,” Rogers (1993, 59) quotes Strong as saying, “and to convene another meeting without their participation would be a serious mistake.” Strong used the resources of his office as secretary general prior to the UNCED to sway governments toward broad-based participation by NGOs in the negotiation process. Of the four allies mentioned, the support of governments is probably the most pivotal. After all, they decide whether an agenda will be accepted or not. Governments assist NGOs in different ways. Over the course of the past decade, it has become customary for governments to include NGO representatives on their delegations who might use this position to shape a government’s position or influence the negotiation process. In addition, governments may draw on their institutional prerogatives to support NGOs. For example, representatives of UN member states may introduce resolutions drafted by NGOs, issue amendments to particular proposals, make statements in favor of NGOs, request brackets around paragraphs and phrases with which they do not agree, and, most important, vote in favor of or against particular proposals. Finally, as a result of a government’s standing within the UN, it may enhance the position of NGOs (Gordenker and Baehr 1994). For example, the support of countries such as Canada, Australia, India, and Peru is much desired among NGOs because their positions are valued and respected among other governments. Although the allegiance of governments may be motivated by their genuine interest in a particular issue or policy proposal, other considerations are often at stake. Governments may exhibit leadership on a

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particular issue because of domestic pressure or upcoming domestic elections. Further, support for a particular issue or proposal may be advantageous because it will enhance a government’s international image or facilitate the acceptance of other issues or policies. Finally, governments may assume leadership on a particular issue because of certain beliefs or principles to which they adhere. Regardless of the motives or the actors involved, the support of influential institutional and extra-institutional allies is a double-edged sword for NGOs. On the one hand, influential allies can provide access to the institutions that NGOs seek to influence or enhance their credibility. On the other hand, however, influential allies can impose constraints on NGOs. The support of some may prevent others from aligning themselves with NGOs, may be short-lived, or may result in undesired or unintended issue advocacy.

Political Alignments and Conflict Changes in political alignments as well as conflicts between them affect the framing processes NGOs are engaged in. Manifested in the existence of different voting blocs, changes in political alignments can create opportunities for NGOs. In particular, newly emerging blocs may look for outside support to consolidate their still-volatile positions (Tarrow 1994). Many of my interviewees attributed the prominence of issues such as women’s rights, human rights, and the environment on the UN agenda to the emergence of three new economic blocs following the end of the cold war: JUSCANZ ( Japan, the United States, Canada, and New Zealand), the European Union, and the Group of SeventySeven. Each of these blocs was looking for new issues to establish an international profile and to consolidate their positions. Conflicts between political groups or blocs, conversely, can be beneficial for NGOs if their frames offer a bridge for consensus among the divided parties. For example, at UNCED in Rio de Janeiro, disagreements between JUSCANZ and the EU, on the one hand, and the Group of Seventy-Seven, on the other, as to how to best protect the climate, created an opening for environmental NGOs. According to Morphet (1996), NGOs were able to bring about a compromise by introducing the concept of “sustainable development” because it combined the preferences of both parties: economic development, which had been favored by Southern countries, and environmental protection, which had been stressed by Northern ones. Moreover, conflict within political

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alignments can open a window of opportunity for NGOs because it makes it more difficult for alliance members to forge a common position and to successfully form a bloc on a certain issue or idea. For example, some interviewees attributed the increasing success of NGOs in mobilizing support among Southern countries for progressive ideas to the different economic and political trajectories they had experienced during the 1990s, which made it difficult for these countries to find agreement. Apart from being of advantage to NGOs, changes in political alignments and conflicts can also be impediments. Individual blocs may use the ideas of NGOs to advance their own agendas and interests. Moreover, the tensions between political blocs may be so severe that they result in stalemate or deadlock, especially if issues proposed or supported by one bloc are continuously opposed and voted against by others. Finally, because of the stress they create for the institutions in which they take place, changes in political alignments and conflicts may preoccupy policymakers in such a way that they are less attentive to new ideas.

Summary of the Critical Variables In sum, changes in political alignments and conflict together with the relative accessibility of political institutions and the presence of influential allies comprise the political opportunity structure in which NGOs are embedded. These individual components are dynamically related, so that changes in one aspect can trigger changes in others. Symbolic events such as the end of the cold war made the UN more accessible for NGOs by setting in motion changes in the institutional discourse as well as rules of procedure and by prompting UN policymakers to organize a series of specialized conferences. Access to the agenda-setting process, in turn, created opportunities for NGOs to mobilize the support of both institutional and extra-institutional allies, which used their prerogatives and resources to enhance the credibility of these civil society actors. Finally, the end of the cold war also provoked changes in political alignments and conflict. Though the former brought into power groups whose frames were more in agreement with those of NGOs, the latter held the possibility for NGOs to serve as a bridge for the divided parties. Changes in the political opportunity structure are important for NGOs. However, they are not sufficient. Also critical are the resources that NGOs themselves have at their disposal, to which I now turn.

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Mobilizing Structures

Whether NGOs are in position to mobilize support for their interpretations and ideas is contingent on what McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald (1996b, 3) refer to as “mobilizing structures” and define as “those collective vehicles, informal as well as formal, through which people mobilize and engage in collective action.”13 Mobilizing structures are the organizational resources and networks of NGOs. They take account of what Campbell (1998, 383) referred to as the “self-conscious capacity of actors to engage in deliberate and creative transposition,” and they inject agency into structural explanations. As a result of mobilizing structures, NGOs are capable of engaging in practices aimed at changing the normative context in which they are embedded. More specifically, because of them, NGOs can manipulate information and translate opportunities in their institutional context into frames that are considered legitimate; that is, they can be strategic. Mobilizing structures are the sources of ideas and mobilizing energy. They provide NGOs not only with people power but also with information and expertise (Smith, Pagnucco, and Chatfield 1997a, 60). According to McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald (1996b, 9), mobilizing structures are critical for the framing processes NGOs are engaged in because framing processes are held to be more likely and of far greater consequence under conditions of strong rather than weak organization. The latter point should be intuitively apparent. Even in the unlikely event that system-critical framings were to emerge in the context of little or no organization, the absence of any real mobilizing structure would almost surely prevent their spread to the minimum number of people required to afford a basis for collective action. More to the point, however, is the suspicion that lacking organization these framings would never emerge in the first place.

In short, mobilizing structures perform two critical functions. They ensure and facilitate the circulation of new frames, but even more important, they are the very seeds for these frames. The mobilizing structures of NGOs are varied. Three components, though, appear to be essential in the UN context. They include the presence of organizational entrepreneurs, an international constituency, and expertise. Their effectiveness is subject to a certain dynamic. They can be assets under certain circumstances and in certain settings, but liabilities in others.

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Organizational Entrepreneurship Organizational entrepreneurs play a pivotal role with respect to framing processes. These are individuals or organizations who care enough about an issue to absorb the initial costs of mobilizing, bring with them a wealth of organizing experiences, are well connected, and have vision and charisma (Oliver and Marwell 1992, 252). They facilitate collective action. For example, through their long history of international activism and their involvement in many different issue areas, organizational entrepreneurs have developed many friendships and become members of many different organizational networks. These friendships and networks can prove useful in mobilizing individuals who share common grievances because they have readily available mechanisms for diffusing and circulating information, including, among other things, newsletters or mailing lists, meeting facilities, and an established membership. Many of the larger NGOs existing today have grown out of smaller networks to which their leaders belonged. For example, the founder of Amnesty International, Peter Beneson, relied on his professional (legal) as well as religious networks to build a core of organizers for his organization (Clark 2001, 5). Similarly, the founder of Friends of the Earth drew on his associations with environmental activists in different countries to promote the growth and expansion of the organization (Smith, Pagnucco, and Romeril 1994, 129–30). Organizational entrepreneurs are also a source for new strategies and tactics. The late Bella Abzug, who was the president of the Women, Environment, and Development Organization and a U.S. representative, provides an excellent example to illustrate this point. She introduced the caucus system, which women had used as a vehicle for organizing in the U.S. Congress, to UNCED in Rio de Janeiro in 1992 to make the lobbying efforts of women there more effective. The women’s caucus met every morning before the official government conference, was chaired on a rotating basis by representatives of women’s organizations from different regions, and provided a forum for women to discuss events of the previous days as well as to coordinate their lobbying strategies (Chen 1996, 144). In light of its success, the caucus system has since become a familiar feature—a master frame for organizing NGOs—at UN special conferences. Organizational entrepreneurs can also facilitate contact with policymakers because they are what Organ (1971) refers to as “linking pins” and Gordenker and Weiss (1996, 35) dub “boundary-role occupants.”

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They mediate and are “activist brokers” between their own organization and its environment, bridging the gap between the beliefs and goals of NGO members and policymakers (Gordenker and Weiss 1996, 35). Abzug once again helps to illustrate this point. Not only did she play a key role in organizing the women’s caucus and representing women at UN conferences, but she also was respected among and consulted by UN policymakers. The media frequently referred to her as the woman wearing many different hats.14 Bridging the interests of individuals, the larger collective, and policymakers is not an easy task. According to Gordenker and others (1995, 19), “Organizational entrepreneurs may well get caught in the crossfire of divergent role expectations in their environment and the conceptions of their organizational constituents” (see also Marsh and Rhodes 1992). Whereas policymakers may expect compromise and concessions, constituents may demand confrontation and exposure. Moreover, given that entrepreneurs have to maintain links to different groups, they are also always at risk of losing their credibility. For example, constituents might question the legitimacy of an entrepreneur because of his or her connections to policymakers, while policymakers, in turn, may be skeptical of the entrepreneur because of his or her involvement with a particular group.

International Constituency The support of a constituency is critical for every NGO. It is composed of both mobilized members who take part in campaigns or other organizational activities (Gamson 1990, 16–17) and unmobilized members who simply pay their fees. Moreover, constituencies vary in their composition, depending on the cultural, political, ethnic, and socioeconomic background of their members. They can be more or less heterogeneous. Though, until the 1980s, the constituency of international NGOs had been rather homogeneous—made up primarily of individuals and organizations from North America and Western Europe—in recent years there has been a significant increase in the representation of individuals and organizations from Southern regions, including Africa, Asia, the Middle East, and the Caribbean. This change in composition and the increased heterogenization of NGO constituents has been argued to have had both positive as well as negative effects.

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With respect to the positive effects, a heterogeneous constituency can enhance the credibility of frames. In particular, frames that reflect the ideas and beliefs of different groups are potentially more appealing to others and make it more difficult to discard them as not being representative. For example, the recognition of environmental pollution as an international problem was facilitated by the increased activism of Southern NGOs. In contrast to Northern NGOs, which emphasized stricter emission controls and regulation, Southern NGOs favored solutions, such as technology transfer and economic aid, that resonated more with governments in developing countries. In addition, a heterogeneous constituency can broaden the “repertoire of contention.” With the help of people and organizations located in different corners of the globe, NGOs can exert pressure at different levels—local, national, regional, and international. Finally, a heterogeneous constituency can also have what Haines (Haines 1988) and others (e.g., Barkan 1979; McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald 1996b) refer to as “radical flank effects” because the presence of more radical groups within a constituency can enhance the bargaining power of more moderate ones vis-à-vis policymakers who may perceive them as more acceptable negotiation partners. In addition, radical groups within a constituency also can prompt both more moderate ones and policymakers to support policies or solutions that they once viewed as too extreme (McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald 1996b, 14). Although desirable, a heterogeneous constituency also poses problems, such as reaching consensus among the members. One reason for this may be geography. Even though transportation and communication systems have revolutionized collective action at the international level over the course of the past decades (see Warkentin and Mingst 2000), organizing and communicating with individuals across different continents can still be difficult, considering that not everyone has access to the Internet and e-mail. Furthermore, mobilizing over large geographical distances is complicated by differences in language and the still high degree of illiteracy in Southern countries, which makes it difficult for individuals to exchange their ideas about a particular issue. Other problems associated with a heterogeneous constituency are more ideological. For example, it enhances the risk of fragmentation and factionalism. Individuals with different beliefs and cultural and political backgrounds might find it difficult to reach agreement on the causes of a particular problem, acceptable solutions, and even strategies and tactics. In such a situation, we can expect to find multiple frameworks, with con-

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tradictory or competing messages, instead of a single consensual frame. Moreover, a heterogeneous constituency may also suffer from power asymmetries, especially if some groups are better off than others. Some scholars have noted that the constituency of NGOs exhibits global stratification patterns with “residents of resource-rich, technically developed, older, formally democratic Anglo-European countries participat[ing] the most; [and] residents of newer, less democratic countries participat[ing] the least” (Boli and Thomas 1999, 69).

Knowledge and Expertise The ultimate innate resource of NGOs is their expertise. It gives these organizations a comparative advantage over other actors and makes them valued participants in the agenda-setting process. Different forms of expertise and information are required for successful framing efforts. First, as the literature on epistemic communities and transnational advocacy networks has already demonstrated, scientific expertise or technical information is critical (Haas 1990, 1992; Keck and Sikkink 1998). To gain acceptance for their ideas, NGOs need to prove the existence of a particular problem or the feasibility of a solution. Statistics and studies are particularly important in this respect. For example, policymakers questioned the existence of an ozone hole in the atmosphere until natural scientists provided data that proved its existence. There are two main reasons for the power of scientific knowledge. First, it is regarded as a credible and reliable source of information because it is verifiable and generalizable; and, second, it is presumed to be objective and neutral. It thus differs from what is generally referred to as testimonial knowledge. In contrast to scientific knowledge, testimonial knowledge is derived from personal experiences or circumstances. It is particular in nature and subjective. Nevertheless, NGOs employ it quite effectively in their campaigns. In the case of land mines, NGOs circulated pictures and statements of injured victims to mobilize support for an international treaty banning their usage (Price 1998). Testimonies are shocking and dramatic. They personalize what might be otherwise constructed as something abstract and distant, thereby shortening the line between cause and effect. Moreover, testimonial knowledge assigns blame and identifies perpetrators, making it more difficult for them to deny their responsibility and forcing them to justify their actions (Keck and Sikkink 1998, 19).

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Testimonial knowledge can facilitate the mobilization of diagnostic frames. Sharing personal experiences with others can make individuals aware that the problem they are faced with is far-reaching and systemic rather than incidental and exceptional. Furthermore, testimonial knowledge can be useful in the formulation of acceptable prognostic frameworks. Solutions that take into consideration particular circumstances and needs may encounter less resistance from the targeted population and promise greater success. For example, in light of prevailing customs and traditions, education might be more accepted in developing countries as a means to prevent the spread of HIV/AIDS than the distribution of condoms. Nevertheless, testimonial knowledge can also impose constraints. In contrast to hard facts and data, personal experiences are not verifiable. Their legitimacy can be questioned on the basis that they are exaggerated or represent only the partial truth. This is why NGOs increasingly engage in a dual strategy combining testimonial with scientific knowledge (according to Keck and Sikkink 1998, 21), and why it is also important for these civil society actors to have procedural knowledge. Procedural knowledge may be defined as an understanding of the political institutions that NGOs target and these institutions’ internal political processes (Kingdon 1984). Procedural knowledge is the confluence of several sources. One of them is simply long-term experience in international organizing. As one interviewee commented: “NGOs have learned how to walk the walk and talk the talk inside the UN” (Bunch 1995). As a result of their engagement in international government organizations, NGOs have grown accustomed to the rules and norms that guide policymakers’ interactions and learned to behave accordingly. Another source of procedural knowledge is the increasing professionalization of NGOs (Martens 2006). Though most of the NGOs engaged in international politics throughout the first half of the twentieth century were run by volunteers, many organizations today maintain a permanent, paid staff made up of lawyers, social scientists, and public relations managers.15 Knowledge of the procedures of the institutions to which NGOs actively relate can facilitate framing processes. It enables NGOs to use institutional rules and norms to their advantage instead of being at their mercy. For instance, this procedural knowledge offers clues about how to word proposals in the UN, when it might be best to introduce them, or who might be a potential supporter and who an opponent. With respect to framing, procedural knowledge has a cyclical quality. Accord-

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ing to McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald (1996b, 17), initial framing efforts have an “emergent, inchoate quality.” As a result, “the outcome of the process is less predictable.” The frames of NGOs might be ignored, ridiculed, or not taken seriously. In contrast, later framing efforts are much more strategic and self-conscious. However, they are not without problems either. The more skilled and the more knowledgeable NGOs become, the more opposition they may encounter, so that their “later framing efforts can be expected to devolve into intense ‘framing contests’ between different actors.”

Summary of Mobilizing Structures In sum, procedural and experiential knowledge, the presence of organizational entrepreneurs, and a heterogeneous constituency are mobilizing structures that can facilitate the mobilization of consensual issue frames. The three are dynamically related. For example, the presence of entrepreneurs facilitates the mobilization of constituents, who in turn provide information and knowledge. Though mobilizing structures are necessary resources for NGOs, they are not sufficient. It is only through their interaction with political opportunities that they make framing processes possible.

Framing, Political Opportunity, and Mobilizing Structures

Having discussed the significance of the political opportunity and mobilizing structures for the mobilization of successful diagnostic, prognostic, and motivational frames, it is important to clarify the relationship between them. First, changes in the political opportunity structure create openings for NGOs to engage in framing processes. Access to institutions means possibilities for exchange, interaction, and lobbying. Influential allies provide resources or institutional prerogatives that NGOs lack, and changes in political alignments can contribute to a more favorable environment by bringing into power groups whose ideas are more in alignment with those of NGOs. According to McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald (1996b, 8), “Expanding political opportunities derive their causal force from the interaction of those structural and perceptual changes they set in motion.” The case of the Chernobyl nuclear reactor accident in the USSR helps to illustrate this point. After the accident, policymakers became

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more receptive to considering alternative energy policies, because the accident placed into question policies that had previously been taken for granted. In addition to affecting the likelihood for NGOs to engage in framing processes or for their frames to be accepted, changes in the political opportunity structure also influence their very content. According to Tarrow (1994, 123), “The process of framing is culturally encoded.” Depending on the political opportunity structure they encounter, NGOs strategically decide which symbols or interpretations to draw on. However, political opportunities by themselves are not sufficient. The mobilization of support for individual issues is also contingent on the second relationship: that between framing processes and mobilizing structures. As McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald (1996b, 8) point out, “No matter how momentous a change appears in retrospect, it only becomes an ‘opportunity’ when defined as such by a group of actors sufficiently well organized to act on this shared definition of the situation.” In other words, for changes in the opportunity structure to have any effect, they need to be recognized as chances for action and be responded to. This, in turn, requires organizational entrepreneurs who are willing to carry the initial costs of collective action, a global constituency that can exert pressure at different levels and give credibility to NGOs’ actions, and the expertise to interpret events and formulate appropriate solutions. Third, a dynamic relationship links the political opportunity structure and the mobilizing structures of NGOs. On the one hand, the opportunities and obstacles that NGOs confront within their broader environment can facilitate or inhibit the mobilization of organizational resources. For example, increased access to political institutions allows NGOs to gain procedural knowledge. By learning more about the institutions’ actors and various internal political processes, these civil society actors might become more strategic and effective in their framing. On the other hand, through the mobilizing structures that NGOs have at their disposal, they will be in a position to manipulate and bring about changes in the political opportunity structure. The presence of organizational entrepreneurs helps to illustrate this point. Their connections to policymakers help NGOs gain access to institutions or to garner the support of influential allies. Finally, once accepted, the frames of NGOs may become part of a feedback loop. As already alluded to above, frames that proved successful may be employed by NGOs engaged in subsequent campaigns to

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FIGURE 1.1 Theoretical Framework for This Study mobilize support for new and contentious issues. For example, the rights and social justice frames have emerged as master frames that are now being used by a variety of different actors to justify why situations are unacceptable or why particular proposals are viable. Newly legitimized issue and action frames may also push the boundaries of what is possible and open up new political opportunities. Though once considered as revolutionary, the inclusion of NGO representatives in government delegations is now a common practice at UN conferences. In sum, the relationships between framing processes, the political opportunity structure, and mobilizing structures are complex and, therefore, require further specification. The following chapters illustrate how these relationships play out empirically by examining how, why, and under what conditions women’s organizations have succeeded in placing the issues of violence against women and reproductive rights and health on UN agendas (figure 1.1).

2 RALLYING FOR PEACE AND EQUAL NATIONALITY RIGHTS Women’s Organizations between 1915 and 1945

This chapter is devoted to the first wave of the women’s movement. It traces women’s international organizing at the turn of the nineteenth century, which has thus far received little scholarly attention.1 Two of the most prominent issue campaigns will be of particular interest: peace and equal nationality rights. The first evolved around the First International Women’s Congress in The Hague in 1915, which women organized in response to World War I, and the second, spanning the period 1920 to 1935, was aimed at the League of Nations and the PanAmerican conferences. The two campaigns are particularly interesting because they highlight the dynamic interaction between political opportunities and mobilizing structures, on the one hand, and framing processes, on the other. Resulting in the adoption of several international proposals to bring about peace, the First International Women’s Congress highlights women’s entrepreneurial ingenuity as well as the difficulties women encountered when first organizing at the international level. The case of equal nationality rights illustrates the power of radical flank effects, with groups advancing more radical ideas enhancing the influence of those with more moderate ones. In this particular case, the lobbying activities of women throughout the Pan-American conferences strengthened the bargaining power of women in the League 41

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of Nations and contributed to the acceptance of their initially contested demands.

The First International Women’s Congress, The Hague, 1915, and World Peace

Women’s organizations in Western Europe and North America were struggling for women’s right to vote when World War I broke out, placing the issue of peace front and center on their agendas. Drawing on the expertise and the networks of national suffrage movements, women’s organizations responded by organizing their First International Women’s Congress in The Hague, the Netherlands, in 1915. The congress was an important symbolic event, bringing together women from both belligerent and neutral countries in the heart of the war. It gave rise to a series of proposals for how to bring about world peace. Nevertheless, taking part in the congress was not without risk, considering that traveling to the conference site was a painstaking, sometimes even life-threatening, endeavor and that women’s engagement in international politics was highly contested.

The Problem: World War I The First International Women’s Congress was organized by an international committee comprising twenty-three, primarily European, women. They included Leopoldima Kulka and Olga Misar of Austria; Eugenice Hamer and Marguerite Sarten of Belgium; Thora Daugaard and Clara Tybjerg of Denmark; Anita Augspurg and Lida Gustava Heymann of Germany; Chrystal Macmillan and Kathleen Courtney of Great Britain and Ireland; Vilma Glucklich and Rosika Schwimmer of Hungary; Rose Genoni of Italy; Aletta Jacobs, Hanna Van BiemaHymans, and Mia Boissevain of the Netherlands; Emily Arnesen and Louisa Keilhau of Norway; Anna Kleman and Emma Hansson of Sweden; and Jane Addams and Fannie Fern Andrews of the United States. The entrepreneurship exhibited by these women was not coincidental. They had already been leaders in the suffrage movements in their own respective countries and, as a result, acquired substantial procedural expertise—which they crucially needed, given the considerable obstacles the organizers encountered in bringing women together at the international level.

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To begin with, participants’ travel to The Hague was hampered by the administrative rules and procedures, which governments had adopted to protect their citizens during the war. For example, the British delegation to the congress had difficulties obtaining the newly required passports by the Home Office. “His Majesty’s Government [was] of the opinion that at the present moment there is much inconvenience in holding a large meeting of such political character so close to the seat of the war” (quoted in Wiltsher 1985, 84). It took delegates’ intense lobbying efforts and a series of concessions for the Home Office to finally issue passports to 24 of the 108 delegates who had actually applied for them, only to find out that a new Admiralty Order had been passed closing all shipping across the North Sea for an indefinite period (Wiltsher 1985, 89). This incident was cause for amusement among members of the House of Commons, as Ann Wiltsher writes: “When the Home Secretary reported that he had issued passports to women who represented organisations and well-known sections of thought, ‘smiles changed to laughter when he added that “As soon as the permits were given, communications between this country and Holland were suspended”’” (Wiltsher 1985, 89). The reactions of the members of Parliament highlight a point by McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald (1996b, 17) that “the political establishment is apt to be either unaware or amused and unconcerned by initial framing efforts.” Women’s peace efforts were not taken seriously. Although administrative rules and procedures had prevented members of the British delegation from traveling to the congress, they proved life threatening in the case of the Americans. The delegation had failed to obtain official sanctioning for their ship, the Noordam, and as a result had to travel without the American flag.2 This was particularly dangerous because the Germans had stepped up their submarine warfare. The Noordam was at risk of being mistaken for an enemy vessel and being torpedoed. To every one’s relief, no such scenario occurred, and the delegates took advantage of the long journey as well as the almost empty ship to hold meetings and prepare proposals for the congress (Addams, Balch, and Hamilton 1915, 3). However, just before reaching Dover in the English Channel, the Noordam was stopped. British officers inspected passports and cargo, and two German stowaways were taken off while a machine gun on a boat alongside was leveled directly toward the Noordam and its passengers. None of the travelers was allowed to go on land or to indicate their whereabouts by telegram, nor were they told the reason for the interruption in their

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trip. Only later, when a fisherman brought a newspaper on board, did the women find out that the closing of the North Sea had been the cause for the interception (Wiltsher 1985, 88). Despite the imminent danger, congress delegates received little support from American officials. After several days of anxious waiting, a telegram arrived from the American ambassador in London, Walter Hines Page, only to inform the women on the Noordam that there was nothing that he could do because the matter was in the hands of the British Admiralty. His response was not surprising to the delegates and was consistent with the opposition they had encountered before their trip. According to Wiltsher, former president Theodore Roosevelt had called the Platform of the International Women’s Congress “silly and base” and assailed the motives of those who favored it. The meeting itself he considered as “absolutely futile; . . . wholly useless and slightly mischievous” (Wiltsher 1985, 86). However, though the opposition and indifference of public officials like Roosevelt or Page was discrediting, it was not impeding. After four days of anxious waiting, the American ship was allowed to proceed, leaving the delegates just enough time to arrive for the opening session of the congress. As one participant recorded: “The first session of Congress was scheduled for eight that evening at The Hague. We got through the formalities of passports and customs, took the train to the capital city, only half an hour away, were assigned to hotels by a friendly Dutch committee of hospitality, washed and dined more or less, and were on the spot—in time after all” (Addams, Balch, and Hamilton 1915, 6). If traveling to The Hague was so risky and triggered opposition from public officials, why did the organizers decide to hold their First International Women’s Congress in this city? The Hague was a symbol for peace. The until-then largely male-dominated peace movement had already gathered there for international meetings in 1899, 1907, and 1913 and had given birth to an International Court of Arbitration. In addition, the Palace of Peace, where the First International Women’s Congress was held, had been built with funding from Andrew Carnegie with the intention to serve as a center for continuous efforts to substitute arbitration for militarism (Costin 1982, 302). In short, the organization of an international women’s congress and the choice of The Hague had been a conscious decision by the organizers. Yet it did not resonate in the same fashion with observers. The international media responded to the First International Women’s Congress with ridicule. The Sunday Pictorial called the con-

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gress a “Folly of Petticoats,” the Daily Express referred to it as a “PowWow of the Fraus,” and the Northern Mail opened with a story titled “This Amiable Chatter of a Bevy of Well-Meaning Ladies” (quoted in Wiltsher 1985, 88). Women’s peace-making efforts were not taken seriously and were portrayed in a stereotypical and gendered fashion as irrational and ill suited for international politics. Evelyn Sharp, a British journalist, summarized the British press coverage of the congress in the following manner: “There seems to be a certain set of adjectives specifically reserved in newspaper offices for women who set out to try and make the world better. ‘Misguided’ is fairly common, so is ‘chattering’; ‘hysterical,’ of course, has become a byword in the mouth of any one who wants to fling a sneer at the women” (quoted in Wiltsher 1985, 99). Although ridicule and mockery were a major component of the media coverage of the congress, it was not the only reaction to it. At the same time as the media depicted women as fools, they also portrayed them as being dangerous. For example, in the same article in which the Evening Standard called women a “nuisance and a bore,” it also referred to them as “peace fanatics.” Similarly, the Glasgow Herald wrote: “The irresponsible chattering is nevertheless offensive at home, and those who are bearing the burden of the struggle have some right to be protected from annoyance.” Finally, the Sunday Times closed a story on the congress with the following statement: “Doubtless amateurish peace projects need not be taken too seriously, but the impression on some of the observers of the proceedings was that the governments of the world—both neutral and belligerent would do well to put a quiet check on such schemes, lest they add to the embarrassment of the situation already difficult and delicate” (quoted in Wiltsher 1985, 99–100). The international media coverage strengthens the point by Kielbowicz and Scherer (1986, 75–76) that coverage of different actors and their issues is affected by the media’s preference for drama and visible events. In the case of the First International Women’s Congress, the media created the drama by portraying women’s actions as irrational, more damaging than contributing to conciliation, and distracting. Opposition to the congress was, however, not confined to the media and public officials. The idea for such a meeting was also contested among women, particularly in warring countries. Their reasons were varied. Some women’s groups rejected the Congress because it stood in conflict with their national consciousness. For example, French women of the Conseil National des Femmes Françaises (National Council of French Women) and the Union pour le Suffrage des Femmes (French Alliance

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for Women’s Suffrage) chose not to attend, stating their reasons for doing so in the Manifesto of the Women of the Neutral and Allied Countries: “French women will bear the conflict as long as it will be necessary. At this time united with those who battle and die, they do not know how to talk peace” (quoted in Costin 1982, 310). Although several Canadian women were present in unofficial capacity, the Canadian National Committee for Patriotic Service sent a letter stressing the horrifying wrong done to Belgium by Germany and expressing their concern that representation at the congress would constitute an acquiescence in that wrong (Costin 1982, 310). Finally, the Bund Deutscher Frauenvereine (Union of German Women’s Organizations) refused to participate in The Hague meeting because, as Gertrud Baumer explained, “It is obvious to us that during a national struggle for existence, we women belong to our people and only to them” (quoted in Rupp 1994, 1589). In sum, attendance at the congress was seen by many as a betrayal of their country and as treason. Yet national consciousness was not the only reason that some women chose not to take part in the congress. Contrary to the view of the congress’s organizers, who perceived the war as a detriment, some women’s groups viewed it as an opportunity to advance women’s economic status. Their position was influenced by the rising women’s employment rate as well as the movement of women into less traditional employment sectors, such as munitions factories, electronics, and the steel industry (Stienstra 1994, 47). Others viewed the war as a chance for the ongoing struggle for women’s suffrage. Evidence for this can be found in an open letter written by Marguerite de Witt Schlumberger to the Union Française pour le Suffrage de Femmes and published in the newsletter Jus Suffragi calling on French women to show “that [they] are worthy to help to direct [their] country since [they] are capable of serving it” (quoted in Rupp 1994, 1588). The link between suffrage and the war was made even more explicit by Millicent Fawcett of the British National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies (NUWSS), who wrote in the organization’s journal The Common Cause on August 14, 1914: “Women, your country needs you. As long as there was any hope for peace most of the National Union probably sought for peace, and endeavoured to support those who were trying to maintain it. But we have another duty now. . . . LET US SHOW OURSELVES WORTHY OF CITIZENSHIP, WHETHER OUR CLAIM TO IT BE RECOGNIZED OR NOT.” In other words, women adhering to this position believed that by devoting their energy to helping their countries win the war, they might

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persuade men to be more willing to grant women suffrage because women had proven themselves to be worthy citizens. Suffragists served in various ways during wartimes. For example, the NUWSS in Britain set up employment agencies in the cities to counteract the high rate of unemployment caused by the disruption of banking and overseas trading, and it provided volunteer staff for army barracks in the provinces to run canteens and repair army garments (Wiltsher 1985, 28). To conclude, the First International Women’s Congress was controversial. It challenged the beliefs and values of policymakers and the media who defended institutional discourses by invoking and reinforcing societal norms and rules. Moreover, it was met with opposition among women whose perceptions and views of World War I conflicted with those of the organizers and who responded with boycott. Nevertheless and despite all the obstacles, the congress gave rise to a consensual action frame.

The Solution: A Conference of Neutrals The delegates to the First International Women’s Congress adopted as many as twenty resolutions in seven different issue areas that delineated ways in which to bring about world peace. Among them was the proposal for a conference of neutrals to mediate among the belligerent nations without waiting for an armistice (Costin 1982, 307; Addams 1930, 6–11). The idea for such a conference was the confluence of different sources of knowledge. It had been the brainchild of Rosika Schwimmer, a suffragist, but it was further developed and given credibility by Julia Grace Wales, professor of English at the University of Wisconsin–Madison, in the International Plan for Continuous Mediation without Armistice. According to the plan, the conference was to be made up of a commission of experts, who for as long as the war continued would explore issues pertinent to the war and make propositions to the belligerent countries. If their propositions were rejected, the commission, in a spirit of constructive internationalism, would then revise its original proposals and offer new ones until a feasible basis for final peace negotiations was acknowledged (Addams, Balch, and Hamilton 1915, 168). Curiously, the plan for such a conference resonated with the Wisconsin legislature, which, following its approval, recommended it for adoption to the U.S. Congress (Costin 1982, 307), but it was met with serious opposition by participants at the First International Women’s Congress in The Hague. Particularly divisive was the proposal by

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Schwimmer to elect congressional delegates as envoys who would deliver the idea for such a conference to both belligerent and neutral governments as well as the president of the United States. Having an international congress to discuss proposals for peace was one thing, but traveling around Europe and getting involved in government affairs was another. Chrystal Macmillan of the British delegation tried to soften the resolution by introducing an amendment suggesting that the envoys simply meet with the appropriate ambassadors in The Hague. Jane Addams of the United States went further by denouncing the resolution as “melodramatic and absurd,” and Kathleen Courtney of Britain reasoned her resistance in the following way: I strongly oppose this resolution. With the exception of Madame Schwimmer everybody who spoke in favor of it and appealed to our hearts came from neutral nations. I will speak in a calm manner and I don’t appeal to your heart but to your head. . . . It is not a really possible proposal. . . I don’t want to take steps which look well on paper but which are not practicable. (quoted in Wiltsher 1985, 101–2)

In short, women like Courtney opposed the proposal for a conference of neutrals because it reflected the ideas and interests of women from only some countries—namely, neutral ones—but not those of women from others. That the proposal for a conference of neutrals nevertheless passed, and was adopted in the end, can be attributed to the organizers of The Hague congress, who had established a set of rigorous rules of procedure to minimize conflict. For example, to qualify as a delegate, one had to be in agreement with the following two goals: (1) that international disputes should be settled by pacific means; and (2) that the parliamentary franchise should be extended to women (Addams, Balch, and Hamilton 1915, 9). The link between suffrage and peace was no coincidence. The organizers considered women’s involvement in politics a prerequisite for the achievement of peace, for reasons that Aletta Jacobs, president of the Dutch suffrage society, pointed to in her opening speech at the congress: “We women judge war differently from men. Men consider in first place the economic results, the cost in money, the loss or gain to national commerce and industries, the extension of power. . . . We women consider above all the damage to the race resulting from war, and the grief, the pain and misery it entails” (quoted in Wiltsher 1985, 92). For Jacobs and her colleagues, women were by nature more peaceful, while men were aggressive and power-thirsty.

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This presumed pacifism of woman was attributed to her role as mother and nurturer. As Germaine Malaterre-Sellier, a French suffrage leader, wrote in the March 20, 1926, edition of Jus Suffragi: “Women who have given life must always have a horror of war,” and an appeal to women in Germany to oppose the war asked in Die Waffen Nieder (n.d.): “Have you forgotten the hour of his birth? No man can sympathize with that, for he has never with a hundred thousand pains born a child.” These justifications support the findings of Rupp’s study (1994, 1583) of women’s international organizing between 1899 and 1945, according to which women during that time rationalized their peace efforts by referring to themselves as “Mothers of the Human Race,” “carriers of life,” “Mothers of the Nations,” or “guardians of the new generations.” In the case of the First International Women’s Congress, motherhood was a consensual issue frame. Reflecting common experiences, it allowed women to come together despite their differences.

Politicization: Mobilizing Support among Governments The resolution of the conference of neutrals was adopted. Addams and Jacobs were elected as envoys to visit with governments at war. Schwimmer and Macmillan were on the delegation visiting with neutral countries. These women were ideal candidates to broker with public officials on behalf of women as a result of the reputation and prestige they had acquired during their work for women’s suffrage. This did not mean, however, that gaining access was not a problem, as Schwimmer explained in an impromptu speech before an American audience when later describing the crusade around Europe: You have to go in and be searched. You have to undress. We women have to take down our hair and shake it out to show there is nothing in it. . . . My shoes were put down and I was asked what are these numbers. . . . This powder paper here. . . . In Europe one has to have powder to clean one’s face, because one does not get towels or soap. This paper has passed the censor twice. It has been taken away from me because the makers’ name is on it, and I had to leave it at the station. (quoted in Wiltsher 1985, 106)

The envoys were as much constrained by administrative rules and procedures as the women who had attended the congress in The Hague. But rather than deterring the envoys from their mission, the rules and procedures seemed to make them even more determined.

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Over time, the four women became experienced in how to circumvent such obstacles. For example, to neutralize the effects of censorship, the envoys went in threes and fours to the interviews with heads of state. According to Schwimmer, “[They] had to do that, because [they] had no other means of keeping records of the things.” She further noted: “When we came home, each of us told how she heard of the things, what she remembered, and each of us wrote it down. Then we compared our notes. We found there were differences. We understood different things, and so we got the thing quite clear, then we repeated it to each other verbally so often that we were like parrots, and could not make a mistake” (quoted in Wiltsher 1985, 110). Another strategy was dress rehearsals before interviews. According to Schwimmer’s description, one of the women would act as a male politician, while the others would take turns in speaking, practicing their particular points. When one of the envoys dried up, another would chip in with a further argument. In this way, they could keep the interview going for as long as possible in order to drive their arguments home. Only on one occasion did their strategy go awry—their meeting with the king of Norway. They had bought white gloves for the occasion and tortuously rehearsed court etiquette, only to find the king “so fine and simple, we did not get a chance to use any of the words we had practiced. Finally towards the close of our conversation. . . . An American member [this must have been Emily Balch] . . . said ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ we nearly laughed. Afterwards she said: “I felt it was too bad we had done all this work for nothing. I wanted to see how it sounded!’” (quoted in Wiltsher 1985, 111). Despite situations such as this one, the expertise that the women had acquired through their various visits nevertheless had an impact. Writing about the Congress and the encounters with politicians and citizens in different European countries, Jane Addams provides the following assessment: “We do not wish to overestimate a very slight achievement nor to take too seriously the kindness with which the delegation was received, but we do wish to record ourselves as being quite sure that at least a few citizens in these various countries, some of them officials in high places, were grateful for the effort we made” (Addams 1915, 98). An account of the envoys’ visit with the Austrian prime minister, Baron Karl von Sturgkh, lends strength to this point. Feeling somewhat intimidated by the big, grim-faced man, Addams blurted out: “It perhaps seems to you very foolish that women should go about in this way; but after all, the world itself is so strange in this war situation that our mission may be no more strange nor foolish than the rest.” “Foolish?” roared Strugkh in reply, banging the table with his fist.

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“These are the first sensible words that have been uttered in this room in ten months” (quoted in Wiltsher 1985, 114). Contrary to the ridicule that women had earned in the beginning of their mission, they now were starting to be taken more seriously in official circles. Mobilizing support among heads of states for international peace, however, was not without cost. As Costin (1982, 313) notes: “Brave women paid a high price for openly opposing the war and engaging in international political activity. They were pursuing a highly unpopular cause by means unsanctioned by their governments.” This was certainly true for Addams, who lost in national prestige and was accused of being a dangerous traitor. Particularly damaging for her reputation was a speech she gave at a public meeting in her honor at Carnegie Hall in New York on July 9, 1915. Describing the war in Europe as one of old men in which the young were dying, and telling how one soldier confessed to her that he never shot to kill and of five others who committed suicide rather than return to the front, she ended by adding the following: “We heard in all countries similar statements in regard to the necessity for the use of stimulant before men would engage in bayonet charges—that they have a regular formula in Germany, that they give them rum in England and absinthe in France, . . . that they have to give them ‘dope’ before the bayonet charge is possible” (quoted in Wiltsher 1985, 120–1). Addams’s description challenged the prevailing image of the courageous, strong, and fearless soldier who fought for his country and protected women and children. It therefore did not take long for the criticism to be unleashed. Already, the following day, the New York Topics (1915) ran an article titled “Troops Drinking-Crazed,” which called Jane Addams “a silly, vain, impertinent old maid, . . . who may have done good charity work at Hull House Chicago, but is now meddling with matters far beyond her capacity.” Her comment also provided new fodder for the opponents of women’s suffrage. The Rochester Herald wrote on July 15, 1915: “Miss Addams evinces an utter and amazing ignorance of the elements of human nature. . . . If the woman conceded by her sisters to be the ablest of her sex, is so readily duped, so little informed, men wonder what degree of intelligence is to be secured by adding the female vote to the electorate.” Thus critics responded to Addams’s questioning of men’s rationality and ability in fighting wars with skepticism about women’s capability, worthiness, and propriety for participating in politics. Though certainly significant, the damage to Addams’s reputation was not permanent. Her prestige was restored and vindicated in 1931 when she was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize (Costin 1982, 313).

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To recapitulate, the experiential and procedural knowledge of the organizational entrepreneurs played a pivotal role in the mobilization of support for international mechanisms to bring about peace and in overcoming significant obstacles hindering women from engaging in international politics. If much of women’s organizing in connection with the First International Women’s Congress in The Hague had taken place outside established international institutions, this changed in the interwar period. Women sought access to international governmental organizations.

Women’s Organizations’ Quest for Equal Nationality Rights within the League of Nations and the Pan-American Conferences

During the 1920s and 1930s, many international women’s organizations turned their attention to gaining equal nationality rights for women. The issue had been placed on their agenda by World War I. In most countries, women who had married foreign soldiers had to take on the nationality of their husbands and were considered enemy aliens. In this section, I compare the struggles of women’s organizations for equal nationality rights within the League of Nations and within the Pan-American conferences (the predecessor of the Organization of American States). Within these institutions, I focus on two groups of organizations whose positions are representative of the broader debate taking place about women’s rights during that time: the reformers and the equalitarians. The reformers aimed only for equal treatment between men and women with respect to nationality, but protective legislation for women in all other areas. In contrast, the equalitarians struggled for equality across the board. I argue that the struggle of the equalitarians for equal rights for women in all areas in the Pan-American conferences enhanced the bargaining power of the reformers lobbying in the League of Nations for equal nationality rights.

The Problem: Equal Nationality Rights and the League of Nations In the summer of 1930, the League of Nations organized the International Conference for the Codification of International Law in The Hague with the intention to clarify the body of international law and to identify with greater precision and unity the areas where such law

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had developed. The conference provided an excellent focusing event for women’s organizations to draw attention to equal nationality rights for women. In light of the increasing movement of people from one country to another and conflicting national laws, the issue of nationality had been placed on the conference agenda (Stienstra 1994, 68).3 However, international women’s organizations had difficulty gaining access to the agenda-setting process. Women’s expertise was incommensurate with those of legal experts, and their proposed solutions were subject to conflict among governments. The organization primarily representing women’s voices on the issue of equal nationality within the League of Nations was the International Alliance of Women (IAW), a natural leader and entrepreneur. Having once been the major suffrage organization—established by Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, and Carrie Chapman Catt of the United States in 1904—the IAW was known and respected among women internationally. Its underlying philosophy was reformist. It fought for equal political rights but also for protectionist legislation in other areas, especially employment. Together with the International Council of Women (ICW), the IAW had participated in the Peace Conference in Paris in 1919, lobbying for the need for a maximum of fortyfour hours of work in a six-day week, minimum wage levels, a prohibition on child labor under the age of fifteen years, and protection of maternity and confinement with wages (Bredbenner 1990, 435). The IAW’s work for equal nationality rights was prompted by women’s experiences. In light of the exile and the sequestration of property faced by women married to foreigners during the war, IAW members had already adopted a resolution at their annual congress in 1923 stating that “a married woman shall have the same right to retain or change her nationality as a man” and recommending “that a conference of representatives of the governments of all states be held with a view of the adoption of an international convention” (quoted in Waltz 1937, 104).4 In light of these activities, it seemed only natural for the IAW to submit a proposal in form of a draft convention on equal rights for married women to the International Conference for the Codification of International Law. It consisted of three major articles: A. Effect of Marriage. The nationality of a woman shall not be changed by reason only of marriage, or a change during marriage in the nationality of her husband.

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The draft convention was the first international proposal demanding that married women be given the right to determine and control their own nationality. Compared with proposals by equalitarians, discussed later in this chapter, the draft convention of the IAW was rather moderate. However, by League of Nations standards, the idea of equal nationality rights was too radical and hampered women’s access to the codification conference. Despite intensive lobbying efforts, the IAW had been excluded from the Harvard Research Group, which had been established with the mandate to draft conventions on the various subjects the conference had set out to address (Bredbenner 1990, 396). The exclusion from this all-male body was not incidental. Women’s expertise did not bode well with that of the legal experts who made up the group and who relied almost exclusively on legal precedents, scientific data, and a wide knowledge of international practices (Waltz 1937, 106). Evidence for opposition to women’s participation in the conference can be found in the response of the presiding officer, Theodorus Heemskerk. Following a plea by representatives of the IAW and the ICW to be given the opportunity to speak that justified their demand with their long commitment to bringing about changes in nationality laws and the point that “even a criminal is not refused a legal defender” (quoted in Bredbenner 1990, 415), Heemskerk reacted in the following manner: He accused the representatives of harassing the delegates and barred them from the grounds of the Peace Palace where the conference was held. Because this did not seem to intimidate women, who rallied outside the gate, Heemskerk told the press that the women “came not merely as strangers, but with the hostile intention of frustrating the work of the conference” (quoted in Bredbenner 1990, 415). In short, similar to the reactions to the First International Women’s Congress, women’s actions were framed and interpreted by officials as counterproductive and offensive. That women did gain access to the codification conference in the end was due to the sympathy of several influential individuals. The

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chairman of the nationality committee, M. Politis of Greece, allowed a handful of women milling around the Peace Palace to speak during the fifteenth meeting of the committee. However, his support was limited. Politis reminded women that the invitation was “merely an act of courtesy on [the delegates’] part. . . . The decisions which [they] shall make will not depend upon the hearings of the ladies” (quoted in Bredbenner 1990, 416). In other words, women’s presence was tolerated, but their opinions would not have any impact. This was indeed the case. Discussion of the IAW’s draft convention on equal nationality rights for married women was postponed for reasons stated by the rapporteur of the Committee on Nationality: I am of the opinion, therefore, that the introduction of the general principles laid down in the above-mentioned draft convention [that of the IAW] concerning the nationality of married women would now be premature, and can only be contemplated at a later stage in the work of codification. In the work of progressive codification, the greatest caution is required, in order not to compromise the possibilities of a general international regulation to which internal laws would be subordinated. For this reason, an attempt must be made to prevent or to remove the most acute and harmful conflicts, while taking into account political obstacles which might make even the most modest of codification impossible. In view of the impossibility—which I suppose to be only temporary—of settling all conflicts regarding the nationality of married women, I am of the opinion that, in present circumstances, only three problems can form the subject of international regulation. (quoted in Bredbenner 1990, 397)

Because the conference organizers perceived the draft convention that had been submitted to the conference by the IAW with the intention to contribute to the clarification of international law as “premature” and as potentially “paralyzing” the entire conference, they proposed the following four articles to be included in chapter 3 of the Nationality Convention instead: Article 8: If the national law of the wife causes her to lose her nationality on marriage with a foreigner, this consequence shall be conditional on her acquiring the nationality of her husband. Article 9: If the national law of the wife causes her to lose her nationality upon a change in the nationality of the husband occurring during marriage, this consequence shall be conditioned on her acquiring her husband’s new nationality.

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Chapter 2 Article 10: Naturalization of the husband during marriage shall not involve a change in the nationality of the wife except with her consent. Article 11: The wife who, under the law of her country, lost her nationality on marriage shall not recover it after the dissolution of the marriage except on her own application and in accordance with the law of that country. If she does recover, she shall lose the nationality which she acquired by reason of the marriage. (quoted in Waltz 1937, 109)

The proposed articles for the Hague Nationality Convention affirmed the status quo. Women’s nationality rights were tightly linked to marriage, and more specifically to the nationality of that of their husband. Women continued to be treated as dependent beings who could not be entrusted with decisions regarding their nationality. Although the four proposed articles were much more moderate than those proposed by the IAW, they nevertheless were cause for conflict and polarization among government delegations. On one end of the spectrum were representatives of European countries, who stood for absolute dependence of married women’s nationality upon that of the husband. Among the most ardent opponents were Dutch delegates, whose position was ironically stated by a woman, Schonfeld Polano: “The Netherlands delegation wishes to state that, in principle, it cannot adhere to a system under which the husband and wife may possess a separate nationality. Apart from consideration of principles and difficulties which might arise in exceptional circumstances, we do not consider the system acceptable, since it occasions difficulty in applying the rules of private law” (quoted in Waltz 1937, 108). At the other end of the spectrum were representatives of North and South American governments, who were of the opinion that marriage should have no effect on women’s nationality (Waltz 1937, 108). Their positions were, as I will show below, reflective of developments in the context of the Pan-American conferences. Disagreement on the subject was also reflected in the final voting. Neither of the proposed articles was adopted with unanimous approval. Seven states showed their displeasure by abstaining from voting, and seven of the thirty-seven states signing the convention did so only with reservations. The United States was the only country that expressed its sympathy with women voting against the convention entirely. The U.S. position was the confluence of several sources. To begin with, the articles regarding the nationality of married women of the Nationality Convention were at odds with the country’s domestic legislation. As delegates noted: “We do not in our laws make differences— or make few or relatively unimportant differences—as to rights of men

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and women in matters of nationality. While the convention adopted as to nationality did something which tended to ameliorate the condition of women, it did not in our view on the whole offer advantages to make it satisfactory” (quoted in Waltz 1937, 109). The legislation that the U.S. delegation was referring to was the Cable Act, which had been enacted in 1922 and which regulated the nationality of married women. It was quite progressive, stating that “the right of a person to become a naturalized citizen shall not be denied to a person on account of sex or because she is a married woman” (quoted in Waltz 1937, 103).5 Further, the pressure of women can be argued to have had some influence on the decision to vote against the Nationality Convention. Before the vote, women besieged the White House, pressuring President Herbert Hoover for guarantees that the U.S. delegation would reject the draft document (Bredbenner 1990, 414). They apparently had some effect, because Assistant Secretary of State Joseph Cotton explained the U.S. decision to vote against The Hague Nationality Convention in the following manner: “Because of considerable criticism going on here by a certain group of women,” he stated, “I should prefer that there be no signing of conventions at all at The Hague” (quoted in Bredbenner 1990, 414). When the U.S. delegation issued its vote in The Hague, “all eyes turned to the little knot of women in the high, far-away balcony. Spontaneous applause came from these women. A sharp rap from the presiding officer’s gavel. . . . From then on the festive air gave way to one of almost solemn melancholy” (Bredbenner 1990, 418). Though domestic legislation and pressure from the “feminist lobby,” as Cotton dubbed it, had probably influenced the U.S. decision to reject the Nationality Convention, there was a more fundamental reason. The Hague Convention on Nationality was also unacceptable for the U.S. delegation because of its silence on the right to expatriation. During the meetings on nationality, the chairman of the delegation, David Hunter Miller, and delegation member Richard Flournoy often commented on their country’s need to deter dual nationality while safeguarding the right of expatriation. As Flournoy explained: “The question of the status and right of naturalized citizens is necessarily of utmost importance to our country and to all the newer countries of the world since our population is composed so largely of naturalised citizens of descendants. . . . If nationality and the allegiance of such persons is limited or divided, we can have no true body of citizenship” (quoted in Bredbenner 1990, 406). The United States’ insistence on the right of expatriation had a material basis. Contrary to many European countries represented at the

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conference, the United States was largely a country of immigrants. It was therefore interested in international rules that would ensure that an alien, once naturalized in another country, could not retain legal citizenship. However, the delegation’s insistence on the right to expatriation also had a normative basis, as evinced in several statements by delegation officials. In particular, Flournoy protested against the employment of expatriation permits by some countries because they interfered with an individual’s right to expatriate himself (Bredbenner 1990, 406). Similarly, Bredbenner quotes Miller as declaring that the United States “cannot and will not sign any convention . . . which would be construed to qualify or limit . . . the right of expatriation” and stating that “this principle is not a small matter. . . . It is not a question of language, or of a formuale or of phrases. It is a principle of the rights of man and of the liberty of the human race. We stand on it and we shall continue to do so” (Bredbenner 1990, 407). The exclusion of the rights of expatriation from the Nationality Convention stood in conflict with what U.S. policymakers considered the most fundamental values of their country—individual rights and freedom. The United States’ decision to vote against the Nationality Convention was heralded by American women’s organizations, which praised their country for standing up against “the old world subjection of women” and scorned the actions of the Europeans: “These men have lost their slaves. They have lost their serfs. They have lost their dominion over the working class. They still think they can dominate women. It terrifies them to think that the future women mean to govern themselves” (quoted in Bredbenner 1990, 421). Women’s praise for the U.S. government was also reflective of domestic developments. Shortly after the International Conference for the Codification of International Law, the U.S. government passed the Nationality Act on July 3, 1930, which repealed discrimination against women in section 3 of the Cable Act, stipulating the presumptive loss of citizenship for maintaining a foreign husband and domicile (Bredbenner 1990, 406). The Nationality Act was a small consolation for women’s less successful struggle at the international level. Despite the support of the United States and other North American, Central American, and South American countries, women’s organizations had failed to mobilize a consensus for equal nationality rights for married women at The Hague codification conference. Their proposed framework was too radical for representatives of European countries.

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However, women’s efforts were not an entirely lost cause. The codification conference created opportunities within the League of Nations. In 1930, the Cuban delegate, Orestes Ferrar, submitted a resolution during the eleventh session of the League of Nations Assembly in Geneva calling on governments to reconsider the principle of equality of sexes with respect to nationality (Waltz 1937, 112). Furthermore, international women’s groups and concerned countries brought the issue of the nationality of married women to the attention of the League of Nations legal committee. Finally, Guatemala, Peru, and Venezuela called on the League to place the issue of equal nationality rights once more on its agenda and recommended the establishment of a committee comprising women’s organizations, which would submit proposals to the secretary general (League of Nations 1931, 1; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 70). The leadership of Latin American countries regarding the nationality rights of women was surprising. It was reflective of the lobbying activities of equalitarian women’s groups at the Pan-American conferences.

The Solution: Equal Nationality Rights for Women and the Pan-American Conferences Although reformist women’s organizations had faced resistance toward equal nationality rights in the League of Nations, equalitarians had been able to place the issue squarely on the agendas of the PanAmerican conferences, the predecessors of the Organization of American States. At the Seventh Pan-American Conference in Montevideo in 1933, government delegates adopted the Convention on the Nationality of Women, which was quite radical, stating that “there shall be no distinction based on sex as regards nationality, in legislation or in practice” (quoted in Waltz 1937, 114). The woman’s organization most actively involved in lobbying and pressuring state representatives at the Pan-American conferences was the National Women’s Party (NWP) and its leaders, Alice Paul and Doris Stevens. The NWP had belonged to the radical wing of the suffrage movement in the United States. However, since the achievement of women’s right to vote, the organization had dedicated itself to fight for an Equal Rights Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, which was to eliminate all discrimination against women. Yet, after several years of unsuccessful struggle, NWP members decided at their annual

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conference in 1923 to expand their actions to the international level. Pfeffer (1985, 461) quotes Alva Belmont, the financial backer of the NWP, as announcing “that the time had arrived for women to become actively engaged in international work; it was not sufficient for the Party to strive for equal rights for American women.” Following the decision, the NWP searched for allies among women’s organizations in other countries. As one of the organizers for the First International Women’s Congress in 1915, Paul relied on her suffrage network and succeeded in enlisting two prominent British feminists, Emmeline Pethick-Lawrence and Lady Margaret Rhondda, to serve on the newly established International Advisory Committee (Pfeffer 1985, 461). The decision of the NWP to internationalize their struggle for equal rights was not uncontested. This became apparent in 1926, when Doris Stevens and Jane Norman Smith of the NWP traveled to the Tenth Congress of the IAW to apply for membership and to pressure individual IAW members to go on record for equal rights for women. The organization’s application was successfully blocked by the only American member—the National League of Women Voters (NLWV), a reformist organization whose prime mover, Carrie Chapman Catt, had been an opponent of the Equal Rights Amendment within the United States. The official reasoning for the rejection of the NWP was the differences of the NLWV and the NWP in “policy and political action . . . because they destroy the possibility of a profitable conference or discussion” (Pfeffer 1985, 462). However, according to Rhondda, the real reasons for the NWP having been turned down were that it was “feminist”: One may divide the women in the woman movement into two groups, the feminists and the reformers who are not in the least feminists, who do not care tuppence about equality for itself. . . . But your organization is one of the very few in the world today which is purely feminist, . . . and the very sight of it and of you makes the reformer shiver. She has the feeling that instead of being allowed to potter away at welfare work, at protective work for women, she will be forced to move swiftly towards complete equality of opportunity between men and women for which in her heart she is not yet ready. (quoted in Pfeffer 1985, 462)

The divisions between the NLWV and IAW, on the one hand, and the NWP, on the other, resulted from disagreements over appropriate solutions to improve women’s status. Whereas the NLWV and IAW felt that there was a need for protective legislation, particularly in employment, the NWP considered universal equality to be the answer. The op-

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position of the NLWV and the IAW did not prevent the NWP from pursuing its aims at the international level. The first opportunity for the NWP to pursue equal rights for women internationally arose with the Sixth Pan-American Conference in Havana in 1928, to which the NWP sent several of its members. Among the delegates were Paul, Emma Wold, Burnita Shelton Matthews, Margaret Lambie, and Stevens. Their task was not easy. As in the League of Nations, women’s organizations had difficulties gaining access to the proceedings. Even though more than a thousand women were present at the conference, none of the government delegations included women. Nevertheless, women found other means to make their presence known. Together with women from Latin American countries, they marched the streets of Havana and released two hundred doves carrying a quotation from the Cuban, Jose Marti, on justice and equal rights for women (Stienstra 1994, 71). Their strategies seemed to be at least partly successful, because several women were invited to an open hearing with conference delegates, which according to Stevens “marked their first opportunity to defend their interests at the plenary session of a diplomatic conference” (Bredbenner 1990, 392). Although the conference in Havana in 1928 did not result in the adoption of an equal rights treaty, it nevertheless constituted an important turning point. Delegates called for the establishment of the InterAmerican Commission on Women (Comisión de Interamericano Mujeres, or CIM), with the mandate to collect data on the civil and political status of women in the Americas for their next gathering. The commission was an exclusively female body, dominated by radicals and chaired by Stevens of the NWP. It became an important vehicle for the advancement of women’s equal nationality rights. Immediately after its establishment and in light of the upcoming codification conference, the commission selected the question of nationality as its first subject for research, appointing a special committee to draft a convention granting women equal nationality rights (Waltz 1937, 114). The composition of the special committee made apparent that women had become more strategic in their organizing efforts and mobilized the support of influential allies. In addition to the eleven female members, the majority of whom were members of the NWP, the commission had invited three male legal experts from the Harvard Research Group, which as mentioned above had been established in connection with the codification conference in The Hague to draft conventions on various subjects. The members included James Brown

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Scott, the president of the American Institute of Law, who served as chairman; Henry Hazard, who was an assistant solicitor in the State Department; and William Dennis, former legal adviser to the State Department and later professor of international law at American University (Bredbenner 1990, 397). The inclusion of legal experts on the CIM special committee was critical because it enhanced the legitimacy of the draft convention. Particularly important was the leadership exhibited by Scott as chairman. As Stevens remarked later: “We never made a more valuable friend” (Bredbenner 1990, 398). Scott had valuable connections in important international legal organizations. He ensured that Stevens and Paul gained membership in the American Society of International Law and invited Stevens to join his staff in their preparations for the 1929 meeting of the International Institute of Law (Bredbenner 1990, 398). Access to these organizations and meetings provided women’s activists with forums in which to lobby for women’s equal nationality rights. More important, it invigorated and encouraged women activists to pursue their cause in other institutions. As Stevens stated: “When we go to The Hague, even if many of the jurists do not support our proposal, they will never again be able to regard us as outsiders. . . . They will at least know that we were . . . colleagues of our men of the continent” (quoted in Bredbenner 1990, 399). The support of legal experts helped the CIM special committee gain acceptance for a draft convention on women’s equal nationality rights that differed quite radically from those in existence. By signing the convention, contracting parties agreed that “there shall be no distinction on sex in their laws and practice relating to nationality” (Bredbenner 1990, 398). In contrast to the draft conventions of the IAW and The Hague Nationality Convention, which had linked women’s nationality rights to the institution of marriage, that of the special committee treated nationality rights independent of giving women the freedom to decide over their citizenship. Despite its radical nature, the convention resonated widely. Following its approval by CIM at its first full meeting in Havana in February 1929, the Seventh Pan-American Conference in Montevideo in December 1933 approved the draft convention with unanimous consent (Waltz 1937, 114). Although the support of legal experts provides part of the explanation for the acceptance of the convention on women’s equal nationality rights, also critical, according to Waltz, was its ambiguous wording. In particular, the principle of equality could be enacted by governments

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without necessarily granting women independence. On the basis of the convention, it was conceivable that a state would provide for equality by requiring that the husband and wife possess the same nationality, that of the husband or wife, to be agreed upon at marriage, without realizing independence from marriage because one of the two had to forfeit their original nationality. In addition, under the convention it was possible for a state to pursue legal equality without bringing about actual equality. As Waltz points out, national law could provide that the domicile of the wife follows that of her husband and could rule that nationality follows the domicile. Thus, independent nationality would be denied to the wife, but legal equality would be preserved, because no differentiation based on sex would be enforced (Waltz 1937, 117). Even though the support for the Convention on the Nationality of Women was wide ranging, it was not unanimous. One of its primary opponents at the Seventh Pan-American Conference was the U.S. delegation. This was surprising in light of the fact that the U.S. government had been such an ardent supporter of women’s rights at The Hague codification conference. The change in position was reflective of the perspectives of a new administration. Since The Hague conference, President Franklin Roosevelt had assumed office and, contrary to his predecessor, he was much more critical of equal nationality rights. The instruction that U.S. delegates were given by the State Department described the nationality convention as “highly controversial” and as making “revolutionary departures” from international practices and the U.S. law. Moreover, Roosevelt’s hands were tied by a decision of the U.S. Congress. Both the House of Representatives and the Senate had just agreed to suspend consideration of nationality legislation (Bredbenner 1990, 468). Finally, the nationality convention also seemed in conflict with the administration’s beliefs and perceptions about women. According to Stevens, Secretary of State Charles Evans Hughes was annoyingly patronizing. While “courteous and gracious,” the secretary “treated us more or less like little children.” She remembered especially one incident in which Hughes asked women “Could you bear a story or are you too serious-minded?” Without waiting for a decision, he continued: “I said to my youngest daughter, whom I call a ‘little girl’ although she is twenty and goes to Barnard, ‘Elizabeth, if you live to be old enough, some day you will tell your children ‘I remember the time when men voted’” (quoted in Bredbenner 1990, 468). Contrary to the performance of the U.S. delegation at The Hague conference, where it had earned much praise for its position, its

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intention to veto the Convention on the Nationality of Women at the Seventh Pan-American Conference prompted public outrage and pressure. As soon as it became public knowledge that the U.S. delegation was planning to reject the convention, women appeared at the White House to make their opinions known (Bredbenner 1990, 468). Their voices were amplified by the media. Newspapers reported that “feminine pressure” to sign the nationality convention had reached “unexpected proportions” and questioned the government’s apparent repudiation of its Hague declaration (quoted in Bredbenner 1990, 468). The pressure appeared to have been effective. On December 20, the president sent a telegram to the secretary of state, Cordell Hull, instructing him to sign the convention and stating that “the representative women of all parties and factions here are greatly aroused.” While he admitted that the proposed general language of the convention was far from desirable, he felt that its “broad purpose is good and reservation allows us to handle details later” (Bredbenner 1990, 468). However, the U.S. approval of the nationality convention had its price. At the Eighth Pan-American Conference in Lima in 1938, the U.S. delegation introduced a plan suggesting that CIM would be placed on an official permanent status “involving the filling of vacancies and appointing new personnel from member nations” (quoted in Pfeffer 1985, 466). According to the delegation, “American representation on that body has not served to reflect the views of this Government and major groups of women with respect to the status of women in industry and in various social relations” (quoted in Bredbenner 1990, 468). CIM lacked credibility. Though the overrepresentation of NWP members had been instrumental in winning equal nationality rights for women, it had become an obstacle in the aftermath. According to Pfeffer, the proposal of the U.S. delegation reflected the ideas of reformers who enjoyed access to the administration due to the support from the president’s wife, Eleanor Roosevelt, Secretary of Labor Frances Perkins, and Mary Winslow of the Women’s Bureau. In a memorandum to Mrs. Roosevelt, Winslow stated that it was the desire to “get rid of the Inter-American Commission of Women, politely, but definitely.” In her opinion, Stevens, who had served as the commission’s chair, was not an officially appointed representative and needed to be replaced with a woman “who really represented women’s interests” (quoted in Pfeffer 1985, 466). Despite massive protest from the NWP, reformers succeeded in ending the NWP’s ten-year dominance in CIM. Stevens was replaced with

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Winslow. The NWP responded by withdrawing from the commission and by carrying on its struggle for women’s equality outside established institutions. It established the World Women’s Party (WWP) with headquarters in Geneva with the goal to “strive to defeat any proposed world treaties that would impose special restrictions on women” (quoted in Pfeffer 1985, 467). According to Pfeffer, the WWP was one of the few international women’s organizations that remained active throughout World War II, providing shelter for prominent feminist refugees from totalitarian governments.

Politicization: Equal Rights and the League of Nations Even though the NWP had lost its institutional power within the PanAmerican conferences, its achievements created opportunities within the League of Nations with respect to equal rights for women. The consultative women’s committee established by the League of Nations in response to a request by several Latin American countries following the codification conference in 1931 proved particularly important. Its composition signaled more openness because it included both reformers and equalitarians, including representatives of the ICW, the IAW, Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom, CIM, Equal Rights International, the World Union of Women for International Concord, the All-Asian Conference of Women, and the International Federation of University Women.6 When the committee met for the first time, the organizations’ representatives were united in their opposition to The Hague nationality convention, which distinguished between women and men on the basis of their sex. They called on League members to reconsider the convention and to develop a new agreement that would embody equality between women and men regarding nationality (League of Nations 1931, 7–14; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 71). Stienstra (1994, 72) summarizes the recommendations that accompanied the committee’s proposal: “Marriage should not affect women’s nationality any differently than men’s, martial status should not differentiate among women in the area of nationality; that choice should be given to either spouse in a marriage; and that the designation of nationality from a parent should not privilege one parent over the other.” Although consensus among committee members was possible when the focus was solely on equal nationality rights, differences and divisions began to emerge when the discussion

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was broadened to include equality rights, more generally, as was the case at a second meeting in 1932. At one end of the spectrum were equalitarians such as the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom, CIM, and the All-Asian Conference of Women, which aimed at “ensur[ing] that all future codification undertaken under the auspices of the League shall be free from inequalities based on sex” (League of Nations 1932, 3; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 72). These organizations called for a reconsideration of the Hague nationality convention, the removal of articles dealing with the nationality of married women, the submission of a new convention based on the principle of equality between women and men, and the development of means to incorporate women’s point of view in all codification projects that involved women’s status (League of Nations 1932, 3; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 72). At the other end were reformers, including the ICW, the IAW, the International Federation of Women, and the World Union of Women for International Concord, which were much more conciliatory. Rather than rejecting the Hague nationality convention, these organizations were of the opinion that the document reflected international consensus at the time and called for a reexamination of the issue of women’s nationality rights under the League’s auspices (League of Nations 1932, 3; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 72). The prevailing divisions undermined women’s position vis-à-vis the League members, who affirmed the status quo on equal nationality rights for women. In October 1933, the League Assembly simply adopted a resolution calling on member states to introduce corrective legislation regarding nationality and to submit a regular report on their activities (League of Nations 1932, 3; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 72). Even a request from fifteen American states to consider the Equal Nationality Convention adopted at Montevideo resulted in a similar moderate response. At its sixteenth meeting in September 1935, the League Assembly tabled the convention for information, reminding states that it was open to accession and recommending to those who had signed it to deposit their ratification. Disappointed over the outcome with respect to equal nationality rights, but unwilling to give up their struggle, the equalitarians enlisted the support of influential allies. Following the adoption of the Equal Rights Treaty adopted by Uruguay, Paraguay, Ecuador, and Cuba, ten Latin American countries belonging to the League of Nations called for the expansion of the nationality question to include the whole status of

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women: “The League takes cognizance of the present widespread and alarming encroachments upon the rights and liberties of women, and recognizing that the League has no more loyal supporters in its work for international peace than the women of the world, believe that the League should show its appreciation of the services of women by giving immediate attention to every circumstance imperiling their welfare” (League of Nations 1935, 1; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 73). According to some observers, the impetus for this request came from CIM and, in particular, from the NWP (Becker 1981, 176). It is therefore not surprising that the proposal pitted women’s groups once again against each other in the consultative committee. Reformer groups believed that an equal rights treaty would jeopardize the protective legislation that had been put in place for women. Among them was the American branch of the NLWV, which opposed the treaty “as ineffective and dangerous to the real interests of women” (League of Nations 1935, 1; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 74) and the National Women’s Trade Union League of America, which argued that the proposal only represented the interests of business and professional women and failed to include those of women working in industry: “The women in industry and their allies in favor of the [protective] laws are willing to let the business and professional women be judges of their own needs, and, in return, ask that industrial women be allowed to speak for themselves, without interference from women who oppose the laws though not affected by them” (League of Nations 1935, 1; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 74).7 Equalitarians, conversely, supported the adoption of an equal rights treaty on the basis that it was necessary for women’s status: “The acceptance of an International Convention establishing the world-wide recognition of complete equality of rights between the sexes is the only remedy for [the discrimination against women]. . . . The slightest breach in principle of equality means a lowering of women’s legal and economic status which renders the rights already won unstable” (League of Nations 1935, 28; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 74). These women argued against the backdrop of an ongoing international economic crisis, which not only led to increasing discrimination against women in employment and other societal areas but was also responsible for what they perceived as “a universal attempt to force women back into the home” (League of Nations 1935, 16; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 74). The call for an international treaty was combined with the hope that “each nation could then embody the principle in its

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laws according to the needs of that nation. As the country developed and men acquired greater rights, women would equally enjoy these rights” (League of Nations 1935, 28; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 74). The support equalitarians enjoyed from Latin American countries had radical flank effects, prompting the League of Nations to adopt a more radical position. Instead of rejecting the equal rights proposal wholeheartedly, League members decided to incorporate the subject into the study of the political and civil rights of women and equality for women workers that was to be carried out by the International Labor Organization (Stienstra 1994, 75). For this purpose, the League established a Women’s Expert Committee, modeled after CIM. The committee, comprising four women and three men, undertook a monumental three-year scientific and technical study on the legal status of women around the world (League of Nations 1935, 9; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 76).8 Though much of the research was to be done by private law institutes, the committee consulted and relied on women’s groups to ascertain the application of case laws, decisions of courts, administrative decisions, and refusals to give effect to laws in various countries (Whittick 1979, 132). The committee’s work came to a halt when World War II broke out. Finally, the equality framework came to be firmly anchored in the United Nations and shaped that organization’s activities regarding women until the 1970s. Symbolic in this respect was the UN Conference on International Organizations in 1945 in San Francisco, where forty-nine countries gathered. Although representatives of women’s organizations had not been officially invited, they gained access to the meetings through several delegations that had included women as delegates, assistant delegates, or advisers, some of whom were active in the women’s movements of their respective countries (Stienstra 1994, 77).9 Many of the women took advantage of their position, lobbying conference participants to consider and recognize women’s equality.10 They enjoyed the support of several influential allies. Field Marshall Smuts of South Africa, for example, successfully introduced a draft of a preambular paragraph on gender equality for the UN Charter that asked states “to reaffirm faith in fundamental human rights, . . . in the equal rights of men and women and of nations large and small.” The motives of Smuts for doing so were less clear. Though some explain his initiative as in keeping with the strong and active women’s movement in his country and white women receiving the vote there in 1930 (e.g., Walker 1983), others consider the statement

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with which Smuts justified his draft preamble to be indicative. In it he emphasized “the need for a statement of ideals and aspirations which would rally world opinion in support of the Charter” (UNICO 1945a, 277; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 78). In addition to the preamble, references to equality also appeared in other articles of the Charter, drawing on the same formula that granted “fundamental freedoms for all without distinction as to race, sex, language or religion” (Stienstra 1994, 78–79).11 The introduction of the equality framework in the UN, however, was not entirely free of conflict. Controversy arose over a resolution issued by the Brazilian delegation. It called for a “special commission on the status of women to study the conditions and prepare reports on the political, civil and economic status and opportunity of women with special reference to discrimination and limitations placed upon them on account of their sex” (UNICO 1945b, 189; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 81). Though the establishment of such a special committee was generally supported and discussed at the preparatory commission of the United Nations in London, in the fall of 1945, its scope and approach once again pitted equalitarians against reformers. Reformers, such as Virigina Gildersleeve of the U.S. delegation, favored the establishment of a subcommission under the auspices of the Commission on Human Rights (CHR). Conversely, equalitarians, such as members of the World Women’s Party, preferred an independent commission because they feared that women’s rights would otherwise be marginalized. However, with Eleanor Roosevelt being the chairperson of the CHR, reformers had a powerful ally. Pfeffer (1985, 468, n. 43) quotes Roosevelt as saying that “women should come in on an equal basis—not even as specialized groups unless they are representing some particular objectives.”12 It came, therefore, as no surprise when the UN’s Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC) at its first meeting in 1946 established a subcommission on the status of women under the CHR umbrella (United Nations 1947b, 528; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 82). This subcommission— equipped with the mandate to provide special advice to ECOSOC on problems related to the status of women—convened for the first time on April 29, 1946, for two weeks to develop a framework and program of work. Several of its members were equalitarians who did not give up hope for a full committee.13 When it was time to submit the first report to the CHR, Bodil Begtrup of Denmark, then chair of the subcommission, with the support of many commission members, circumvented the general reporting

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process. Knowing that Eleanor Roosevelt as chair of CHR would have misgivings about one of the recommendations contained in the report—to confer full commission status to the subcommission—Begtrup addressed ECOSOC directly, justifying the recommendation with women’s service during World War II and international principles: “The time had come for changes in the status of women. Women had worked during the war in resistance movements, and in other activities had taken their places with men. The time had come to put into effect the principles outlined in the preamble of the Charter” (ECOSOC 1946, 30–31; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 84). To everyone’s surprise, ECOSOC endorsed the recommendation, turning the subcommission into a full commission, the Commission on the Status of Women (CSW), which met for the first time in 1947 with representatives from fifteen countries. Various sources attribute the success to Paul of the WWP, who “mobilized a number of volunteers to persuade the members of the council to make this change” (Stienstra 1994, 84). However, obtaining full commission status had its price. The broad scope that CSW members had envisioned for their work was challenged, debated, and eventually scaled down over the course of ECOSOC meetings. The British delegation assumed leadership in this regard, arguing that “many of the responsibilities which the Commission proposed to assume have already been rightly assigned to other Commissions of the Council [and] . . . there was a danger of duplication of effort with other Commissions and with the specialized agencies, because ‘the activities of all the organs of the United Nations and of all the specialized agencies affect in greater or less degree the condition of women, inasmuch as they are members of the human society’” (United Nations 1947a, 316; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 85). British government representatives wanted to confine the work of the commission to a survey of the discrimination against women on the basis of their sex alone and to an examination of the reasons why women have inferior status. According to Stienstra (1994, 86), their position mirrored tactical and ideological differences with the members of the CSW. On the one hand, the British delegates wanted the CSW to conform to other commissions by having a clearly defined program of work with identifiable projects. In their eyes, the plans of CSW members to have regional conferences, establish a clearinghouse for information, and undertake a survey on the legal situation in different countries were insufficiently coherent. On the other hand, contrary to the goals of commission members who considered it necessary to actively improve

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the status of women in all areas and who rejected passively monitoring women’s equality with men, the British representatives advocated education, because, in their opinion, women’s lack of equality came from traditional customs and practices. Hence, the only way to remove these was by “carrying out a concrete and well-defined programme of enquiry and study by the Commission, followed up by a series of practical recommendations” (ECOSOC 1947b, 2–3; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 86). In the end, the British perspective prevailed, with the scope of the work of the CSW being curtailed to “the examination of existing legal and customary disabilities of women as regards political and social rights and economic rights (subject to consultation with the International Labour Organization) and also of educational opportunities with a view to framing proposals of action” (ECOSOC 1947a, 238; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 86). Until the 1970s, the CSW remained the focal point for women’s rights in the UN system. The CSW was housed initially in Vienna before being moved to New York in the mid-1990s, and it was supported by a secretariat, the UN Division for the Advancement of Women. However, the CSW was equipped with significantly less resources and institutional power than the CHR14—a fact that prompted, as I show below, women’s organizations in the 1990s to press for the recognition of women’s rights as human rights. Nevertheless, the CSW has been a major catalyst for initiatives, and it paved the way for what is considered the most comprehensive gender-based treaty to date, the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women of 1979.15

Conclusion

The two campaigns—peace and equal nationality rights—examined in this chapter offer important insights into the dynamics and difficulties of the first wave of the international women’s movement. The First International Women’s Congress in The Hague in 1915 is particularly symbolic in this regard, because it took place against all odds. This event—organized in opposition to World War I, and challenging the dominant frame of women as apolitical—was highly controversial. Women received little support from public officials or the media and were themselves divided due to their national consciousness. Several scholars emphasize the importance of preestablished networks for collective action (e.g., McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald 1996b).

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These also were pivotal for turn-of-the-century women. The entrepreneurs organizing the First International Women’s Congress relied on national suffrage movements and the expertise they had acquired in mobilizing women at the international level despite structural obstacles and ideological differences. However, different types of expertise were equally critical. Though the organizers appealed to women’s common experiences as mothers and nurturers to forge a consensus and solidarity among congress participants, they garnered the support of politicians for their peace proposals, relying on their own reputation as well as dialogue and lobbying. In contrast to the First International Women’s Congress, the women’s campaign for equal nationality rights already took place inside established institutions, with formal organizations such as the IAW and WWP emerging as entrepreneurs. The campaign draws attention to the merits of a heterogeneous constituency and the power of radical flank effects. The lobbying of equalitarians in the context of the PanAmerican conferences enhanced the bargaining power of reformers in the League of Nations. In particular, the support of Latin American countries and legal experts prompted reformers and governments in the League to adopt more radical proposals than they would otherwise have, agreeing to consider women’s equality with respect to political and civil rights. The campaign for equal rights for women also highlights the dynamic nature of government support and that political opportunities are not limited to the international level. Following changes in the presidential administration, the U.S. government moved from being an outspoken supporter of equal nationality rights at the International Conference for the Codification of International Law of the League of Nations in The Hague to being an opponent in the Pan-American conferences in the late 1930s. Though realism would predict a waning of the issue due to the lack of support from a powerful state, this chapter has shown that this did not occur in the case of equal nationality rights. Instead, by then, the campaign had gained enough momentum and women’s organizations had already mobilized sufficient support and resources to keep the issue on the international agenda. Following World War II, the once-contested framework of equality developed into a master frame within the UN, influencing the organization’s work until the 1970s, when it was replaced by the framework known as “women in development.”

3 EQUALITY, DEVELOPMENT, AND PEACE The UN Decade for Women, 1975–1985

In response to the pressure exerted by women’s organizations, particularly the Women’s International Democratic Federation, and following a resolution of the Commission on the Status of Women (CSW), the UN declared 1975–85 as the Decade for Women (United Nations 1972) and organized three World Conferences for Women during it: the first during the International Women’s Year (IWY) in Mexico City in 1975, the second in Copenhagen in 1980, and the third in Nairobi in 1985. These conferences were important symbolic events. They replaced the previously accepted equality frame with one centered on women in development (WID). Moreover, the conferences inspired the emergence of women’s movements and networks at both national and international levels, contributed to the establishment of new institutions, and stimulated research and data collection on women’s status throughout the world. These outcomes are somewhat surprising, because changes in political alignments as well as conflicts between them severely interfered with and hampered the conference proceedings. At the time of the women’s conferences, the countries belonging to the UN were divided into three blocs: the North, comprising the United States and its Western European and Latin American allies; the South, consisting of the Group of Seventy-Seven (G-77) and the Non-Aligned Countries; and the East, with the Soviet Union and other socialist and communist countries. Of the three, the Northern-Western bloc had 73

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controlled the voting majority in the UN General Assembly during the 1940s and 1950s. However, following decolonialization and the emergence of new states in Africa and Asia, the Southern bloc frequently supported by the Eastern bloc countries began to outnumber it.1 The declining position of the North, particularly that of the United States, was symbolically reinforced by the success of the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries, revealing the vulnerability of Northern countries, the failure of the United States in Vietnam, and the victory of revolutionary movements in Iran and Nicaragua in 1979 ( Jaquette 1995, 47). The political realities regarding the three blocs were mirrored in the themes of the women’s conferences—equality (favored by the North and West), development (pushed by developing countries), and peace (pressed by Eastern bloc countries). Moreover, the divisions between them were reflected in the politicization of the meetings, with the Southern countries calling for a New International Economic Order (NIEO) or condemning Zionism as a form of racism and with the Northern and Western countries opposing their initiatives.

The Problem: Political Alignments and Conflicts at the IWY Conference in Mexico City, 1975

In comparison with the women’s conferences in Copenhagen and Nairobi, politicization at the IWY Conference in Mexico City from June 23 to July 4, 1975, was still moderate, which might be explained with its novelty. Although theme conferences were nothing new for the UN, this was the first world conference of governments on the subject of women producing the first international public policy—a World Plan of Action—aimed at improving women’s status. Hence, positions still had to be developed, networks had to be established, and governments still had to be persuaded that such a conference was important and needed. The idea of a world conference for women was not unanimously supported when Patricia Hutar, U.S. member of the CSW, proposed it on behalf of women’s groups. The Saudi Arabian delegate in the Third Committee of the General Assembly, for example, argued that the conference was superfluous because women already enjoyed equality with and were supported by men (Fraser 1987, 18). Others were concerned about duplicating efforts because the World Congress for Women was to be held in East Berlin from October 20 to 24, 1975.2 Still others worried about its costs or that it might divide men and women rather than

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unite them (Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 29). Yet, several symbolic events contributed to a favorable climate and turned the tide in favor of the IWY Conference. At the national level, the second wave of the women’s movements was thriving and exerted pressure on governments to take action with respect to women’s issues. This was particularly evident in the United States, where President John F. Kennedy established the President’s Commission on the Status of Women in 1961, the Equal Pay Act was enacted in 1963, and the Equal Rights Amendment was passed by Congress in 1972 (Fraser 1987, 20). But the women’s movement was also quite active in Scandinavian countries. In Denmark, for example, Esther Boserup (1970) published her study Women’s Role in Economic Development, drawing attention to the critical role women play in the economic development of a country. At the international level, both the UN World Population Conference in Bucharest and the World Food Conference in Rome in 1974 focused attention on women and their relation to major world issues. The former made it apparent that “no population policy could be effective without the involvement of women and unless due consideration was given to their interests,” and at the latter governments recognized that “the world situation could not be improved without full integration of women into the policies decided upon” (Pietila and Vickers 1994, 77–78). In contrast to the population and food conferences, however, the organizers of the IWY Conference had less financial resources and staff support available. Regarding financial support, the IWY Conference budget was only $350,000, compared with the $3 million budgeted by the UN for the 1974 Population Conference in Bucharest (Teltsch 1975), and many of the activities around the conference were funded almost exclusively through voluntary contributions (Stienstra 1994, 124). Moreover, unlike other theme conferences, which had approximately three years of preparation, the IWY conference had less than one year, which was not enough time to appoint a special preparatory committee. According to Allan, Galey, and Persinger (1995, 32), the Secretariat of the CSW therefore undertook the main work, and “by the end of March 1975, it had drafted an international plan of action to be reviewed by a twenty-three member consultative committee and compressed into six months a preconference workload that normally required two years.” Due to the lacks of both time and expertise, drafting the program of action itself posed a tremendous challenge. Though it was customary to prepare the plan in several stages, with drafts being sent to member

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states for comments and subsequent revisions by the secretariat to include their views, there was no time for such an elaborate process in the case of the IWY Conference—a fact that became, as I show below, a stumbling block during the course of the official conference (Pietila and Vickers 1994, 78). Moreover, hardly any statistics on women’s situation were available. Only eighteen background papers had been provided, which, according to Stienstra (1994, 124), were “substantially fewer in number and poorer in quality than the background documentation for other international conferences” but were still sufficient, according to Fraser (1987, 21), to make “the lack of statistical data and information about women” apparent. The secretariat had to rely on resolutions by the Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC) and the General Assembly, as well as recommendations from regional seminars and UN agencies, to stitch together a plan that emphasized guidelines for national, regional, and international action; research; data collection and analysis; mass media; and attitudes (Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 32). Yet if the IWY Conference was characterized by significant resource shortages, one positive aspect distinguished it from other theme conferences. In contrast to previous UN conferences, women at the IWY Conference were an unprecedented majority, making up 73 percent of government representatives and 85 percent of delegation heads (Fraser 1987, 17). However, as Stienstra (1994, 124) and others have pointed out, the women represented an elite, chosen less because of their expertise and more because they were the wives or sisters of their country’s leaders. They included Imelda Marcos, wife of the Philippine president; Jihan El-Sadat, wife of the Egyptian president; Leah Rabin, wife of the Israeli president; and the twin sister of the shah of Iran. Nevertheless, there were exceptions. For example, some delegations included women who were active participants in the women’s movements in their countries, such as Elizabeth Reid of Australia and Lucille Mair of Jamaica (Stienstra 1994, 125). Moreover, Helvi Sipila, the secretary general of the conference, was not a newcomer to international diplomacy. In March 1972, she had been appointed to be the first female assistant secretary general of the UN. Before her appointment, she had represented her country, Finland, at the UN’s CSW from 1960 to 1968 and again in 1971, and, being a lawyer by profession, had been the president of the International Federation of Women Lawyers (Pietila and Vickers 1994, 76; Fraser 1987, 18). At her opening speech at the IWY Conference, she identified the denial of women’s rights and opportunities as the root of

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both social and economic ills and urged the conference participants to forge a new approach to development and to work for partnerships between women and men. The major conference posts, however, were still occupied by men, with Pedro Ojeda Panlada, a Mexican attorney, serving as the president (Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 32–33). From the very beginning, discussions at the IWY Conference were caught between two competing frames: equality and development. UN secretary general Kurt Waldheim opened the conference, linking equality for men and women to the creation of a more equitable international economic and social system as well as noting that women’s problems cut across all major issues being considered by the UN. Similarly, Mexico’s president, Luis Echeverria Alvarez, appealed to women as natural allies in the struggle against oppression, to improve their conditions by linking national and international action, and more specifically by pursuing a NIEO (Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 32). Furthermore, the conference was characterized by what Jaquette (1995) refers to as “bloc politics,” that is, the prevailing conflicts between North and South and East and West. Southern countries called for the implementation of the NIEO and for women’s participation in the struggles against apartheid, colonialism, racism, and foreign occupation. Northern countries, by contrast, rejected such strategies, instead favoring bilateral and multilateral programs. Moreover, existing conflicts in the Middle East and South Africa overshadowed the meetings. For example, when Israel’s chief delegate addressed the plenary, Arab delegates walked out in protest, while delegates from Iraq, Jordan, Libya, Morocco, and Somalia condemned Israeli practices, and representatives of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) urged conference participants to support self-determination (United Nations Office of Public Information 1975d, 5–7, 9; quoted in Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 35–36). Vietnam demanded U.S. withdrawal from Vietnam and Guantánamo. Morocco chided Spain for exploiting its peoples, the representative of the PLO labeled the U.S. Information Agency’s actions in Chile as evil, and Panama railed against the United States for its “illegal 1903 treaty” and exploitation of the Canal Zone (United Nations Office of Public Information 1975e, 1–3; quoted in Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 35). Of the issues being discussed, conference delegates seemed most likely to agree on ones exclusively concerned with women. For example, during one of the plenary sessions, the majority supported a call for an international strategy to end sex discrimination, with individual

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delegates offering different justifications their positions.3 A Nigerian delegate professed that discrimination against women permitted a son to discriminate against his mother, a father against his daughter, and a brother against his sister (United Nations Office of Public Information 1975c, 174; quoted in Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 34); the Iranian princess spoke of ingrained prejudices against women and the deep and general movement for the emancipation of women, not only of educated elites but also of peasants in forgotten lands; and Hutar from the United States found sex discrimination to be the most widely known discrimination (U.S. State Department 1975, 2). If the delegates were in agreement that action against discrimination needed to be taken, reaching consensus on a common definition of sexism seemed, however, impossible. Australia’s proposal—equating sexism with the artificial ascription of role, behavior, and even personalities of people on the basis of sex alone, occurring in societies ruled by men who colonized women by mute consent—was rejected because many delegates thought it meant preoccupation with sex (Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 34). Moreover, delegations had different ideas about how to achieve equality. Whereas some favored domestic legislation, others supported education and training. Still others called for national committees on women and for eliminating media stereotypes (United Nations Office of Public Information 1975a, 1–2; quoted in Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 35). Finally, discussion on women’s issues revealed an essentialist perspective of women. On the subject of peace, Egypt’s chief delegate asserted that “women’s vocation is peace, we are the natural enemies of war, let us try to be the bearers of those principles of justice and mutual respect” (United Nations Office of Public Information 1975c, 4–5; quoted in Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 35); and the Greek delegates stated that women, as mothers and wives, were responsible for men who killed and sold arms to others to kill and urged women to eliminate crimes and scars left by foreign invasion and rape (United Nations Office of Public Information 1975b, 3–4; quoted in Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 35). Interestingly, the Holy See took a more progressive position, arguing that “woman is not automatically a peacemaker” (United Nations Office of Public Information 1975d, 5; quoted in Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 35). Negotiations proceeded somewhat differently in the two conference committees that had been established. Committee I considered the principal document, the program of action. This committee—which

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was chaired by Jeanne Martin Cisse of Guinea, who was assisted by women officers from Bangladesh, Czechoslovakia, Uruguay, and Australia—had to pay the price of the limited time for preconsultations before the official conference. Delegates introduced eight hundred amendments to the draft program of action, forcing the committee to establish an informal working group and two subgroups to be able to cope with them. Yet the formation of groups only alleviated part of the problem. Due to the lack of time, Sub-Group B was only able to discuss chapter I of the draft platform on national action and minimum targets, and it had to approve the remaining chapters II and VI as they had been submitted to the conference, appending their views along with regional plans of action developed at earlier UN seminars (United Nations 1975b, 140–50). The smaller and more informal settings, however, did have one advantage. Away from the spotlight of the international media, delegates felt less of a need to engage in posturing and a more substantive discussion was therefore possible. According to Allan, Galey, and Persinger (1995, 37), delegates in Sub-Group B agreed on a set of minimum targets proposed by the consultative committee to be achieved by 1980, including health and family equality, recognition of women’s work in the home, education to stress women’s roles as individuals, the promotion and establishment of women’s organizations, and the development of rural technology to reduce the workload of farming women. Moreover, they also emphasized the need of national machinery to promote women’s equality, stressing the role of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) and the CSW as focal points for the implementation of the program of action. Conflicts were, however, not entirely absent. Subject to controversy in Committee I was the Mexico City Declaration, which had been introduced by the G-77. Contrary to the program of action, it linked women’s equality with the political and economic context. While it emphasized among other things women’s self-determination or women’s right to work with equal pay, and called on states to end human rights violations against women and girls as well as to respect the physical integrity of the human body,4 the declaration contained also ample references to Zionism and racism as well as the NIEO. These references prompted the Federal Republic of Germany, France, and the United States to introduce their own draft declaration, which stressed equal access to education, maximum participation of men and women in the development of any country, and joint parental responsibilities but also called for balanced international economic relations,

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self-determination, noninterference in states’ internal affairs, and the elimination of race discrimination, imperialism, and colonialism (United Nations 1975a). It took hard bargaining and the influence of several secretariat officials and delegates, such as Leticia Shahani of the Philippines in the G-77 caucus, to tone down and negotiate the elimination of the most controversial phrases in the Mexico City Declaration. Though the document was finally adopted in Committee I, the outcome of the vote signaled that there was still a significant amount of disagreement: eighty-nine votes were cast in favor (mostly by Eastern bloc countries and the G-77), one against (Israel), and fourteen votes abstained (the United States together with other Western countries) (United Nations 1975b, 150). Similar patterns prevailed in Committee II, which had a chair from Iran and elected officers from Belgium, Ghana, Hungary, and Jamaica. In the general debate on current trends and changes in the status and role of women and men and the integration of women in development, delegations introduced over 168 draft resolutions, which eventually were condensed into 27 (United Nations 1975b, 153–74).5 Similar to the plenary, resolutions devoted exclusively to women caused generally relatively little stir in the committee. Nevertheless, several were contested. For example, some delegations protested a resolution urging states to protect the family and permit freedom to determine the number and spacing of children. Thirty-eight votes were cast in favor of the resolution (by Latin American and Western states), one was cast against (the Holy See), and thirty-two abstained (Asian and African countries) (United Nations 1975b, 164). For the most part, however, controversy was limited to resolutions making reference to various “-isms” and to the NIEO.6 The official UN conference was accompanied by a parallel NGO meeting, called the tribune, which was convened at the same time, but at the Convention Hall of the National Medical Center in Mexico City. In contrast to the government meeting, the tribune was more informal, comprising workshops, teach-ins, theater, movies, and ad hoc panels.7 Rosalind Harris and Mildred Persinger were in charge of organizing the NGO gathering. Their choice was no coincidence. Both were experienced NGO entrepreneurs. Harris was the president of the Conference of NGOs (CONGO), which was in consultative status with ECOSOC, and she was the UN representative of international social service. She had already successfully organized the tribune at the 1974 World Population Conference in Bucharest. Persinger, conversely, was

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UN representative of the World Young Women’s Christian Association (YWCA) and had been asked by Harris to chair the tribune organizing committee (Fraser 1987, 55). Confronted with even more severe time pressures than the organizers of the government conference and with fewer than three months left to prepare the meeting, the twelve-member planning committee hired Marcia Bravo, a veteran of the tribune staff of the 1974 population conference, to coordinate the program. Committee members also spent a significant amount of their time soliciting financial contributions from sympathetic governments and foundations. From the donations, they employed additional staff members; funded the publication of a daily tribune newspaper, Xylonen;8 and supported the travel expenses of female speakers from developing countries and other resource persons (Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 40).9 The tribune was well attended, with over six thousand women taking part. Many of them had never participated in such a meeting, let alone at the international level, and were therefore quite inexperienced. Charlotte Bunch (1995) of the Center for Women’s Global Leadership at Rutgers University recalls: “Few of us knew how the agenda-setting process worked, how we could gain access to governments, how to present our information, or even how to lobby.” The process of developing amendments to the official program of action illustrates this point. For more than ten days, women had been working side by side to prepare thirty pages of “suggested revisions” to the official text of the program of action with the intention to present it to the delegates at the official IWY Conference.10 However, “their hopes were dashed when the Secretary General Helvi Sipila told women that official rules precluded unaccredited individuals or groups from submitting a text [and] urged women to go home and work on implementing the World Plan of Action” (Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 40). The conference site also contributed to an imbalance in women’s regional representation, with women from North America constituting the largest group (over a third), followed by Latin American women (one-third), and women from Europe, Africa, and Asia (onethird) (Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 39). Among the North Americans were well-known feminists such as Betty Friedan, Bella Abzug, Gloria Steinem, Jane Fonda, and Angela Davis, whose presence and leadership were not always welcomed, particularly not by women from Southern countries. Whitaker (1975, 175) recalls that Latin American women reacted quite strongly to the leadership Friedan assumed

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in the amendment process of the program of action, “protest[ing] against ‘U.S.’ imperialism—and implicitly against North American domination in the proceedings.” A similar scenario ensued when Northern women, led by Gloria Steinem, tried to promote feminism as a strategy to bring about equality between men and women, justifying it in the following fashion: The roots of sexual discrimination are deeply intertwined with those of racial discrimination and indeed all forms of oppression. Their common basis is in cast systems, which divide people up according to minor physical differences. The white supremacist system perpetuates racism, while women’s oppression stems from the patriarchal organization of society. Both seek to justify a rigid hierarchical structure, in which power means control of the lives of others. Feminism seeks to redefine “power.” What women want is autonomy. What we want is control over our own lives—not to exert power over others’ lives. The essence of feminism is choice—for women and men. (Steinem, quoted in Whitaker 1975, 175)

Although feminism was appealing to Northern women because it offered a vision of women’s empowerment and self-control, it did not resonate with Southern women, who in light of their experiences with colonialism and Northern development assistance viewed feminism as just another way to dominate and coerce them. As one woman commented: “[Steinem] claims that she does not want to choose for us, but she has it so well figured out that it seems to leave no alternatives; her speech is coercive” (quoted in Whitaker 1975, 178). An Ethiopian journalist expressed similar skepticism, wondering if feminism was not just another ploy to divide and conquer the developing world, by setting its men and women at odds (Whitaker 1975, 178). In short, women at the tribune were equally caught up in the North/South conflict. With the IWY Conference being for many the first international meeting that they had attended and because they were coming from diverse political and cultural backgrounds, the participating women still had to learn how to work together despite their differences. The IWY Conference ended with governments adopting the program of action with a consensus at the final plenary session in the early hours of July 3. Even the controversial Mexico City Declaration was finally approved, but a vote was necessary, with eighty-nine delegations approving it (G-77), three voting against it (Israel, the United States, and Denmark), and eighteen abstaining (mainly Western countries) (Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 39). With respect to the program of action,

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different perspectives prevailed regarding its substantive quality. Though some heralded it as the first comprehensive global policy on women (Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 33), others were more skeptical, characterizing it as a shopping list of issues related to women, with little or no analytical framework drawing together the underlying causes of women’s situations ( Jahan 1975, 38). Still others (e.g., Stienstra 1994, 125) criticized the platform for focusing almost exclusively on traditionally defined women’s issues such as health, education, the family, political participation, and employment but bracketing ones such as women’s inheritance rights, industry, science and technology, trade, transportation, violence against women, pornography, economic development policies and women, women’s participation in the informal labor markets, and equal pay for work of equal value. However, a consensus prevails that the IWY Conference was an important catalyst for new institutions. Both the International Research and Training Institute for the Advancement of Women and the UN Development Fund for Women were founded at the conference, following the proposals of Iran in the case of the former and the United Kingdom and the Philippines in the case of the latter (see Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 39). Moreover, Mexico City prompted the establishment of national machineries for women in many countries and inspired the formation of women’s movements and international networks, such as the International Tribune Center in New York. Directed by Anne Walker, the center provides information and develops communication methods and educational materials for women throughout the world. And it was instrumental in mobilizing support for the subsequent UN women’s conferences in Copenhagen and Nairobi.

The Solution: Building Alliances at the Mid-Decade Conference in Copenhagen, 1980

Of the three UN World Conferences for Women, the gathering in Copenhagen was the most contested. At its close, in the early hours of July 31, 1980, four countries—the United States, Canada, Australia, and Israel—voted against the program of action when it was adopted (United Nations 1985, 197), and many nongovernmental participants left the meeting convinced that the international women’s movement had been irrevocably damaged ( Jaquette 1995, 45). In contrast to the conference in Mexico City, where the conflicts between Northern and

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Southern countries had still been comparatively moderate, they erupted with full force at the Copenhagen conference, with the former pushing more strongly their agenda linking women’s issues with broader economic and political interests and the latter trying to block them. Comparing the three conference committees that were established, conflict was particularly prevalent in Committee II. It dealt with the international dimensions of the program of action and was chaired by Sheila Kaul of India, who also chaired the G-77. Of the thirty-four draft resolutions considered in the committee, thirteen required a vote, three of which were roll-call votes. The three draft resolutions requiring rollcall votes had been introduced by Southern bloc countries and were opposed by Northern ones (United Nations 1985, 173–82). They included one on the situation of women in Chile (United Nations 1985, 81–82, 176), which had been introduced by eleven countries, including Algeria, Cuba, Mozambique, and Nicaragua. It was passed with seventy votes approving, seven votes opposing (with Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Guatemala, Honduras, Peru, and Uruguay among them), and thirtyeight votes abstaining (including the United States and many Western states). Four of the draft resolutions went to a vote because Northern bloc countries resisted the language promoted by Southern bloc countries. Two involved sanctions against South Africa (Resolutions 16 and 45) (United Nations 1985, 80, 107–10, 175–76, 180–81); another called for women’s participation in “preparing societies for a life of peace” (Resolution 7) (United Nations 1985, 69–71, 173–75); and a fourth (Resolution 11) called for women’s participation in strengthening “peace and security” and in the “struggle against colonialism, racism, racial discrimination, foreign aggression and occupation, and all forms of foreign domination” (United Nations 1985, 74–76, 173–75). According to one participant, the voting pattern made it apparent that “the male establishment does not take women seriously. Neither the US State Department, nor the UN Secretariat, nor the Group of 77 gives any standing in their priorities to women’s issues. Hence, at the official conference there were no negotiating positions. No government or group really wants anything for women enough to compromise on other issues. Women’s conferences, therefore, reflect the UN at its worst” (Tinker 1981, 533). In short, governments still used the conference as a platform to promote causes other than women’s interests. In contrast to Committee II, the eleven delegates serving on Committee I, which dealt with the domestic dimensions of the program of action, reached agreement on most of the language on relevant parts

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of the document, and ten of them introduced resolutions (for a summary of the debate, see United Nations 1985, 146–59). This did not mean, however, that the committee was free of conflict. Of the eleven resolutions, all but one produced reservations on the part of some delegations. Among them was a resolution calling on governments to sign and ratify the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women. It generated reservations on the part of nine Northern governments, including the United Kingdom, Belgium, West Germany, and the United States, because it condemned colonialism, neocolonialism, and Zionism (United Nations 1985, 89–90, 155). Furthermore, a heated debate also ensued over reports on the “condition of Palestinian women.” Israel reacted defensively, calling the reports “malicious, tendentious and inaccurate” and arguing that Zionism was not racism but the “national liberation movement of the Jewish people.” Syria attacked the Camp David accords as an attempt to “liquidate” the Palestinian case and declared that Israel’s expansionist policies in South Lebanon proved that “Zionism was not a liberation movement but racist in both its structure and practices.” Northern delegations responded by calling for these issues to be dealt with in more appropriate forums (United Nations 1985, 151–53). The differences between Committees I and II regarding the level of conflict might be explained with the different weight the government delegates attributed to the international and domestic sections of the conference documents, with the former being perceived as more important than the latter. Indicative in this respect, according to Arvonne Fraser (1987, 81), was who sat in the negotiation chairs during the discussions of the respective sections: Women delegates frequently sat in the country representatives’ chairs and participated in the discussion when the national sections were being considered. . . . When the introductory and international sections were being discussed, male delegates representing the foreign ministries of various countries, began to move into the speakers’ chairs, behind the microphones bearing the country’s name. This was especially evident when troublesome international issues began to surface in the debate. There was often a flurry of activity as women delegates were moved aside and the men in virtually every delegation began to move into the chairs behind the microphone.

Contrary to domestic politics, international politics was still considered male business and was highly politicized. This gendered perception also influenced how the women’s agenda was handled.

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Similar to the IWY Conference, discussion of women’s issues in both committees produced an overwhelming consensus. “Much of the draft Platform of Action was approved without debate, including [a] paragraph urging that customary laws that discriminate against women be identified and changed” ( Jaquette 1995, 55). Women’s issues were perceived by delegations in a gendered fashion as apolitical and noncontroversial. According to Stienstra (1994, 129): “The primary assumption was that women’s issues were of less significance to international negotiations than the situation of the Palestinian people or the inequalities perpetuated in the international economy. The delegations acted often from a stance that portrayed women’s concerns as a luxury to be dealt with when agreement had been reached on the ‘big’ or ‘hard’ issues of politics.” Controversy, however, was not entirely absent and ensued with respect to issues that had already been debated in Mexico City. For example, in Committee I, a resolution on family planning prompted reservations from six Latin American delegates, Romania, and the Holy See (United Nations 1985, 60–61, 153). Moreover, the USSR and Czechoslovakia had reservations about a resolution on battered women on the grounds that this was not a problem in socialist countries (United Nations 1985, 67–68, 154). Finally, another attempt by the Australian delegation to have sexism listed among the “-isms” in paragraph 12 of the program of action prompted opposition on the part of some delegations, which suggested that the term “sexism” did not exist in their language. However, following significant lobbying efforts by Australian representatives, a compromise was reached. In the final version, the respective paragraph condemned “de facto discrimination on the grounds of sex” with a footnote that read “Which in a group of countries is called sexism” (United Nations 1980, 7). What accounts for the higher level of conflict at the Mid-Decade Conference? In contrast to the IWY Conference in Mexico City, delegations had more time to prepare their positions. Already, in May 1977, ECOSOC had established a preparatory committee comprising representatives from twenty-three countries,11 and in the subsequent years three preparatory conferences met, in June 1978, the fall of 1978, and April 1980. Furthermore, Southern bloc countries occupied important conference positions, which gave them significant influence over the wording of the document, to the dismay of Northern bloc countries. In particular, a Southern representative, Lucille Mair, a Jamaican historian and diplomat, had been appointed secretary general.12 Though, ac-

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cording to Fraser (1987, 71), Mair was committed to women’s issues, her Southern heritage decisively influenced her perspective. A story in the New York Times from July 4, 1980, noted that Mair “makes no secret of the fact that being black and from the third world had a lot to do with her selection” as secretary general and quoted her as saying: “third world women are acutely conscious of their condition. There comes a time when we need to put the problem in a global context. This is it” (Nossiter 1980). Like most representatives of Southern countries at the conference, Mair linked women’s issues closely to political and economic issues. Finally, Southern bloc countries had influential Western allies, such as Secretary General Waldheim, who in his opening speech emphasized the South’s structural position and that global problems are “interlocked” (United Nations 1980, 120–21), and Queen Margrethe of Denmark. The queen praised the Declaration of Mexico, which had been denounced by the United States and other Western bloc countries because of its equation of Zionism with racism, and warned the conference participants that efforts for the advancement of women should not be pursued in a “political vacuum” but instead “be closely related to parallel international efforts for strengthening the plans for international development and peace” (United Nations 1980, 121). According to Jaquette (1995, 51), the support of these individuals provided evidence “of not only the degree to which the UN was responding to the strength of the alliance between South and East but also to the deep ambivalence of the Western bloc.” Contrary to the government meetings, Northern women were still in charge of the parallel NGO Forum. Elizabeth Palmer, former executive director of the YWCA based in Geneva, had accepted the invitation of the CONGO planning committee to direct and coordinate plans for the NGO Forum. She was supported by representatives of thirty-four NGOs in consultative status with the UN (Fraser 1987, 142) and two coordinators:13 Marianne Huggard (now Marianne Haselgrave), a member of the International Federation of University Women; and Hilda Paqui, who was associated with the UN Water Decade and the United Nations Development Program. Contrary to her predecessors organizing the IWY Tribune, Palmer had more resources to work with. In particular, she had time to organize a series of preparatory regional conferences in Paris, New Delhi, Caracas, Lusaka, and Damascus that got women’s groups interested. Furthermore, she had a network—consisting of newly created NGOs, such as Women’s World Banking and the International Center

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for Research on Women, as well as development agencies—to spread information regarding the UN conference to country missions, project directors, and women leaders in developing countries. In addition, she received financial support from UN organizations, foreign aid agencies, donor nations, and private foundations (Fraser 1987, 143). Finally, she was in a position to organize two NGO planning committee consultations during January 1980. The seminar and workshop proposals helped her to map out an agenda for Copenhagen, but they also foretold the potential conflicts at the forum. In addition to equality, development, peace, education, employment, and health, suggestions included racism and sexism, and the system of apartheid (Fraser 1987, 145). Nevertheless, the preparatory activities on behalf of the organizing committee paid off. More than 8,000 people—the majority being women—attended the NGO Forum in Copenhagen. Though this was an indication of a growing women’s constituency, regional imbalances prevailed. The majority of women still came from Northern countries, with 5,400 from Europe (2,100 of those non-Danes), approximately 1,000 from North America and the Caribbean, 863 from Asia and the Pacific, 357 from Latin America, 245 from Africa, and 147 from the Middle East. This unequal representation of women provided fertile ground for divisions between Northern and Southern women. Whereas the latter condemned the NGO Forum for the insufficient participation from women in developing countries and drew attention to the need to deal with issues such as imperialism, racism, exploitation by multinational corporations, migrant workers, nuclear tests in the South Pacific, and the low value given to women’s agricultural and domestic work (Ashworth 1982, 141), some Northern women, like Fran Hosken of the Women’s International Network claimed that the forum had become a vehicle for women from the developing world to promote their political cause: “A West African women’s group, AAWORD, who exclude all white women because they are white, touting their political slogans (in the absence of any substantive contributions), disrupted meetings at the FORUM. Their political literature condemns ‘international’ activities. It seems hard to understand why they come to international meetings, except of course, for press coverage, which can be very profitable” (WIN 1980, 20). Another lightning rod at the NGO Forum became the issue of female genital mutilation. In contrast to Northern women, who condemned the operation as “a barbaric practice imposed on women by

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male-dominated primitive societies” (Toubia 1995, 232), Southern women defended it as a cultural practice and took the criticism of Northern women as yet another form of “Western imperialism” (Stienstra 1994, 128). A conference participant recalls the intensity of this debate: “Third World feminists . . . felt that the crusading zeal with which Western women had seized on the issue was a mute, but nevertheless blatant, declaration that as usual was it up to the good ol’ paternalistic West to come and save the Third World, even or perhaps particularly when it was a matter of saving it from its own nasty, backward habits. The very fuss over the issue seemed to contain an insidious implication that only in the Third World were truly misogynistic things done to women. Therefore Western women’s involvement with this issue was seen as an attempt to assert—and reassure themselves of—their own superiority” (McIntosh 1981, 780). Divisions among women were reinforced by the location of the forum. The conference center, Amager, a branch of the University of Copenhagen, where the forum took place and which had been chosen by the organizers because of its proximity to the Bella Center, where the governments met, was ill suited for consensus-building efforts among women (Fraser 1987, 142). As one participant noted: “[A] larger auditorium was a bus ride away and attending a function there required the commitment of an entire morning or afternoon. Major speakers appeared there and gave lectures, while the audience responded with counterstatements. The size of the rooms and the format of the meetings discouraged real exchange of information” (Tinker 1981, 533). Communication between Northern and Southern women was also hampered by the paucity of translators. The consequences were summarized by one observer: “Smaller meetings discussions tended to remain on the surface, and it is no surprise that simplistic ideological “solutions” were the predominant outcome. The forum was an exciting intensive course of realpolitik rather than the substantive interchange it was to have been” (Tinker 1981, 533). Confronted with these challenges, the organizers responded by establishing the program named Vivencia! which was a Spanish word for an “experience that becomes part of life.” As Stephenson (1995, 145) describes it: “Vivencia! was a more informal program of over 370 events, displays, exhibits, meetings, performances; over 130 films and slide shows; and workshops on project design, funding, mass media, and feminism—all of which took place around the formal program.”

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The workshops held at Vivencia! were intended to empower women by teaching them how to teach themselves. A listing of them published in the eleventh edition of the International Women’s Tribune Center Newsletter in 1980 included ones on communication and project design, development and funding, the conduct of simple surveys, lobbying techniques, information exchange networks, training for volunteer work, and the mass media and women (International Women’s Tribune Center 1980). As I show below, the skills that women had learned at these training workshops benefited their framing efforts at the Nairobi conference. However, they also had more short-term effects. Initiatives like Vivencia! provided spaces for exchange and networking, and as a result facilitated consensus. This was reflected in the efforts of a small group of women who circulated a paper at the end of the Copenhagen conference, stating that “feminism is a political perspective on all issues of concern to human life” and calling for a meeting to discuss “feminism as a political perspective that reaches beyond patriarchal political divisions and national boundaries.” In contrast to the tribune in Mexico City, where feminism had still been a controversial action frame, the Copenhagen forum was more conciliatory and resonated much more with Southern women. According to one observer, the ensuing session drew over 300 women from many countries and addressed the difficulty of defining feminism across regional and cultural lines, as well as the tasks of creating feminist analysis, programs, and power to bring about change (McIntosh 1981, 790). The positive influence of programs like Vivencia! was also reflected in organizational newsletters reporting on the Mid-Decade Conference. For example, the November/December 1980 edition of the U.S. YWCA newsletter Interchange concluded that “the diversity of perspectives and agendas at Copenhagen aside, there seemed little doubt in the minds of participants that 1980 would mark a turning point in the participation of women in the contemporary global dialogue” (YWCA 1980, 3). Similarly, in the seventeenth edition of its newsletter International Bulletin, the International Information and Communication Service, known as ISIS, published an article by Valsa Verghese of India titled “Copenhagen: Assessment,” in which she stated: “I had mixed feelings about the Copenhagen Conference, and the last day saw me frustrated and yet strangely elated by the whole experience. . . . In spite of all the frustration and confusion it was possible to turn this into a positive experience. By the end of the second day, the initial shock of the confusion

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slowly began to wear off, and we realized we had to exert ourselves” (Verghese 1980, 30–31). Finally, the Exchange Report published a positive account of the Copenhagen conference. “Within the Forum, . . . women from all over the world . . . talked about women organizing, they talked about money, they talked about women and politics, and they talked about education and health” (quoted in Fraser 1987, 158).14 In sum, organizational newsletters conveyed a more positive picture of the event, which differed significantly from that offered by the mainstream media. The international press focused almost exclusively on conflict and controversy. As Fraser (1987, 152) put it: “Sex, women’s dress, and political conflicts were frequently the topics the major media seemed to find most newsworthy.” Many newspapers and magazines, for example, were preoccupied with the PLO/Israel question and the effect that controversy had on delegates and NGO participants alike. For example, in its August 4, 1980, issue Time magazine ran an article titled “Cacophony in Copenhagen: An Overdose of Politics Afflicts the UN Women’s Conference,” which claimed that the Palestinian issue was causing “the most difficulty” and featured pictures of Mrs. Sadat and Leila Khaled, a PLO member who had been part of an international hijacking operation and who had gained visibility by condemning Israel in NGO workshops. Moreover, the article quoted the vice president of the U.S. National Council of Jewish Women as saying that numerous Jewish women “were ready to pack up and go home; it was a shattering experience” (quoted in Fraser 1987, 153). Women were portrayed in a stereotypical fashion as victims of big politics. The consensus-building efforts that went on between women escaped the eye of the media. On August 17, 1980, Equal Times, a Boston newspaper, in an article titled “Women of the World,” summed up the news coverage in the following manner: But as we thumbed through the International Herald Tribune, the London Times, Die Neue Züricher Zeitung, or Le Monde in the kiosks of Copenhagen, the stories had evaporated. . . . What trickled into the establishment press was the political (male) news—a few spicy items about the delegations that walked out. . . . When Ms. Sadat spoke, the reactions to the coup in Bolivia, or the Iranian delegates defending the Ayatollah. . . . However, something important has happened since Mexico City. Perhaps it’s not surprising that it’s been ignored by the press. It is the stuff out of which revolutions are made. (quoted in Fraser 1987, 153)

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These headlines and articles give weight to the assertion by Klandermans and Goslinga (1996, 325) that the media is not an unbiased transmitter of information and more often than not prefers drama and conflict. Regardless of how negatively the Copenhagen conference was perceived by the media, government delegates, and women’s activists, it stimulated the growth of further international networks and women’s movements. Moreover, the mid-decade conference provided yet another opportunity for women to become more knowledgeable about each other, both their differences and commonalities, as well as how to organize more effectively inside government institutions. This became apparent at the end-of-the-decade conference in Nairobi in 1985.

Politicization: Moving Women’s Issues Front and Center on the Agenda of the Nairobi Conference, 1985

The final women’s conference, in Nairobi, which was to review and appraise the achievements of the Women’s Decade, is generally considered the most successful. Government delegates adopted the final document, “Forward-Looking Strategies for the Advancement of Women” (FLS), with unanimous consent, approving a five-year action plan for international organizations, governments, and NGOs that outlined concrete measures to improve women’s status during the period 1986–2000 (United Nations 1985). This was surprising. Issues such as neocolonialism, apartheid, Zionism, and the NIEO were still hotly debated. Moreover, the Nairobi conference was focused on peace, reflecting the interests of Eastern bloc countries engaged in an ongoing power struggle with the West. Why did political alignments and the conflicts between them not paralyze the Nairobi conference as they had the Copenhagen gathering? I argue that the reasons were that women had greater and more direct access to the agenda-setting process, had become more experienced in working the conference machinery, and enjoyed the support of influential allies. Evidence for this can be found at the government conference. Contrary to the IWY Conference in Mexico City—where many female delegates had often been chosen because they were the wife, friend, or relative of an ambassador or of other political figures—the delegates at the Nairobi conference were more likely to serve on a delegation because of their expertise. One example of this was Leticia Shahani from

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the Philippines, who served as secretary general of the conference. She had experience with international politics, having been a delegate for both the Mexico City and Copenhagen conferences, a researcher for the CSW in 1966, and later CSW chair. Apart from her political experience, she was highly educated. She had studied at Wellesley College, Columbia University, and the University of Paris. Finally, she viewed herself first and foremost as a feminist, noting in an interview published in the New York Times on July 10, 1985, that her feminist philosophy had been shaped by her life. Having grown up in a diplomatic and political home (Fraser 1987, 160), she challenged existing role models and divisions between public and private from early on. While married to an Indian writer and bringing up three children, she pursued an impressive career, entering into areas traditionally reserved for men. She had served as ambassador for her country to the United Nations and, after resigning from the UN in 1986, returned to the Philippines to serve as deputy foreign minister in Corazon Aquino’s cabinet (Fraser 1987, 160). Shahani used the prerogatives of her office as secretary general to influence the tone of the Nairobi conference. When delivering her keynote speech at the opening of the 1983 session in the CSW, she noted that the complexity of women’s situation required taking a longterm view and devising new strategies. She therefore proposed a review and appraisal of both the progress and the obstacles to women’s advancement that would provide a basis for identifying new goals and strategies for the future (Fraser 1987, 160). Further, stating that “a resurgence of deep-seated prejudices and discriminatory practices against women” was under way, she suggested that future strategies should both help to consolidate the gains already made and to take up new issues identified during the decade (United Nations Office of Public Information 1983). The proposed framework resonated with delegates. Following Shahani’s presentation, the CSW decided that the strategies for the advancement of women up to 2000 would be a major item on the conference agenda. The focus on the future was, according to Fraser (1987, 168), “a positive strategy and it was practical. It produced a psychological lift, hopeful and forward looking. It overcame the negativism that was created when only women’s oppression was described and analyzed. There were no illusions about the obstacles, but these were counterbalanced by a sense of power and purpose. And it was a strategy that could be adapted to every level—local, national and international.” In other words, the focus on the future provided a vision of

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how things could be if appropriate action was taken. Though this vision was critical, it was not sufficient. It took astute women with negotiation skills to translate it into a concrete consensus. If familial ties had become less important as a criterion for the selection of delegates, they had not become obsolete. Maureen Reagan, the daughter of then–U.S. president Ronald Reagan, served on her country’s delegation. Nevertheless, female delegates like her employed institutional rules and procedures to keep the focus on women. For example, Reagan pushed for a change in two decision-making rules: One of them was rule 32, which provided for decision making at the conference by “general agreement”; and the other was rule 34, which provided for decision making on substantive matters by those present and voting by a two-thirds majority. Instead, Reagan proposed decision making by consensus (Patton 1995, 64). Reagan’s leadership was puzzling, especially in light of the fact that at the Copenhagen conference the U.S. delegation had frequently been the one preventing agreement. Reagan’s efforts had several sources. Among them was the third preparatory conference from March 4 to 13, 1985, from which Reagan returned thinking that the conference was heading for disaster (Patton 1995, 63). At that conference, governments had been voting once again in blocs and come to little agreement because the draft conference document contained references to “Zionism as racism,” apartheid, and the NIEO. Fearing that the much-opposed language would end up again in the final document, Reagan “returned to Washington, determined to make the full U.S. participation in the conference a reality and to forestall any such inclusion” (Patton 1995, 63). Her desire for a successful conference was supported by her government. Before the Nairobi conference, the U.S. Congress adopted the Kassenbaum Amendment, which directed the government to avoid a “politicized” conference (Patton 1995, 63). In addition to domestic support, Reagan also had allies at the conference. One of Reagan’s allies was Margaret Kenyatta of Kenya, the president of the Nairobi conference. According to Patton (1995, 66), Kenyatta made a carefully worded announcement at the second plenary session regarding conference decision making: “Without prejudice to the rules of procedure of the Conference which have been adopted in particular rule 34, and without setting a precedent, a general understanding has emerged as a result of consultations whereby all documents of the conference, in particular the [FLS] document under item 8 of the Conference agenda, should be adopted by consensus.” Ken-

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yatta’s support of the U.S. resolution provided proof that women had developed an international consciousness and had learned to cooperate despite their differences.15 However, national and bloc interests had not ceased to exist. Kenyatta’s interest in a successful conference was also motivated by its location. Hosting an unsuccessful conference in her hemisphere would not have boded well for the international reputation of Southern countries, especially when many of them were suffering severe consequences from global economic crises and, hence, depended more than ever on Northern development assistance. Kenyatta’s determinism became apparent during the final negotiations. Controversy on paragraph 95 of the FLS was endangering consensus because it identified the following as obstacles to the advancement of women: apartheid, racism, Zionism, imperialism, colonialism, domination and hegemony, and the growing gap between North and South regarding levels of economic development. After the U.S. delegation had made it clear that it would walk out if the paragraph was accepted, Kenyatta called a recess to resolve the phrase with substitute language, deleting “Zionism” and inserting “all other forms of racism and racial discrimination.” In the final negotiations, she used the privileges of her conference office to ensure acceptance of the clause. As one observer recalls (Patton 1995, 70): “When the plenary resumed hours later, Margaret Kenyatta announced the substitute language and then dropped the gavel, signifying the end of discussion and consensus approval of the paragraph just before the Iranian delegation sought a vote on the substitute language.” Kenyatta’s leadership signaled that women had learned how to use the system to their advantage. As one delegate commented after the conference, “Women had learned to manage power, they had grown up to be leaders” (Patton 1995, 71). In addition to the procedural knowledge of individual women, however, one other type of expertise was crucial. Consensus at the conference was further facilitated by the increased availability of data and information about women’s status. Before the arrival of delegations in Nairobi, the conference secretariat had sent out a questionnaire to governments that included sections on women’s employment, health and nutrition, education, communications and the media, demographic factors, energy, water and sanitation, human settlements, industrialization, refugee and displaced women, rural development, science and technology, monetary factors, and services and

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trade (Fraser 1987, 161). Moreover, the secretariat, upon the request of the UN General Assembly, had prepared an interdisciplinary and multisectoral world survey on the role of women in the overall development that “analyze[d] the role of women in relation to the key development issues as envisaged in the International Development Strategy for the Third UN Development Decade, focusing in particular on trade, agriculture, industry, energy, money, and finance, and science and technology” (Pietila and Vickers 1994, 8–9). Surveys and questionnaires such as these for the first time provided systematic evidence about women’s situation globally. Yet they were not without flaws. As Pietila and Vickers point out (1994, 10), the gathering of information was handicapped by the inadequacy of data and statistics on a global scale, their incommensurability, the lack of differentiation between men and women, and the invisibility of women in many sectors, such as the case of unpaid labor in the household and the informal and agricultural sectors. Nevertheless, the conference secretariat considered data collection a necessity, given the dearth of information at previous conferences, where few background papers had been available. Subsequently, at its meeting in 1983, the CSW recommended a “broad information programme focusing on the goals of the Decade” aimed “to reach women and men at all social levels, especially at the grass roots” and suggested that “steps be taken at the national level to involve non-governmental organizations and national committees in preparatory activities” (quoted in Fraser 1987, 161). Like the governmental conference, the NGO Forum proceeded in a much more peaceful and consensual manner, with Southern women in leading positions, such as Dame Nita Barrow, from Barbados, the convener of the NGO Forum.16 Barrow had the qualities of an entrepreneur. The first issue of the Forum ’85 newspaper titled its article on her “Strong Leader, Mild Touch,” noting that she was “a powerful manager who has all the combative spirit of a freedom fighter” (quoted in Fraser 1987, 206). She had extensive expertise in international organizing. Before serving as the convener of the NGO Forum, she had been president of the World Council of Churches, the World WYCA, and the International Council for Adult Education. Barrow took several steps that facilitated exchange and communication among women at the NGO Forum. For example, before the conference, her office sent out a questionnaire, which prompted responses from women’s organizations all over the world and which, according to

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Fraser (1987, 200–1), signaled a change from Mexico City: “These responses indicated that there was still much to be done, but that women knew what it would take to accomplish the ends sought: provide information, organize, and cooperate internationally, intellectually, and financially. This was a great change from Mexico City. Many women had moved from detailing their oppression to understanding their power when they were organized.” In other words, women had moved away from being victims of their circumstances to empowering themselves and taking action. The responses to the questionnaire ensured a diversity of views at the NGO Forum. More than 1,200 workshops were conducted in the eleven subject areas that had been selected by the Planning Committee for discussion at the forum. They included equality, development, peace, education, health, employment, refugees and migrants, older women, young women and girls, women in emergency situations, and the media (Fraser 1987, 201). Barrow’s efforts to ensure dialogue and broad-based participation at the NGO Forum were facilitated by the presence of influential allies. With the financial support of prestigious foundations, she was able to conduct a series of preparatory meetings. For example, she called for preconference consultations in Vienna in October 1984. Participating in these consultations were a total of 260 participants, including resource persons from 29 countries and representatives of 99 different NGOs (Fraser 1987, 201). In addition, Wingspread helped sponsor two international meetings in 1984, one with women-in-development professionals and an African-American Institute preparatory conference. Further, the Ford Foundation sponsored a group of developing-country experts that gave rise to Development Alternatives with Women for a New Era (known as DAWN), a network promoting new goals and strategies for development, including the empowerment of women at all levels. The Rockefeller Foundation hosted another ad hoc preparatory meeting in Bellagio, Italy, in December 1984 on the role of women’s organizations in changing public policy. Finally, the Carnegie Corporation of New York sponsored a number of informal preparatory meetings at its headquarters and took the lead in commissioning Women . . . A World Survey (Fraser 1987, 202). Though critical, these meetings were not without problems. According to one observer, the consultation in Vienna was “sometimes unruly, reminiscent of the Mexico City and Copenhagen forums” (Fraser 1987, 202). Yet it provided a

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place to air difficulties and prompted many activities at both the regional and local levels. The location of the conference was also conducive to minimize conflict because it ensured significant participation from Southern women. According to Fraser (1987, 199), 60 percent of the 13,504 registrants were from the developing world, with more than 1,000 from Kenya alone. All told, more than 150 countries were represented. Providing accommodations for this large number of participants proved difficult. Having expected 8,000 women at the most, the Forum Planning Committee had already run out of programs on the first day of registration and had to print new ones. In addition, due to the large number of women attending the forum, the city had run out of hotel rooms by the time the official delegates arrived, prompting the Kenyan government to ask women to leave. However, following heated discussions, nonviolent actions, and skilled negotiations, an agreement was reached between the participating women, the hotels, and the Kenyan government that permitted the women to stay but tripled up in their rooms to free space for the delegates (Stephenson 1995, 148). The women attending the forum had learned how to work together despite their differences. Indicative in this respect was the Peace Tent at the corner of the Great Court on the Nairobi University campus. It had been organized through the collaboration of several women’s organizations, including Feminists International for Peace, the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom, the World YWCA, the International Federation of University Women, and the Women’s International Democratic Federation (Fraser 1987, 210). According to one observer, the tent was “a constantly visible symbol that even women with diametrically opposing views on some issues could openly discuss their differences with respect to tolerance” (Fraser 1987, 199). A sign outside the tent called for “respect for another’s experience and views, openness and a spirit of cooperation, finding common ground for action in a diversity of opinions”; inside the tent, opposing groups—Iranian and Iraqi women, Palestinian and Israeli women, and Soviet and American women—gathered for dialogue. Stephenson (1995, 149) comments on the Peace Tent: “Organizers, though they faced disagreements, managed to preserve an atmosphere of open debate and spirit of reconciliation. This was in noticeable contrast to Mexico City and Copenhagen, where much of the debate on peace issues had broken down into vitriolic misunderstandings. The underlying sense was that the women’s movement had matured over the course of the Decade for Women.”

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That something had changed since Mexico and Copenhagen was also noted by the international media. The overriding theme in newspapers and magazines around the world was unity and agreement. For example, Time magazine, which had focused its one-page coverage of the Copenhagen conference on the politics and controversy, ran a three-page story in its August 5, 1985, issue with the headline “The Triumphant Spirit of Nairobi.” Under the picture with that story was the caption “A sense of shared purpose and commitment to action back home.” The picture itself showed a woman with a sign reading “Women of the World UNITE against Oppression and Discrimination” (quoted in Fraser 1987, 167). Similarly, the Nairobi newspapers, which had begun with cartoons making fun of women at the beginning of the conference, were soon dedicating full pages to the conference. Though the positive media coverage was certainly a reflection of what was happening at the conference, it also had other sources. The increased presence of women in the media was a factor. According to Fraser (1987, 168), “Women were the great majority of the more than 1,400 journalists covering the Nairobi conference.” In addition, women’s organizations at the NGO Forum had learned how to influence their coverage. For example, Jill Sheffield of the Carnegie Corporation had orchestrated a media briefing session in New York in late spring prior to the conference, providing a kit of background materials. Similarly, the NGO planning committee held press briefings and distributed media kits (Fraser 1987, 168). These newly developed strategies provided, as I will show in the subsequent chapters, master frames for women’s organizations in the 1990s. The procedural and experiential knowledge that women had gained over the course of the UN Decade facilitated the mobilization of a consensus document at the Nairobi conference despite the ongoing conflict between the different political blocs—North and South and East and West. The document “Forward-Looking Strategies for the Advancement of Women” adopted at the end of the conference created future opportunities for women. In contrast to past platforms of action, which for the most part had assessed women’s situation around the globe, this document for the first time provided a concrete fiveyear action plan, outlining measures to improve women’s status for international organizations, governments, and NGOs (United Nations 1985, 5–6). However, the plan was not without drawbacks. Being nonbinding, it would take significant pressure from women’s organizations at the domestic level to have governments follow through on their international commitments.

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Conclusion

By comparing the three UN World Conferences for Women, we can gain more insights about the dynamic interaction between political opportunities, mobilizing structures, and framing. First, the conferences highlight the importance of changes in political alignments for the framing activities of NGOs. The conferences were influenced by the ongoing North/South conflict. On the one hand, the shift in power away from Northern countries toward Southern ones contributed to politicization and stalemate; but on the other hand, it brought about the replacement of the equality framework with one focused on women in development and the expansion of what until then had been an almost exclusively Northern women’s movement to include Southern women. Second, the conferences illustrate how symbolic events can strengthen the mobilizing structures of NGOs. Not only did they inspire the creation of new women’s organizations and international networks; they also provided opportunities for women to acquire procedural knowledge about international organizing. In contrast to the first conference in Mexico City, when women were new to international politics, women by the mid-1980s had learned the rules of the institutional game. They occupied central conference positions, used institutional rules and norms astutely, and knew how to lobby and to package their information. Third, the conferences were catalysts for the collection of data on women’s status throughout the world and for increasing funding for women’s activities. While studies and statistics helped to demonstrate both the discrimination women were subjected to and the need for concerted international efforts, growing financial support from prestigious foundations and governments enabled women’s organizations to maintain permanent international offices, ensure the presence of women from developing countries at meetings, and conduct international campaigns. Fourth and finally, the UN Decade for Women conferences also give weight to a point made by social movement scholars: that the media is far from a neutral bystander. It influences the ways frames are interpreted and perceived. At the first two conferences in Mexico City and Copenhagen, newspapers that were interested in novelty and conflict focused on the meetings’ politicization and portrayed women in a stereotypical fashion as victims of great-power politics. However, this

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chapter also makes apparent that media coverage is neither static nor a one-way street. What is perceived as newsworthy can change. By the time of the Nairobi conference, reporting was much more favorable, with women’s organizations actively influencing the coverage by distributing media kits and offering interviews. Whereas, during the 1970s and 1980s, women’s issues were still being discussed as separate items and in isolation, the 1990s and the end of the cold war brought changes in women’s organizing. Women’s organizations increasingly conducted single-issue campaigns and attempted to bring women’s issues into the mainstream by linking them to broader, already-accepted frameworks such as human rights and population. Two such issue campaigns are considered, respectively, in chapters 4 and 5: violence against women and reproductive rights.

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4 WOMEN’S RIGHTS AS HUMAN RIGHTS The Case of Violence against Women

Violence against women has been a global problem for millennia. Throughout the world, women have been battered, abused, tortured, raped, and even killed simply because they are women. Around the world, at least one in every three women has been beaten, coerced into sex, or otherwise abused by a man in her lifetime, and among women age fifteen to forty-four years, gender-based violence accounts for more death and disability among women than the combined effects of cancer, malaria, traffic injuries, and war (UNIFEM 2006b). Only the types of violence to which women are subjected vary across regions and countries. In India more than five thousand brides are murdered or commit suicide every year because their marriage dowry is considered inadequate (Women’s Learning Partnership 2001; see also Jaising 1995 and Kelkar 1992). In many parts of Africa, Asia, and the Middle East, every day six thousand girls are subjected to a practice euphemistically referred to as “female circumcision”—the cutting off, often without anesthesia, of the female genitalia including the clitoris (Amnesty International 2006). This mutilating operation, which is supposed to increase women’s fertility, affirm girls’ femininity, and prevent stillbirths, has severe long-term health implications for most women, such as chronic urinary and pelvic infections, painful menstruation and intercourse, and even infertility (Toubia 1995). In China the ratio of sexes is significantly off-balance due to the country’s strict one-child population policy and 103

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the greater value placed on boys by society. The census for 2000 revealed that, contrary to the biological norm of 100 newborn girls to 103 boys, the ratio in China was 100 to 119 (Vlachova and Biason 2005, 6). The statistics for industrial countries are no less chilling. In the United States, every nine seconds a woman is battered by her domestic partner (Women’s Learning Partnership 2001) and seven hundred thousand women are raped or sexually assaulted each year, with 14.8 percent of women reporting having been raped before the age of seventeen years (Krug et al. 2002, 151). In a study conducted in Finland in 1998, 29 percent of the women reporting had been victims of sexual violence or the threat of such violence since the age of fifteen or had been forced to have sexual relations (European Women’s Lobby 1999, 28). And in a survey conducted in Canada in 1993, one in four women reported experiencing sexual or physical violence in the context of an intimate relationship with a man (European Women’s Lobby 1999, 25). Data suggest that throughout the world, the home is by far the most dangerous place for women and frequently the site of cruelty and torture. Out of ten countries surveyed in a study of the World Health Organization on women’s health and domestic violence in 2005, more than 50 percent of women in Bangladesh, Ethiopia, Peru, and Tanzania reported having been subject to physical violence by their intimate partners. Women in Japan encountered the least violence, with 15 percent reporting it, but the proportion reached a staggering high in rural Ethiopia of 71 percent (WHO 2005, 5). However, the incidence of sexual harassment in the workplace reminds us that gender violence is by no means confined to the private realm. Nor is the perpetrator always a private individual. During war and civil conflict, women and girls are often targeted for special forms of violence by men as a way of attacking the morale of the enemy. In many of the ethnic wars that have occurred since the end of the cold war, systematic and planned rape was used as a weapon of war and genocide against women and their families. In Rwanda, for example, up to half a million females were raped during the 1994 genocide. In the wars in Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina, the number was as high as sixty thousand, and in Sierra Leone there were as many as sixty-four thousand incidents of warrelated sexual violence among internally displaced women from 1991 to 2001 (Vlachova and Biason 2005). In East Timor almost every adolescent girl who had survived the genocide in 1994 had been raped, and estimates suggest that at least one thousand women were raped during the postreferendum conflict of 1999 (UNIFEM 2006a).

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The universality of the problem as well as the inaction on the part of many governments have prompted women to organize internationally. Their campaign concerning the issue of gender violence can be divided into three phases: (1) the 1970s, when a small group of women organized an international tribunal bringing together women from over forty countries who identified all human-made forms of oppression as a problem and as violence against women; (2) the 1980s, when the UN conducted an expert group meeting on domestic violence with special emphasis on women, which called for the intervention of the criminal justice system and the prosecution of the perpetrator as a solution; and (3) the World Human Rights Conference in Vienna in 1993, when women’s organizations mobilized government support for the international recognition of all forms of violence against women as a human rights issue.

Defining the Problem: The International Tribunal on Crimes against Women, Brussels, 1976

Between March 4 and 8, 1976, a small group of primarily Northern women entrepreneurs organized in Brussels the International Tribunal on Crimes against Women, bringing together over two thousand women from forty countries.1 The idea for the tribunal had been born during an international feminist camp on the island of Femo, Denmark, in the summer of 1974, and it was intended as a counteraction to the first UN Women’s Conference in Mexico City in 1975, of which the organizers were very distrustful. The event in Brussels was modeled after the war tribunals in Nuremberg and Tokyo and based on the conviction that “oppressed peoples have the right to dissociate themselves from those definitions of crimes which have been developed by their oppressors to serve their own interests” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 219). The Brussels tribunal highlights the power of testimonial knowledge in mobilizing an international constituency. The personal statements by victims of male violence contributed to solidarity among women, the condemnation of all human-made forms of oppression as a crime against women, and the formation of international networks. However, the event also draws attention to the difficulties of organizing outside established institutions and the conflictual as well as inchoate nature of initial framing processes (McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald 1996b, 16).

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Because the organizers of the Brussels tribunal were interested in broad participation and decentralized structures, they relied on their networks and contacts to establish national tribunal committees. Though these committees were in charge of raising awareness, of selecting three to four crimes against women that were particularly prevalent in their societies, of choosing women who would testify about them, of preparing brief research reports, and of raising funds for their travels, they were not without flaws. Due to the lack of resources and the difficulties of communicating, many committees could not follow through on their commitments. In some cases, the national committees did not respond until shortly before the tribunal began, making it difficult for the organizers to plan the program. In others, they ignored the guidelines, sending either too many or too few witnesses. Furthermore, the national committees reproduced structural inequalities in women’s representation at the tribunal because the country contacts and networks of organizers were unevenly spread around the globe. The majority of participants came primarily from Northern countries, where women’s movements were thriving and where financial resources were more readily available. Among the countries with the largest attendance were Germany, with approximately three hundred women; Spain, with sixty; the United States, with fifty; Britain and France, each with forty; Switzerland, with thirty; and Belgium, with over one hundred. In contrast, women from Southern countries constituted the minority (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 2). Apart from their geographical location and the lack of finances, which posed impediments on women in developing countries, participation in the tribunal also entailed risks—and for some women even serious repercussions when returning to their home countries, because cultural and religious traditions or customs prohibited them from being politically active.2 This helps to explain why some of the women taking part in the event only testified under the condition of anonymity and why the organizers burned their lists of attendees (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 2). For the tribunal itself, the organizers had appointed moderators with the objective to guarantee everyone equal time and to avoid long speeches or irrelevant testimony at the tribunal. However, the participants rejected them. In their eyes, the moderators had not been officially elected and reinforced patriarchal rules of procedure. For example, participants considered the moderators’ attempts to keep those testifying to their times as “insensitive and authoritarian” (Russell

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and Van de Ven 1984, 249). Moreover, in response to one moderator ordering the microphone turned off, after a women testifying kept ignoring her time limit, participants swarmed onto the stage in protest looking for the responsible persons. They felt controlled by the male technicians and blamed the coordinating committee for engaging in a “fascist act.” A statement by a participant puts women’s reactions into perspective: “When the women behind the table cut off the mikes this morning, we were forced to be mute. We have been mute all our lives. The work at this tribunal happens within masculine structures” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 251). Lydia Horton, one of the organizers, explained the women’s behavior in the following way: “This hostility to management of any description crops up in many different countries and cultures, and reflects perhaps women’s typically underdog mentality which assumes that anyone in any kind of authority automatically is going to rip women off. . . . Many feminists are deeply concerned with problems of authority and power and the need for us as women to discard male models of organizations. So I feel the suspicion and hostility surrounding this revolt was peculiar to our stage of evolution as women” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 267). Conflict also ensued over the testimonies. Though the organizers wanted to give victims the opportunity to talk about the violence they had experienced, many participants viewed them as a waste of time: “Cases are being presented one after the other, but cases are boring for everybody. All the women here know about these sorts of things. We all know what it is to be raped, to not have the right to abort, etc. It is not important to describe these cases. What is needed is to know how to analyze their causes, and how to start solving them” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 251). Rather than taking stock of the problem, many participants preferred to work on strategies to bring about change. Others called for more dialogue and interaction between women speaking and the audience: “Far too long women have been expected to passively listen and contain their anger or their dissension. Confrontation should not be prohibited in a conference like this. There are differences among women despite our common oppression and it is constructive and essential to discuss these in order to understand each other” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 252). Again, others objected to the testimonies because they were “not feminist.” For example, a group of women from Switzerland, Spain, Portugal, Mexico, and Sweden denounced the tribunal because “it does

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not at all go into—from a feminist point of view—the political, social and ideological structures which are the basis of discrimination against women” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 253). These conflicts highlight the argument that frames do not evolve in a vacuum but rather in a contested space where they must compete with other frames. In addition to the structure of the tribunal, the location was a further source of contention. Though some members of the coordination committee felt strongly about holding the meeting in Lisbon, as a symbolic gesture of solidarity toward the revolution in Portugal, others expressed concern about the instability and the political situation there and favored less politically volatile sites such as Amsterdam or Brussels. Brussels was finally chosen, because the Belgian minister of culture, Rika De Backer, had made available at no cost the Palais de Congrès, where the tribunal took place. Yet the hierarchical structure of the building was ill suited for consensus building because it symbolized “man-made structures.” As one participant noted: “The Palais was not constructed for a feminist conference.” It exacerbated prevailing conflicts between participants and organizers. For example, because of the way the microphones were wired in the main meeting hall, organizers had to sit on the stage, which made them feel as if they were “stuck up here in a God-like position” and reinforced the impression among the participants of their being “power-hungry, authoritarian, . . . the enemy” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 263). The participants also complained about the scarcity of rooms for workshops. Most of the rooms were large and formal and had immovable seats often arranged in lecture formation. Attempts by women to move to the spacious corridors triggered opposition from the building manager, who reminded the women that their actions violated fire regulations and who threatened to turn the electricity off if the women continued to ignore the rules (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 263). The response of the building manager was indicative. Women received little institutional support or sympathy. From the very beginning, the organizers had problems in securing funding for the tribunal. Whereas the total expenditures amounted to $14,421, only $10,627 had been collected by the time the event began. Governments had been very reluctant in contributing money to the event. Instead, most of the costs were covered through donations made by women in different countries, poster sales, registration fees, and women’s volunteer work. In addition, the organizers incurred unexpected expenditures. The biggest expense resulted from lost or dam-

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aged earphones in the Palais, amounting to approximately $3,800. Because the portable earphones had been a scarce commodity, women would keep them over the course of the conference but forget to return them when leaving for their home countries. According to one organizer, the press gave considerable attention to the expenses resulting from damages. Similar to the First International Women’s Congress in 1915, discussed in chapter 2, women were portrayed as “destructive and irresponsible” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 234). Coverage such as this prompted the organizers to adopt a cautious media policy. The coordination group of the tribunal had decided to exclude male journalists from the official proceedings and only admit them to a daily press conference. Their policy was primarily based on past experiences with false reporting or distortions by male journalists in accounts of previous feminist meetings and was intended to protect the witnesses at the tribunal (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 268). According to the coorganizer Diana Russell (1994), she and her colleagues feared that “if you let the media in, it becomes a whole different event. There would be attention only on the chaos and not on the real substance of the conference.” However, the decision also had a strategic component. The organizers wanted to give female journalists a chance to cover the event. Their decision triggered strong reactions. While Le Monde (Paris), The Times (London), the New York Times, Der Spiegel (Germany), and Il Messagero and La Stampa (Italy) had already begun to cover the tribunal at its very opening, the announcement of the media policy by the organizers “catapulted,” according to one of them, “the Tribunal once and for all into the headlines” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 269). Many male journalists responded with outrage and threatened boycott, which the coordination committee considered to be “insensitive and sexist.” Jerome Grynpas in the Belgian weekly Notre Temps, for example, objected: “It is a fascist attitude, at best infantile, to inculpate various anthropological groupings: men, women, whites, Arabs. . . . Marxism and common sense have always rejected such attitudes” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 270). De Standaard explained the cause as an “irresponsible decision” due to “the youth of the majority of the participants,” and La Cité called “this ostracism not only extremely rude, but stupid too” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 270). Finally, La Wallonie published an article on March 8 titled “Reaction against Feminist Sexist Decision” in which the International Press Association deplored the decision of the organizers as “discriminating and sexist” and stated that “such a narrow-minded attitude must be totally opposed

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by everyone who believes in a free and democratic press, as well as by everyone who is in favor of equality between men and women” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 248). The policy of exclusion was also subject to controversy among female journalists. Some disagreed with the decision. In Het Volk and De Nieuwe Gids of March 7, for example, Suzanne Van Houtryve expressed “strong doubts whether the sectarian discriminatory path taken by radical feminists can ever lead to feminist goals, that is, a society where women and men enjoy the same rights” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 269), and an American journalist considered the decision as counterproductive: “You are damaging our cause as women in our profession by perpetrating something which runs counter to all the ethics of that profession. Liberalism in the journalistic profession and the right to free access is something the women in the profession have fought very hard for, and so have men. And if we do not allow men to cover this event to the extent of attending a press conference, then you do not help women journalists” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 245). Others, by contrast, supported the position of the organizers. A French journalist, for example, felt that “men will not report widely on the Tribunal and they will not report it the way we want it to be reported,” and that not much of what women write will get printed (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 245). Similarly, a Belgian reporter for the Wij expressed her support: “Let us hope that they [men] will learn a lesson from the bitter fact that, simply on the basis of their sexual characteristics, they were judged, condemned and excluded. For centuries, women have lived with this bitter reality” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 269). In response to the opposition from the participants as well as the media, the organizers changed their strategy. Shortly after the beginning of the tribunal, the organizers left their place on the stage and turned the proceedings over to the participants. Even though the transfer of power resulted in anarchy, the program was more accepted. In contrast to the organizers, who had been known only to a few and had not been approved, the new moderators enjoyed legitimacy in the eyes of the participants because they had been recruited out of their own ranks (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 266). A group of British women noted in a report: “By the fourth day, there was a situation where the most organized groups who felt they had something important to say took control of the proceedings so that power, in effect, had passed from the committee to the floor” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 260).

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This did not mean that disruption and conflict had ended. Instead, the tribunal proceedings were frequently interrupted by ad hoc events and spontaneous testimonies. For example, lesbians whose testimonies had been scheduled near the end of the tribunal wanted to make their presence as well as the crimes they had suffered known earlier and staged a large demonstration at the beginning of the event. The demonstration was interrupted by a bomb scare forcing participants to clear the building. When returning, a French woman had seized the stage, delaying the scheduled testimonies regarding rape. She spoke about the oppression of hierarchy and used the tribunal as a platform to denounce the leader of one of the French women’s movement groups as well as the leader of a French Trotskyite women’s group. Frustrated by the many unscheduled events, a number of participants went on the stage in an attempt to silence her, while others were outraged by the way she was treated (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 6). In addition to being time consuming, spontaneous events such as these had unintended consequences, sometimes resulting in the exclusion of already marginalized groups. Due to the shortage of time, for example, women from developing countries were unable to give testimonies on double oppression in the plenary and were forced to organize their own panel (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 254). Nevertheless, the shift in power away from the organizers had positive effects. It resulted in the emergence of a “we-feeling” among the participants, manifested in solidarity statements in which women “condemn[ed] pornography for the violence against women it uses, for the sexual exploitation of women, and the sacrifice of women for the sake of male power, potency and domination” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 195); “call[ed] for urgent action by all countries to combat the crime of woman battering”; and “demand[ed] that governments recognize the existence and extent of this problem, and accept the need for refuges, financial aid and effective legal protection for these women” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 194). Although the tribunal had given rise to a common sense of identity, it did not mean that differences had disappeared. As a group of women stated: “All women are not in exactly the same situation. Capital determines who is going to have jobs, where the jobs will be, who is going to have babies, who is going to be sterilized, who is going to have abortions, who will emigrate, where we will emigrate to” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 194). However, women felt their alignment was a strategic necessity to fight against a system that wanted to keep them apart, as the statement

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by a group of lesbians from Great Britain makes apparent: “To organize together for the time and money that we need, all of us as unwaged workers at home, all of us in our particular situations, our particular struggles, need to present a united front, and together fight against oppression and a system seeking to divide us” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 200). On the basis of this assumption, the tribunal participants formed international networks. In particular, an International Feminist Network was established with the intention to ensure the continuation of the networking started at the tribunal and to provide support for women in need. Further, the idea of a Central Communication Center emerged from a workshop on Third World and Minority Women. The center was to circulate information and to initiate international activities, including international days of actions, as well as draw attention to the problem of violence against women (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 215).3 Moreover, the tribunal coincided with the publication of the first International News Bulletin by the Service Feminine International d’Information et de Communication (Women’s International Information and Communication Service, known as ISIS) in Rome, which today still provides services of information, documentation, communication, contacts, dialogue, and exchange among women and women’s groups throughout the world. Apart from these international activities, the tribunal also stimulated national initiatives against gender violence. It inspired speak-outs and tribunals in countries such as the United States, Germany, and Ireland. It encouraged the establishment of refuges for battered wives and rape crisis centers in many European cities (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 285). And women in Latin America and Asia began to work on issues ranging from rape to dowry-death, and to comfort women (Schuler 1992, 5). Finally, the discussion about the media at the international gathering prompted the formation of a women journalists’ association in France that “tr[ied] to educate [male] colleagues about sexism in the news media, and to improve the employment of women journalists in France” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 288). In all these initiatives, women placed an emphasis on independence and autonomy because they distrusted state institutions and therefore considered it necessary to construct alternative ones: “As women, we have no allies in individual governments, in the male left, or in the male right, in corporate structures or in their cohorts, or in the population controllers, for all oppress and exploit us. . . . That is why we have to

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create our own institutions and structures, and realize and use the potential of our untapped and overlooked resources. These institutions are not alternatives, but the basis for the feminist revolution” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 198). This solidarity exhibited among women is surprising, given the divisions women exhibited at the beginning of the tribunal. The tribunal highlights how personal testimonies can be a catalyst for collective action (Keck and Sikkink 1998, 19; see also Price 1998, 623). Although subject to controversy in the beginning, the coordination team was convinced about “the power of personal testimony to educate, politicize, and motivate” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 219). As one of the organizers noted: “For us to recognize our common interests as women in combating the crimes we are subjected to, should help us more easily transcend differences in nationality, as well as culture, class, race, sexual preference, age, religion and politics.” First, the testimonies of women made it apparent that violence against women may differ across regions and countries but that it is a universal phenomenon. As a group of lesbians at the tribunal pointed out: “Despite the differences in the particular forms of our exploitation, fundamentally our situation as women is the same” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 200). The participants condemned “all man-made forms of women’s oppression as crimes against women” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 219). Crimes were widely defined as including the inaccessibility of abortion, medical crimes, rape, battering, economic discrimination, verbal abuse, femicide, clitoridectomy, torture, pornography, prostitution, persecution of lesbians, violence toward women political prisoners, and the double oppression of developingworld women (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 5). Second, in their testimonies, women assigned blame to power structures and traditions for the existence of the problem: “By sharing personal experiences and problems, we come to see that these problems are not merely personal, but that they are caused or exacerbated by the way women are regarded and treated in general, and the situations and roles we commonly find ourselves in. We come to see that many of our problems are externally or socially induced, and hence, widely shared by other women” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 220). Witnesses assigned responsibility to patriarchal power structures that “institutionalize domination by husbands and wives” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 58) and “force women to seek economic security through men, thereby being forced into relatively powerless positions vis-à-vis men” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 67).

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Third, the testimonies were dramatic. According to one participant, “women at the Tribunal were deeply involved, sometimes shouting in anger, sometimes clapping and booing, or crying, or being intensely quiet” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 267); and another described “listening to so many personal stories of oppression, maltreatment, and misery [as] a physical and emotional strain on us all” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 272). These experiences prompted women to act as one observer concluded: “By talking honestly with each other, our isolation can be transformed into solidarity and our selfblame into anger, which motivates action much more powerfully than self-hatred” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 200). Organizers considered a conference with victims as the participants more powerful than one with experts. Recognizing the importance of analyses and syntheses, action, according to one organizer, “must also be informed by feelings, not just intellect” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 200). The testimonies by themselves, however, were not sufficient. The solidarity among women was reinforced by their opposition to institutional events, such as the already-mentioned UN Women’s Conference in Mexico City in 1975, which, as described in chapter 3, was highly political due to the divisions between Northern and Southern countries and at which violence against women did not figure as a topic. In the eyes of tribunal participants, the conference was “a hypocritical and token gesture” that “would achieve little beyond window dressing” and “result in a co-optation of women’s energy” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 218). The international tribunal was, therefore, intended as a counter-event that was to be both constructive and radical. In contrast to the UN conference in Mexico City, the organizers and the women attending were, with the exception of a few,4 ordinary women.5 Simone de Beauvoir, who had been invited as keynote speaker but could not attend, stressed this point in a March 1 Nouvel Observateur article: “It is not by chance . . . that this Tribunal will open after the closing of the preposterous Year of Women, organized by a male society to confuse women. The feminists gathering in Brussels intend to take their destiny into their own hands. . . . They are not appointed by parties, nor by nations, nor by any political or economic group; it is as women that they will express themselves” (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, preface). Womanhood was the unifying thread and the selection criteria for participants. The emerging “we-feeling” among women at the tribunal was also reflected in the media, particularly women’s magazines. In the May

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issue of the Women’s Press, Marianne Oktober wrote: “By almost any standards of judgment, the International Tribunal on Crimes against Women was an astounding success, . . . while the differences among us were recognized and dealt with, they were far outweighed by our similarities, our agreement on feminist principles, and our dedication to struggle for the freedom of all” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 271). Similarly, Joanne Yaron noted in Davar, a women’s monthly in Israel, that “rather than division, the Tribunal was a great step forward in creating an atmosphere of mutual understanding and solidarity among women everywhere” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 283). In the mainstream press, however, the coverage of the event was still rather mixed. Some newspapers reported quite favorably about the tribunal. Despite the initial threat of boycott by many journalists, a total of 165 articles had appeared in the Belgian daily and weekly press alone over the course of the event. The New York Times published two descriptive articles on the tribunal on March 3 and 5, underlining that the event closed “with a sense of accomplishment” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 271). The International Herald Tribune described it as the “biggest international feminist event in history” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 272); and Albert Montjoie in the Republican Lorrain, a daily Luxembourgian newspaper, celebrated the tribunal as “the beginning of international feminism” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 281). Other papers, by contrast, were more skeptical. Jill Tweedie of the Guardian noted that “by its own yardstick, . . . the Tribunal came somewhere near failure” and predicted that “any international meeting of women is more likely to produce division [rather] than cohesion. Our problems are too disparate, too tied to our physical societies, to be solved outside” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 273). Le Monde described the tribunal as “anarchy which has rarely been equaled” (quoted in Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 275), and a feminist analysis of the press coverage in Holland concluded that the predominant picture of the event was one of hatred for men (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 276). Even if the reactions to the tribunal were varied, the event symbolically marked the beginning of women’s international activism on gender violence. Moreover, the meeting in Brussels created new opportunities and mobilizing structures. The tribunal became, as I show below, a master frame for women’s organizations. Furthermore, it was a catalyst for future events on the subject, such as the Global

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Feminist Workshop to Organize against Traffic in Women held in Rotterdam in 1983, where thirty-four women from twenty-four countries gathered for a week to document and strategize about problems of female sexual slavery (Barry, Bunch, and Castely 1984), or the Third World Forum on Women, Law, and Development in 1986, which sparked efforts to clarify strategies related to gender violence (Schuler 1992, 6). Finally, the tribunal had radical flank effects, helping women activists lobbying inside the UN to win institutional allies. At the third UN World Conference on Women in Nairobi in 1985, violence against women was part of the agenda. While at the parallel nongovernmental organization (NGO) forum, more than 30 of more than 100 workshops had been devoted to the issue (Bunch 1995), at the official governmental meeting, violence against women in its various forms was identified as “a major obstacle to the achievement of peace and the other objectives [equality and peace] of the [Women’s] Decade [that] should be given special attention” (United Nations 1985, 60). Moreover, governments were asked to “intensify efforts to establish and strengthen forms of assistance to victims of such violence through the provision of shelter, support, legal and other services” and to “increase public awareness of violence against women as a societal problem” (United Nations 1985, 70).6 Though these developments were positive, the inclusion of violence against women on the institutional agenda had its price: Women activists lost control over how their issue was defined.

The Solution: Expert Group Meetings on Domestic Violence, 1986

Following the tribunal in Brussels and the Nairobi Women’s Conference in 1985, the UN Branches for the Advancement of Women and for Crime Prevention and Criminal Justice of the Center for Social Development and Humanitarian Affairs organized an expert group meeting in Vienna on “Violence in the Family with Special Emphasis on Women” from December 8 to 12, 1986. The meeting had been proposed by Canada in a resolution during the thirty-fifth session of the Commission on the Status of Women (CSW) in 1984, which called for more information on the subject of gender violence in the family (ECOSOC 1984, 5). Canada’s leadership was not surprising. As a result of the pressure exerted by women’s group, Canada was the first country to establish a national clearinghouse for violence against women in the family in 1982 (Canada 1991, 1).7

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In contrast to the tribunal in Brussels, where the experts had been victims of male violence, twenty-nine scientists from around the world were invited to the meeting in Vienna. The majority of them came from the developing world, and their trip had been made possible by the Dutch government (United Nations 1989, 5). They included lawyers, criminologists, and sociologists.8 NGOs had only been invited as observers, with one exception—the International Alliance of Women. They included, among others, the Associated Country Women of the World, the General Arab Women Federation, the Austrian Verein Notruf für Vergewaltigte Frauen (Rape Crisis Center), the World Federation of Methodist Women, the World Union of Catholic Women’s Organizations, the World Young Women’s Christian Association, and Zonta International. The expert group meeting had been prompted by the lack of information about domestic violence and was to, first, provide more systematic knowledge about the causes and consequences of the problem, and, second, generate solutions to counteract it. For the purpose of the meeting, violence was defined as “encompassing not only physical and sexual violence, but mental, emotional, and financial violence and violence related to such structures as dowry” (ECOSOC 1986, 17). Obtaining information about domestic violence had been a difficult task until the 1980s. Existing frames regarding the family contributed to the invisibility and secrecy of the problem (ECOSOC 1986, 16). In many countries, the family was perceived as a “private” and “sacred realm” that needed to be protected from outside interference. It was viewed as an institution based on love and security, “a source of comfort and nurturance” (United Nations 1989, 49). This image of the family was reinforced through existing international conventions that guaranteed the right to a private and family life.9 Though recognizing the importance of the family’s autonomy, the normative framework had, in the eyes of the experts, limited empirical credibility and did not correspond to reality. Recent studies had shown that rather than a safe place, the family was a “cradle of violence” (United Nations 1989, 14). Furthermore, the prevailing picture of the family had influenced how experts had handled the problem in the past. To begin with, victims were reluctant to report the violence they had experienced because of guilt, shame, family loyalty, and fear of repercussions. If they did report it, they tended to overestimate the problem or, more commonly, underestimate the amount of violence they had suffered. For example, victims considered pushes and slaps to be insignificant and failed to mention them.

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Responsible authorities such as the police and hospitals were hesitant to interfere in families were violence had occurred, and they neglected to keep records of the incident or reported it in such a fashion that it was ill suited for research purposes. One study indicated that criminal statistics frequently failed to mention the sex of the victim and of the assailant or the relationship between the two. As a result, incidences of domestic violence became statistically invisible because it was impossible to distinguish wife assault from any other assault (Smith 1989, 8). Finally, social scientists studying the problem frequently conceived of it in a narrow manner using conventional definitions of couples and thus excluding, for example, unmarried women or those who had already left their husbands (United Nations 1989, 17–18). The way in which the information regarding domestic violence was filtered by the respective experts highlights a point by Keck and Sikkink (1998, 19) that “the process by which testimony is discovered and presented normally involves several layers of prior translation,” so there is frequently a gap between the story’s original telling and its retelling. The lack of access to information about the problem had contributed to the widely shared view that domestic violence is a “societal ill” and that the victim as well as the perpetrator is abnormal or sick. Some theories suggested that violent behavior in the home is the result of alcohol abuse, mental illness, stress, frustration, underdevelopment, or violent families of origin, while others considered the victims themselves responsible for provoking, tolerating, or even enjoying a certain level of violence from their spouses (United Nations 1989, 26–27). Members of the expert group meeting in Vienna questioned the plausibility of such explanations given the pervasiveness and implicit acceptability of violence in the family. Instead, they stated their belief that “the roots of violence against women within the family are structural” (ECOSOC 1986, 3). In their eyes, violence against women is neither a private nor an individual problem but rather a reflection of the broad structures of sexual and economic inequality in society. More specifically, domestic violence, according to these experts, is the outcome of cultures and traditions fostering the belief that men are superior and that the women with whom they live are their possessions to be treated as the men consider appropriate (United Nations 1989, 25–33). Therefore, it requires more far-reaching solutions. To bring about change, NGOs depend on help from powerful allies (Keck and Sikkink 1998, 23). Contrary to the participants in the tribunal, who had still been suspicious of state institutions, the experts called

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for the intervention of the criminal justice system. Violence against women in the family, according to the experts, needed to be treated like any other crime. The choice of the justice system was no coincidence; involving the courts and the police had, in the eyes of the experts, symbolic significance. First, through the prosecution of the perpetrator, society communicated that violence was unacceptable and made the offender personally responsible for his actions (United Nations 1989, 52). Second, the criminal justice system had an educative role in shaping and changing attitudes. According to the experts, by naming domestic violence and calling it a crime, one could counteract the trivializing and denial that have taken place in the past. Third, responding to domestic violence with the justice system had real consequences, deterring perpetrators from engaging in such behavior. Recent studies had shown that the involvement of the police followed by prosecution and conviction was not only the most effective mechanism for stopping acts of violence in the short term but was also likely to reduce the risk of recidivism in the abuser (ECOSOC 1986, 17). On the basis of the assumption that it was a state’s duty to protect victimized women as well as their children and that the elimination of gender violence was in society’s interest (ECOSOC 1986, 9), the experts adopted a series of recommendations. They urged governments to review their legislation, procedures, and practices to “harmonize them with the principles of equality . . . of persons forming a family unit.” The experts also developed specific guidelines for the police, the courts, and the health sector to ensure the protection of women and the control of perpetrators. To bring about more long-term change, the participants in the expert group meeting identified the media together with women’s organizations as two vehicles for proper socialization and the diffusion of positive images of women (ECOSOC 1986, 20). Moreover, they called on international and regional organizations to (1) provide funds for future research into the nature, extent, and effects of violence against women as well as the effectiveness of different measures; and (2) to expand programs raising public awareness about the problem (ECOSOC 1986, 8). With respect to the United Nations, the experts asked the Division for the Advancement of Women and the Crime Prevention and Criminal Justice Branch to act as a clearinghouse for permanent international networking on the issue (ECOSOC 1986, 6), and for the Committee on Crime Prevention and Control as well as the Eighth UN Congress on the Prevention of Crime and Treatment of Offenders and its preparatory meetings to consider the issue.

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The criminal justice frame proposed by the experts was a radical departure from the therapy and welfare frames that had been more common until then and that emphasized mediation between the perpetrator and the victim with the aim of maintaining and restoring the family unit (United Nations 1989, 51). In the past, experts had considered intervention by the police or the courts only as a “last resort” because it focused on punishment rather than rehabilitation. Involvement of the criminal justice branch had been rejected because it was concerned with past conduct instead of future behavior. Moreover, it failed to provide support and treatment programs that could assist the victim and teach the husband to not use violence. Finally, an interventionist approach had also been rejected on the basis that it offered the victim only short-term relief from abuse because the perpetrator, once released from prison, might be prone to engage in more abusive behavior or even harm the victim. Particularly in traditional societies, mediation had been deemed more appropriate based on the belief that intervention by the police would result either in the victim’s isolation from her extended family and community or in revenge from individual family members (Long 1986, 31). Why did experts change their position, and what contributed to their acceptance of the criminal justice frame in the late 1980s? In contrast to the tribunal, where testimonial knowledge had been crucial, technical information played an important role in legitimizing the criminal justice frame. The case studies prepared by the experts provided for the first time statistics and systematic evidence about the severity of the problem, especially from developing countries and countries in transition. These studies revealed that violence was a universal problem and not confined to a particular region, culture, or social class. Moreover, they indicated that domestic violence had long-lasting effects. In addition to physical injuries ranging from bruising to death, abused women suffered health and psychological problems; had significantly higher levels of anxiety, depression, and somatic complaints ( Jaffe at al. 1986, 625); were paralyzed by terror; and suffered stress from the ever-present danger of an attack (Hilberman and Munson 1978, 460, 464–65). Analysis further suggested that the consequences were not confined to the victim. Some studies pointed to the risk of children in families where the wife was abused to being injured or killed by the abuser if they became involved in an incident either by chance or in an attempt to protect their mother. Other studies suggested that these children were more likely to suffer from behavioral problems,

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lacked greater social competencies, and were more prone to use violence in their adulthood (Fischer 1985, 41). Finally, beyond the personal costs, inquiries also drew attention to the social and economic costs associated with domestic violence. With respect to the victim, these included stigmatization of the family, social isolation, and temporary or chronic economic and psychological dependence of family members on support groups or the welfare system. With regard to the community, the costs were equally significant. A Canadian study estimated that taxpayers had paid approximately 32 million Canadian dollars in 1980 for police intervention in wife-battering cases and for related support and administrative services (MacLeod 1987, 35), and an Australian study found that the costs of services for twenty victims of domestic violence was well over 1 million Australian dollars (Roberts 1988). The technical knowledge provided by social scientists in the form of studies and statistics about the consequences of domestic violence helped to legitimize the intervention of the criminal justice system and to overcome the problem of access posed by the privacy of the family. Moreover, it stimulated more research on the subject. Following the expert group meeting in Vienna, the UN commissioned its first comprehensive survey on the issue, published as Violence against Women in the Family (United Nations 1989). In addition, the recommendations by the experts prompted the CSW at its thirty-second session to adopt a resolution titled “Efforts to Eradicate Violence against Women within the Family and Society,” which recognized that violence against women in the family “exists in various forms in everyday life in all kinds of societies” and recommended to the Economic and Social Council that it undertake concerted and continuous efforts for its eradication as well as urge UN member states to take the steps outlined by the expert group meeting toward its elimination (ECOSOC 1986). Finally, in light of the fact that the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women of 1979 contained no explicit reference to violence against women, the respective treaty body, the Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW), comprised of independent experts who oversee the implementation of the convention, adopted general recommendation 12 on the subject. The recommendation acknowledged that violence against women was covered under the convention, even though the issue was not mentioned in the treaty. Moreover, it asked states that had ratified the convention to include in their reports on implementation information on, first, the legislative

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and other measures they had in force to protect women against gender violence, and second, their support services for victims, as well as provide statistical data on incidences of gender violence (CEDAW 1989).10 In sum, the involvement of social scientists and the support of UN secretariats gave greater legitimacy to the subject and access to more resources. Nevertheless, there were also drawbacks. In contrast to the tribunal in Brussels in 1976, where violence against women had been framed rather broadly, violence in the context of the expert group meeting was confined to the domestic realm, prompting women’s organizations to reassert control over the issue.

Politicization: The World Human Rights Conference, Vienna 1993

The World Conference on Human Rights in Vienna from June 14 to 25, 1993, provided an excellent opportunity for women’s organizations to politicize violence against women and mobilize government support concerning the issue of gender violence. Shortly after members of the Commission on Human Rights (CHR) in Geneva announced that such a conference was to be held, the Center for Women’s Global Leadership (CWGL) in New Brunswick, New Jersey, under the directorship of Charlotte Bunch, emerged as an entrepreneur. It organized a series of so-called leadership institutes, bringing together approximately twenty women from different regions of the world who had been selected based on their leadership at the national level on the issue of gender violence (CWGL 1992). The institutes were to provide a forum for the development of strategies to ensure the inclusion of gender violence on the human rights agenda. Though the women brought with them extensive expertise on the issue and organizing, they nevertheless had difficulties gaining access to the human rights agenda. One reason for the women’s problems with gaining access was the prevailing division between women’s rights and human rights inside the UN. This division was justified in human rights circles with the argument that violence against women, in contrast to human rights violations, (1) occurred exclusively in the private realm of the family, into which international governmental organizations had no right to interfere; (2) was perpetrated by private individuals rather than the state; and (3) did not exhibit gross and consistent patterns (Bunch 1990, 488; Eisler 1987, 297; see also Romany 1994). This ideational division between the two types of rights was symbolically reinforced through the

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location of the respective UN agencies. Though the CHR is headquartered in Geneva, the CSW was first located in Vienna before it moved to New York in the mid-1990s. Both the ideational and the institutional separation of women’s rights and human rights highlights how previous actions of organizations can constrain future ones. As already discussed in chapter 2 in connection with the campaign regarding equal nationality rights, in the late 1940s women’s activists had lobbied for the CSW to be separate and independent from the CHR because they feared that women’s issues would otherwise be marginalized (Pfeffer 1985, 468). By the 1990s, however, women’s organizations were of a different opinion. The division had not prevented governments from devoting more attention to human rights and had led the respective human rights international institutions to be endowed with more resources and power. The participants in the leadership institutes at Rutgers therefore agreed to launch a three-year global campaign leading up to the UN Human Rights Conference to gain recognition for violence against women as a human rights issue. NGOs engage increasingly in a dual strategy to legitimize their issues by employing technical and testimonial knowledge simultaneously (Keck and Sikkink 1998, 21). This was also the case for the issue of violence against women. Bunch published an article titled “Women’s Rights as Human Rights” in the prestigious journal Human Rights Quarterly in 1990, providing a scientifically grounded explanation for why women’s rights were human rights (Bunch 1990). First, it attributed the separation of human rights and women’s rights to the narrow Western definition of human rights, which privileges civil and political rights at the expense of economic and social rights, on the one hand, and to the fact that “much of the abuse against women is part of a larger socioeconomic web that entraps women, making them vulnerable to abuses which cannot be delineated as exclusively political or solely caused by states,” on the other (Bunch 1990, 488). Second, the article provided a threefold rationale for why women’s rights, generally, and violence against women, specifically, should be considered by human rights organizations. One reason is that statistics demonstrate that gender violence kills women daily (Bunch 1990, 489); the second is that the arbitrary definitions of what constitutes the “private” are subject to interpretation and are often used to justify female subordination at home (Bunch 1990, 491); and the third is that violence against women is profoundly political, “result[ing] from structural relationships of power, domination, and privilege between men and women in society” (Bunch

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1990, 491). The title of Bunch’s article, “Women’s Rights as Human Rights,” became the slogan of the three-year campaign leading up to the conference and was printed on buttons, T-shirts, and posters (Carrillo 1995). In addition, the CWGL organized a series of symbolic activities to draw attention to the issue. Among the most spectacular activities were the “Sixteen Days of Activism against Gender Based Violence,” which linked November 25, the International Day against Violence against Women—proclaimed by the first Feminist Encuentro for Latin America and the Caribbean in 1981 at Bogotá in commemoration of the brutal murder of the Mirabal sisters by the Trujillo dictatorship in the Dominican Republic on that date in 1960—with December 10, International Human Rights Day, marking the anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights proclaimed in 1948. The Sixteen Days mobilized women throughout the world, providing opportunities to draw attention to violence against women within their countries and communities. In San José, Costa Rica, representatives of fifty women’s groups met to develop a policy paper addressing violence against women to be used by policymaking agencies throughout the country; in London, thousands of women from all over Britain united in Trafalgar Square to mark November 25 and to demand an “end to the double standard which condones male violence”; and in South Korea, women’s organizations held demonstrations and enacted a memorial service for the victims of gender violence (CWGL 1992). Furthermore, the CWGL, with the help of the International Women’s Tribune Center (IWTC), circulated a global petition. The petition called on participants in the World Human Rights Conference to “comprehensively address women’s human rights at every level of its proceedings” and to recognize “gender violence as a universal phenomenon which takes many forms across culture, race and class, . . . as a violation of human rights requiring immediate action” (CWGL 1993, appendix I). The petition highlights the ways in which the Internet and electronic mail facilitate collective action at the international level (Warkentin and Mingst 2000). By the time the World Conference of Human Rights was convened in 1993, the petition had been translated from an initial six into twenty-four languages and was sponsored by over a thousand groups that gathered almost half a million signatures from 124 countries (CWGL 1993, 38). The linkage of women’s rights and human rights was a powerful frame for mobilizing an international constituency. It resonated with women in different cultural contexts.

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Lori Heise (1995), a former staff member of the center, explains: “The human rights framework speaks to all people, cultures, and religions; . . . and beyond these divisions there is a common understanding what is fundamental for the dignity of people and the person.” The global constituency enabled the CWGL, together with other international organizations, to exert pressure on state officials at almost every level. Women activists, for example, attended the regional conferences in Tunis, San José, and Bangkok held in preparation for the Human Rights Conference in Vienna as well as the NGO and national preparatory events.11 At almost all the regional conferences, women’s groups prepared consensus documents, on the basis of which they successfully lobbied for the inclusion of women’s human rights in the respective draft platforms of action. These achievements, in turn, gave women’s groups greater leverage at the final preparatory committee in Geneva from April 19 to May 7, 1993, where the document for Vienna was drafted, because these groups could hold governments accountable to their regional commitments (Bunch and Reilly 1994, 38). And the combination of symbolic activities and technical information helped the participants in the global campaign mobilize the support of influential allies. Among those lending support was the UN Development Fund for Women (UNIFEM), whose involvement came as a surprise to many activists. Throughout the 1980s, the agency had shown little interest in the issue of gender violence. Appeals by Southern women’s organizations to UNIFEM to incorporate the issue into its program activities were rejected by its board of directors with the argument that violence against women was not a development concern (Carrillo 1995). UNIFEM’s board of directors changed its position in response to a paper written by Roxanna Carrillo, then a staff member of CWGL, titled “Violence against Women: An Obstacle to Development” in the early 1990s. Drawing on the UN’s own definition of development—the creation of an environment that enables people to enjoy long, healthy, and creative lives—and with the help of international statistics, Carrillo was able to frame violence against women as a development issue. In particular, she demonstrated that gender violence (1) interferes with women’s own personal development by limiting their ability to pursue options in almost every area including the home, schools, workplaces, and most public spaces; (2) prevents women from contributing effectively to the economic development of a country because of its severe health and psychological impact; and (3) leaves women unable to assist

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in development projects because their participation and empowerment are frequently seen by their husbands as a threat and are penalized with abuse (Carrillo 1991, 25–26, 31). Shortly after the publication of her paper, Carrillo was offered a position by UNIFEM, which she accepted and used to establish a women’s rights program within the agency. This UNIFEM women’s rights program became a major ally of international women’s organizations within the UN. It sponsored the global campaign leading up to the Human Rights Conference in Vienna, providing financial support for women in developing countries to travel to Vienna. Moreover, the program functioned as a channel of communication between governments and women’s organizations. At the actual governmental conference in Vienna, for example, UNIFEM was instrumental in organizing a daily caucus, where women would meet every morning to discuss the negotiations of the previous day and develop lobbying strategies for the following one. Though the caucus was significant, it was only one of the vehicles through which women made their presence known and influenced the conference process. At the parallel NGO Forum in Vienna from June 10 to 12, the CWGL together with the Austrian Coalition for Women’s Human Rights and the IWTC established the so-called Rights Place for Women. Located in a central spot at the Austria Center where the forum took place, the Rights Place, according to two of the organizers, “established a visible sense of women’s organized presence and their determination to be a recognized part of the human rights scene” (Bunch and Reilly 1994, 96). It gave women a concrete gathering spot and information point, serving as a place to convene meetings, to exchange information, and to plan the logistics for other symbolic events. Women also staged an Eighteen-Hour Tribunal at the Vienna conference at the Austrian Center on June 15. This event, which took place in a large auditorium seating six hundred people and equipped with simultaneous translation and a large-screen video system, became a major focal point at the conference, attracting not only NGO Forum attendees but also government representatives and the international media. It clearly showed that women had gained experience since the tribunal in Brussels in the 1970s.12 First, the event in Vienna was more representative with respect to participants and topics. The CWGL had established an International Coordinating Committee (ICC), which was responsible for the organization of the tribunal and consisted of thirteen representatives of women’s organizations.13 With the help of local and national contacts, the ICC had selected thirty-three women

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from twenty-five countries to testify on five interconnected themes. The themes, which had been chosen to ensure diversity of issues and regions, as well as race, ethnicity, socioeconomic class, sexual orientation and physical ability, ranged from human rights abuse in the family to war crimes against women, violations of women’s bodily integrity, socioeconomic violations of women’s human rights, gender-based political persecution, and discrimination (Bunch and Reilly 1994, 14). Second, to enhance the visibility and credibility of the event, the ICC had asked five well-known men and women to serve as tribunal judges and assess the accountability of the human rights abuses presented, to identify the human rights principles or agreements that had been violated, and to make concrete suggestions on how to redress the violations (Bunch and Reilly 1994, 16).14 Two observers summarized the tenor of the judges’ verdict in the following fashion: “The UN human rights bodies and procedures are, at present, far from effective in protecting women’s human rights in a meaningful way” (quoted in Bunch and Reilly 1994, 7). Third and finally, in contrast to the tribunal in Brussels, where participants still had been divided over the media’s involvement, women’s organizations in the 1990s were convinced of the necessity to engage it and sought to influence the reporting. The CWGL had hired its own media consortium to circulate news about the conference. It had selected “experts” who would give interviews to journalists, and it distributed media kits (Bunch and Reilly 1994, 94–99). The result was quite positive. According to an analysis of U.S. news coverage, “women were seen as highly organized,” “omnipresent and very visible at the conference,” “united and a new force for effective action,” and celebrated as “the success story of the conference” (Global Campaign for Women’s Human Rights 1993, 3). For example, the Christian Science Monitor ran a story on June 9, 1993, titled “Women Claim Place on Agenda at UN Human Rights Meeting” (Global Campaign for Women’s Human Rights 1993, 8); the June 16 New York Times carried a story with the headline “Women Seize Focus at Rights Forum” (Global Campaign for Women’s Human Rights 1993, 14); and the Los Angeles Times on June 30 wrote “Women Take Reins” (Global Campaign for Women’s Human Rights 1993, 27–28). Though dramatic and symbolic actions can be conducive to mobilize the international media, they might be counterproductive to win institutional allies. According to Gamson and Meyer (Gamson and Meyer 1996, 288), “The media rewards novelty, polemic, and confrontation, but institutional politics prizes predictability, moderation, and compromise.”

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Rather than the media, the support of likeminded groups can enhance the legitimacy of a contested frame inside international institutions because they provide access to information necessary to the work of NGOs (Keck and Sikkink 1998, 21). In the case of violence against women, the support of human rights organizations such as Amnesty International (AI) and Human Rights Watch (HRW) was pivotal. Responding to the pressure exerted by women’s organizations, AI and HRW established women’s human rights programs in the 1990s, which investigated exclusively women’s rights violations perpetrated or condoned by state agents (e.g., Amnesty International 1991). AI’s first report, titled Women in the Front Line, was eye opening, detailing the gender-specific abuses to which women prisoners were subjected, ranging from strip searches to rape by prison guards. Also important was the information provided by HRW on violence against women perpetrated or condoned by the state based on research conducted in countries as diverse as Pakistan, Brazil, Kuwait, and Haiti. Because AI and HRW were known for credible and reliable information, the documentation they provided not only served as evidence of the political nature of gender violence but also helped women’s organizations mobilize support. At the World Conference on Human Rights, the United States assumed leadership on the issue. When U.S. secretary of state Warren Christopher delivered his opening statement to the conference, he expressed his full support for granting women human rights: In his eyes, violence and discrimination against women held back entire societies by confining the human potential of half the population. “Guaranteeing women their human rights” was, according to him, “a moral imperative” and “an investment in making whole nations stronger, fairer and better. It [was ] in the self-interest of every nation to terminate unequal treatment of women” (U.S. State Department 1993). Several forces contributed to the government’s position. First, domestic women’s groups had placed the issue on the domestic agenda since the 1970s, prompting the Jimmy Carter administration to establish the first federal office on domestic violence in 1979 (see Heise and Roberts Chapman 1992, 290). Second, the issue fit the worldviews and beliefs of the Bill Clinton administration, which was generally supportive of women’s issues. Shortly after arriving in office, President Clinton called for the documentation of women’s rights violations in the human rights reports compiled by the State Department. Third, the support of the United States also reflected the tireless lobbying of women at the World Con-

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ference. As Anne Walker (1994) of the IWTC recalls, “Women’s rights activists were the ones who camped in corridors, outside the drafting rooms, and offered delegates better paragraphs. They tried to catch state representatives during their tea and coffee breaks or even in the bathrooms.” Apart from these formal activities, NGO representatives impressed the importance of the women’s violence issue on governments through symbolic gestures. For example, a group of six women from different regions, most of whom had participated in the leadership institutes, delivered the half million signatures that had been gathered through the global petition to the conference floor, asked delegates for a minute of silence to commemorate the women around the world who had died or been badly injured by male violence, and reported about the Eighteen-Hour Tribunal. Finally, in addition to the pressure exerted by women’s groups both domestically and internationally, the plea to recognize violence against women as a human rights violation had empirical credibility. International events are particularly effective for NGOs because they take place in concert with others (Keck and Sikkink 1998, 22). The campaign against gender violence coincided with the end of the cold war. The breakdown of the Soviet Union unleashed a series of events that were beneficial to women’s organizations. In particular, security within the UN was redefined; contrary to the security of the state, the wellbeing and rights of individuals were increasingly emphasized (Petrovsky 1990), a frame that was more commensurate with that of women’s rights (Bunch 1995). Further, ethnic conflicts, such as those in the former Yugoslavia, Somalia, and Rwanda and the associated mass rapes, demonstrated the political nature of gender violence, because women were raped by soldiers and policemen to perpetuate a certain race. As Roxanna Carrillo (1995), a former staff member of the CWGL, explains: “Bosnia was happening. It shaped everybody’s understanding of these issues. 20,000 women were raped. It was very vivid.” The rapes triggered a response by UN policymakers and led UN bodies—such as the CSW (ECOSOC 1992, 5), the CHR (ECOSOC 1992), and the General Assembly (United Nations 1993b, 1993c, 1993d)—to adopt several resolutions condemning the systematic rape and abuse of women in areas of armed conflict in the former Yugoslavia. Also, the end of the cold war brought with it changes in political alignments, reducing the former three blocs within the UN (the North, South, and East) to two: the North, comprising the so-called JUSCANZ

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( Japan, the United States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand) and the EU countries, on the one hand; and the South, represented by the Group of Seventy-Seven, on the other. These two blocs were divided over the definition of human rights at the conference in Vienna. Whereas the Northern countries emphasized civil and political rights, the Southern ones advocated economic and social rights (Lewis 1993, 1). In addition, several countries, such as Iran, China, Indonesia, Syria, and Cuba, created an impasse in the conference preparation procedures, arguing that UN measures had selectively been used in the past and that industrial countries were using the human rights question as a new form of cultural imperialism. The division between North and South opened a window of opportunity for women’s organizations, which had an agenda (getting gender violence on the agenda of the Human Rights Conference); had an issue that cut across traditional categories of rights; had an international constituency; and were, according to Carrillo (1995), neutral bystanders: “It helped that we were ‘outsiders.’ We were breaking new ground and we were new kids on the block articulating something that was quite far-fetched.” The work of the CWGL and its constituents paid off. Because of the lobbying women’s organizations had done before and during the conference in Vienna, the two pages establishing women’s human rights as a central concern in the draft program of action arrived at the conference virtually bracket free—that is, without indications of controversy—and were subsequently adopted (Ottaway 1993). More important, government delegates urged the UN General Assembly to adopt the Declaration on the Elimination of All Forms of Violence against Women, condemning violence against women in both the private and public spheres (see the appendix to this volume); to appoint a special rapporteur on violence against women; and to strengthen the UN Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women (United Nations 1993e).

Conclusion

Historically, the inclusion of violence against women on the UN’s agenda constitutes an important achievement. Within a relatively short amount of time, women’s organizations succeeded in turning an issue once perceived by states as exclusively private into an internationally recognized human rights concern. The case reveals interesting patterns of NGO influence.

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The International Tribunal on Crimes against Women in Brussels in 1976 proved critical for the emergence of a global constituency and for creating global awareness regarding the problem of violence against women. The tribunal—organized in opposition to and in reaction to the First UN World Conference on Women in Mexico City, where government delegates paid no attention to the issue—provided women with a forum where they could exchange their experiences with male violence. The personal statements of victims drew attention to the commonalities among women and made apparent that the problem of gender violence was global in nature. Violence against women was defined rather broadly. Participants condemned all forms of male oppression as a crime against women. In contrast to the problem definition phase, prognostic framing already took place in a more institutionalized setting. In this phase, the United Nations Division for the Advancement of Women emerged as entrepreneur, organizing an expert group meeting on violence against women. Its institutional support was not without drawbacks. Violence was defined more narrowly, confined to domestic violence, and, social scientists instead of victims were invited as experts. Nevertheless, the studies generated in connection with the meeting for the first time offered systematic knowledge about the causes and consequences of domestic violence and prompted a change in the policy framework with a movement away from mediation between family members to the criminalization of gender violence. The solution was symbolic, assigning personal responsibility to the perpetrator and signaling that gender violence was socially unacceptable. Finally, the politicization phase gives weight to a thesis advanced by social movement theorists that NGOs become more experienced and their framing activities more strategic over the course of a campaign. The CWGL seized the World Conference on Human Rights in Vienna in 1993 to gain international recognition for women’s rights as human rights by engaging in a two-pronged strategy. On the one hand, it provided scientific evidence for the linkage of the two frames; on the other, it engaged in symbolic activities, including the Sixteen Days of Activism and the Eighteen-Hour Tribunal. Furthermore, the CWGL and related organizations enlisted the support of powerful allies. Human rights NGOs, such as AI and HRW, provided credible and reliable information on how state actors had perpetrated or condoned gender violence; the media devoted extensive coverage to the activities of women’s groups at the conference; and the U.S. government assumed leadership on the issue. In addition, symbolic events and conflicts among governments

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created opportunities for women’s organizations. Though the mass raping of women in ethnic conflicts such as that in the former Yugoslavia made apparent the political nature of gender violence, the divisions between Southern bloc and Northern bloc countries regarding the definition of human rights were conducive for women’s organizations that had an issue and mobilized across these divisions. In sum, the experiences gained by activists in connection with the campaign concerning gender violence, the networks created, the institutional changes accomplished, and the expansion of the UN rights frame created opportunities to mobilize state support for more contested women’s issues, including reproductive rights and health.

5 REPRODUCTIVE RIGHTS AND HEALTH Women’s Organizations and the Population Establishment

The international campaign on reproductive rights and health, culminating in the inclusion of the issue at the International Conference on Population and Development in Cairo 1994, exhibits similar patterns as that regarding violence against women: In the mid-1980s, Northern and Southern women conducted an international tribunal protesting against existing population control programs and calling for greater attention to women’s reproductive rights and health; during the late 1980s, women’s health activists engaged in a dialogue with members of the population establishment to develop more women-centered population policies; and in the 1990s, women’s organizations politicized the issue of reproduction at the Cairo conference by mobilizing governmental support. Yet the case of reproductive rights and health also exhibits important differences. Contrary to the issue of violence against women, the issue itself was much more contested, with women’s organizations encountering tremendous opposition from conservative forces and within their own ranks. I argue that women’s organizations nevertheless succeeded in legitimizing the issue of women’s reproductive rights and health within the UN because of both the opportunities they and others had created and the mobilizing structures they had established over the course of previous campaigns. 133

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Defining the Problem: The International Tribunal and Meeting on Reproductive Rights in Amsterdam, 1984

The struggle for reproductive rights originated in Western Europe and North America during the 1960s, when women at the national level were calling for the legalization of abortion.1 It became internationalized during the 1980s with the emergence of a Southern constituency composed of women for whom reproduction was primarily a health issue: Pregnancies and their prevention were less a matter of choice than a question of survival. Though the voices of women from developing countries had been absent from the debate until then, a series of symbolic events focused attention on the reproductive health problems with which they were confronted. Among these events was the International Tribunal and Meeting on Reproductive Rights held in Amsterdam, July 22–28, 1984. This meeting was the fourth in a series of International Women’s Health Meetings that had been held since the late 1970s in Rome (1977), Hannover (1980), and Geneva (1981). It was organized by women from the International Contraception, Abortion, and Sterilization Campaign in London,2 and the Dutch, Belgian, and Luxembourgian abortion campaigns (hereafter called “the coordination group”). It brought together nearly four hundred women from sixty-five countries to talk about issues such as population control policies, contraception, abortion, sterilization, having children, sexuality, infertility, and many other women’s health issues. Although the tribunal had by now emerged as a “master frame” in the women’s movement and women had gained significantly in organizing experience since the 1970s, benefiting from the already existing international networks, overcoming the North/South divide proved nevertheless difficult. To begin with, the participation of Southern women in the tribunal was hampered by its location. Amsterdam was difficult to get to and meant for many women traveling for up to a week, time which many could not afford to take off from their workplace or from their families. Though the coordination group had originally planned to hold the meeting in a Southern location, it settled for Amsterdam when it encountered difficulties in the plan’s realization. For example, the group had considered as a possible site Mexico City, where the UN Population Conference in 1984 had taken place, an event to which I return below. However, women’s organizations there had been unable to secure appropriate facilities (WGNRR 1986, 2). Subsequent attempts by the co-

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ordination group to hold the meeting in Costa Rica were frustrated by the U.S. invasion of Grenada. Feeling as if “the White House in Washington [was] controlling [their] decision like they [were] trying to control Central America and the Caribbean,” and fearing that there might be a war affecting borders, security, and the movement of people, members of the coordination group decided to hold the tribunal in Europe instead (WGNRR 1986, 2). Attendance by Southern women was further constrained by a lack of funding. Because philanthropic foundations were still very hesitant to provide financial assistance for international women’s conferences such as the tribunal, the coordination group could offer travel assistance to only a portion of the more than 250 Southern women who had actually applied for it (WGNRR 1986, 4). In addition, short of money, the coordination group was limited in the amount of advertising it was able to do for the tribunal. A mass publicity mailing did not go out until three months before the meeting, and the mailing did not reach many Southern women until a month later, when it was too late to make travel arrangements (WGNRR 1986, 3). Finally, the lack of funding also affected communication between Northern and Southern women at the tribunal because the coordination group had only enough money to hire translation services for the “official” languages—English, French, and Spanish—but not for any others (WGNRR 1986, 3). Along with the physical barriers that the location and shortage of money imposed on Southern women regarding their participation in the tribunal, the traditions and customs prevailing in their countries imposed mental constraints, preventing them from speaking freely about issues related to reproduction. As one woman at the tribunal remarked in her testimonial: “There are many of us here from the Middle East and North Africa because in our countries the topics of the women’s movement and women’s sexuality are taboo” (WGNRR 1986, 42). Customs and traditions made addressing issues related to sexuality and reproduction in their own countries difficult if not impossible, for reasons that were detailed by several women: A woman from India noted: “Motherhood is a status symbol. If you look at the goddesses that Indian women worship, they are all idols of motherhood” (WGNRR 1986, 41). The influence of societal norms also figured in the statement by a Moroccan woman. According to her, “there was a lot of resistance to family planning, due to the structure of the society. The masses still want many children because having a great number of children is connected with social position and the security of the family” (WGNRR

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1986, 40). Finally, a woman coming from an Islamic country talked about the role of religion. “Islamic religion does not tell the man to please his wife, it is only the woman who has to please the man. A woman has no choice in her sexual life; it is the man who decides” (WGNRR 1986, 35). Women who did raise issues related to reproduction or demanded more say with respect to family planning had to fear repercussions because they challenged the predominant image of women as being passive and subservient. One woman explained: “If Moslem women were to want to exercise control over their own bodies, it would be fought against. It is the sort of demand that is most political, most social, and most revolutionary on all levels” (WGNRR 1986, 41). These cultural barriers help to explain why many Southern women would only agree to testify at the tribunal if they could remain anonymous. Finally, the presence of Southern women at the tribunal was also a cause for conflict. Due to financial and space constraints, the organizers had to limit the number of participants. Because they had given priority to women from developing countries, other minority groups felt excluded from the tribunal, including lesbians, women of color from the North, and disabled women. In a statement, the members of the Black Women’s Health Group voiced their anger over the decision and accused the organizers of being racist and of having used Southern women to enhance their own power base: It is a total contradiction to discuss all these issues and yet never mention or examine or discuss that underlying all this is racism. Ultimately we surmise that the majority of women involved in organizing this conference are white and that they feel that ensuring that a few women living in the Third World countries attending this conference is sufficient. They are continuing to be tokenistic, as well as attempting to co-opt certain Black and Third World women, and then use different tactics to reinforce their power base. (quoted in WGNRR 1986, 63)

This statement not only reflects the criticisms that were leveled against the leaders of women’s movements more generally at the time. It also reveals the gendered assumptions of Northern women who perceived their Southern sisters as weak, powerless, and easy to manipulate. Despite these conflicts and difficulties, international gatherings such as the tribunal in Amsterdam were critical for the mobilization of an international constituency around the issue of reproduction.

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The tribunal gave rise to an alliance between Northern and Southern women and the expansion of the reproductive rights frame to include reproductive health. At the end of the international meeting, women issued solidarity statements in which they condemned forced family planning policies, called for better information on contraceptives, and demanded the legalization of abortion in every country (WGNRR 1986, 67). Moreover, the event culminated in the establishment of international networks. The International Contraception, Abortion, and Sterilization Campaign, which had played a critical role in the organization of the tribunal, was turned into the Women’s Global Network for Reproductive Rights (WGNRR) with headquarters in Amsterdam. In addition to the circulation of a regular newsletter—WGNRR News—the WGNRR has since its establishment organized numerous international campaigns on issues related to contraception, sterilization, and abortion, and together with the Latin American and Caribbean Women’s Health Network in Chile, declared May 28 as the International Day of Action for Women’s Health (Dutting 1996). While founded with the intention to promote solidarity between Northern and Southern women, the WGNRR ironically became, as I show below, a source of conflict within the women’s health movement in the 1990s. Finally, the tribunal resulted in the relocation of subsequent international women’s health meetings to the South, which made it easier for women there to participate and enhanced their prominence. Future events were held in Costa Rica (1987), the Philippines (1990), and Uganda (1993). Similar to the 1976 Brussels Tribunal on Crimes against Women, at the 1984 Amsterdam tribunal, the testimonies of victims fueled the solidarity among Northern and Southern women and the formation of international networks. Women’s personal experiences with population control and family planning policies united women despite their cultural, political, and ideological differences. The overriding problem for women in developing countries seemed to be the lack of access to resources. A woman from Guatemala who testified during the session on “Medical Services—or Health Care” pointed to the shortage of medical services particularly in rural areas: “There is one doctor for 10,000 people in my country, which would not be so bad except that 70 percent of them live in the capital. In the rural areas, there is no doctor to be found at all” (quoted in WGNRR 1986, 25). Apart from being disadvantaged by living in a certain geographical area, a witness from Chile also emphasized the influence of economic and social factors: “A woman, because of her social and economic situation, cannot always have

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recourse to private abortion, sterilization, or contraception, which are all very expensive. Women have no other choice but to undergo abortions. These are done in a highly unprofessional manner because the women have no money to pay for them” (quoted in WGNRR 1986, 16). Other women addressed the issue of insufficient knowledge and information. One woman from Australia noted that “sex education is virtually non-existent in the schools” (quoted in WGNRR 1986, 19), and another witness from Guatemala reported that “women of the indigenous people and the poorer classes are being sterilized without being informed” (quoted in WGNRR 1986, 25). Women in developing countries seldom had a choice in questions related to reproduction, especially if they belonged to a minority group or a race suffering discrimination. They often were forced into sterilizations, abortions, or taking contraceptives, as a woman from India alluded to in her testimonial: “The other problem is that we have sterilization camps set up all over India. Sometimes the woman is sent home within one hour. Patients even collapse in the camps where conditions are not always sterile. The bodies are wrapped up and sent away secretly to hospital so that others in the village will believe they died in the hospital and not in the camp” (quoted in WGNRR 1986, 20). For Southern women, reproduction was a life-and-death issue, and as a result, they were, as one woman from Nicaragua put it, “fight[ing] for the fundamental right to survive” (quoted in WGNRR 1986, 13). The testimonies depicted not only the harsh realities of women living in developing countries; they also identified responsible parties: governments and international agencies involved in family planning programs, or what participants called “population control.” Witnesses pointed to two events during the late 1980s that were particularly symbolic for the negative effects of their actions. First, the “dumping” of unsafe contraceptives (e.g., the Dalkon Shield intrauterine device, or IUD, and Depo-Provera injectable progestin) by Northern pharmaceutical companies and family planning organizations in developing countries in the late 1970s was an important mobilizing force. Southern women were reported to have suffered from anemia and infections, pelvic inflammatory diseases, unintended sterilization, and tubal pregnancies, and even to have died (Ehrenreich, Dowie, and Minkin 1979).3 In her testimony at the tribunal, a woman from Brazil describes some of the repercussions that users of IUDs in her country faced: “The IUD was introduced by international organizations and in some cases the threads were cut after they were inserted.

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The women were not taken care of medically; in São Paulo inner city I have seen a woman who had an IUD in for 20 years without a medical check-up. You can understand the dire consequences of this—anemia, infection—and in any case, these women are undernourished” (WGNRR 1986, 15). In the eyes of the tribunal participants, the dumping made apparent the double standards of international family planners, who regarded Southern women as objects or “targets” rather than as individuals with rights and needs. Many of these contraceptives had either not been approved by the Food and Drug Administration for distribution in the United States or had been withdrawn after they had been found to be unsafe. However, they continued to be sold in the developing world (Ehrenreich, Dowie, and Minkin 1979, 28–29; see also Holms, Hoskin, and Gross 1980), with the products being less than sanitary. For example, while Dalkon Shield IUDs had been sold in the United States in individual, sterilized packages with a disposable inserter for each device, the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID) distributed them in developing countries in bulk packages, unsterilized, with only ten inserters per hundred shields, and only one set of instructions for each pack of 1,000 shields (Ehrenreich, Dowie, and Minkin 1979, 28–29). The “dumping” of unsafe contraceptives encouraged Southern women to speak out against Northern population policies because they stood in conflict with their beliefs, as the statement issued by African women at the tribunal indicated: “The politics which underlie population control violate the rights and struggles for life. The African ideology begins with the assumption that we give life first, whilst the ideology behind population control says that we must prevent life in order to give it. This is a violation of our fundamental human rights; therefore, we reject population control” (quoted in WGNRR 1986, 54). Population control policies not only violated women’s rights; they also brought with them dependencies, as the second symbolic event illustrates. At the UN Population Conference in Mexico City in 1984, the U.S. delegation announced that it would no longer fund international family planning organizations providing abortion services and would reduce funding for international family planning more generally (Fox 1986).4 The decision, known as the U.S. Mexico City Policy, came as a surprise to many and sent shock waves through developing countries because the United States had been the main engine behind population control efforts since the 1950s.5 More important, it was detrimental to Southern women. Two of the biggest family planning organizations providing

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abortion services and referrals—the UN Population Fund (UNFPA) and the International Planned Parenthood Federation (IPPF)—had received a major portion of their funding from the U.S. government.6 As one woman from the Philippines stated later at an international women’s gathering: “The withdrawal of USAID support has made matters worse, not better. Although alternative funding sources for family planning have been developed, women in the Philippines are expected to pay for their own contraceptives. This is a burden that few women can afford to bear” (quoted in WGNRR 1986, 11). Even if women in developing countries were critical of international family planning agencies, for many of them, the existence of these entities was often the only way for them to have access to contraceptives and other services. The U.S. Mexico City Policy was the confluence of several forces. First, it reflected the views of a Republican presidential administration on population growth, which differed significantly from those of its Democratic predecessors.7 Rather than perceiving population growth as a threat to national security that needed to be reckoned with, the Ronald Reagan administration depicted it as a “neutral phenomenon,” and the policies of the 1960s and 1970s as “demographic overreaction” (U.S. State Department 1984). Similar differences were also apparent in the administration’s proposed solutions. In contrast to the John F. Kennedy and Jimmy Carter administrations, under which the United States had emerged as a leader in its support for family planning programs, the Reagan administration preferred to control population growth through the free rein of market forces. In its Mexico City statement, the delegation stressed that “population control programs alone cannot substitute for the economic reforms that put society on a road toward growth and, as an after-effect, toward slower population increase as well” (U.S. State Department 1984, 4). Second, the U.S. Mexico City Policy also reflected the lobbying activities of pro-life organizations, for whom the conference, according to McIntosh and Finkle (1995, 284), presented an excellent opportunity “to gain global attention for anti-abortion perspectives and an opportunity to strengthen transnational connections” after having lost their battle in the United States for a constitutional amendment that would have banned abortion. In light of the upcoming presidential elections, the Reagan administration was particularly receptive to these organizations. Evidence for this can be found in the administration’s decision two months before the conference to replace the head of the U.S. delegation, Richard Benedick, then the coordinator of population affairs in

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the State Department, with the former New York senator and president of Radio Free Europe, James L. Buckley. In contrast to Benedick, who was an outspoken advocate of family planning programs and the need for the U.S. government to continue its leadership role in this area, Buckley was very critical of international population assistance and a known opponent of abortion.8 To ensure that his views would be reflected, Buckley requested an explicit statement of U.S. policy on population issues that he could “personally support” before his appointment (Fox 1986, 629). The U.S. position on abortion resonated widely with other delegations at the Mexico City Population Conference. The program of action called on governments “to take appropriate steps to help women avoid abortion, which in no case should be promoted as a method of family planning, and whenever possible provide for the humane treatment and counseling of women who had recourse to abortion” (United Nations 1984, 21). The only country that had objected vigorously to the adoption of this paragraph was Sweden, whose delegate stated a reservation in the final plenary. In particular, she expressed regret about the little consideration that the conference had given to illegal abortion, which in her estimation constituted a “serious health hazard” (United Nations 1984, 76). Interestingly, while still a minority position in Mexico City, Sweden’s stand on abortion, as I show below, became the majority position at the International Conference on Population and Development in Cairo a decade later. In summary, symbolic events such as the U.S. Mexico City Policy or the dumping of unsafe contraceptives focused attention on the detrimental effects of population control policies. Together with the testimonies of Southern women at the International Tribunal and Meeting on Reproductive Rights in Amsterdam in 1984, they mobilized women into action and prompted the search for solutions.

The Solution: Women-Centered Population Policies and Dialogue Meetings during the Late 1980s

During the late 1980s, several international women’s organizations entered into a dialogue with individual members of the population establishment with the intention to develop more women-centered population policies. Though they included the Boston Women’s Health

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Book Collective and the Latin American and Caribbean Women’s Health Network, the organization most instrumental and actively involved in initiating the dialogue was the International Women’s Health Coalition (IWHC) in New York. This was no coincidence. The IWHC was a natural entrepreneur. It had well-established connections to members in the population establishment. The organization itself had been founded in 1980 with the help of the Population Crisis Committee (now Population Action International), a Washington-based family planning organization (McIntosh and Finkle 1995, 250), and its executive director, Joan Dunlop, had been the personal assistant of John D. Rockefeller III, the godfather of the population movement, during the 1970s (Kyte 1995). On the side of the population establishment, the organizations that participated most regularly in the meetings were ones that played a major role in the conception and development of international family planning policies and had more of a liberal outlook, including the Special Program of Research, Development, and Research Training in Human Reproduction of the World Health Organization (WHO) in Geneva, as well as the Population Council and the Rockefeller Foundation in New York (Kyte 1995). The dialogue meetings exhibit important differences from the expert group meeting on domestic violence in Vienna in 1986. In contrast with the latter, women’s health activists were active participants in the dialogue meetings. However, their participation was also a source of conflict because the activists’ experiences and views on how to bring women more to the center of population policies were initially incommensurate with those of the members of the population establishment who perceived the issue in a technical manner. Particularly telling in this regard was one of the various dialogue meetings, titled “Creating Common Ground: Women’s Perspectives on the Selection and Introduction of Fertility Regulation Technologies,” held in Geneva, February 20–22, 1991.9 The meeting had been jointly organized by the IWHC and the WHO Special Program with the intention to “define how women’s needs and perspectives can be brought to bear on the work of the Special Program, and of other organizations concerned with fertility regulation” (WHO 1991, 6). While the eighteen scientists—primarily physicians—and the fourteen women’s health activists who had been invited to the meeting agreed about the need to bring women’s perspectives and experiences to bear in the development, selection, and introduction of fertility-regulation technologies, the search for shared values and commonly accepted solutions proved difficult. Because of

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their different frames of reference, the two groups strongly disagreed about the ways in which this should be accomplished. Women’s health activists and scientists had different standards for evaluating family planning programs. Assuming that women have a right to control their sexuality and are capable of making rational decisions if given appropriate information, the activists expected family planning programs to improve the health and well-being of women (WHO 1991, 1–3). In contrast, the scientists evaluated these programs based on their potential to bring down population growth and justified their position with societal aims such as the benefits for the largest number of people (WHO 1991, 10). In line with their different priorities, the scientists and women’s health activists also favored different birth control methods. The scientists preferred provider-controlled contraceptives such as IUDs and injectables because they were efficient and safe in the sense that they reduced the likelihood of human error. The activists favored user-controlled methods such as condoms or diaphragms because they had relatively few side effects, provided protection from sexually transmitted diseases (STDs), and gave women more control in regulating their fertility (WHO 1991, 11). Finally, the two groups differed in who constituted the group of people with “unmet needs for family planning.” The scientists defined it rather narrowly as made up of only “non-users at risk of unwanted or untimely pregnancy.” In contrast, the women’s health activists conceived of the group in much broader terms. In their eyes, they included “unsatisfied users, incorrect users, users of inappropriate methods, users and non-users with special needs (such as adolescents and sex workers), and most men” (WHO 1991, 12). These differences among the participants in the dialogue meetings were reflective of different sources of information. The scientists based their assessments on quantitative and scientific data drawn from introductory trials, clinical assessments, laboratory tests, and field studies (WHO 1991, 12). The activists, by contrast, relied on the knowledge and the experiences they had accumulated as a result of their work with women in developing countries. As a result, both groups were highly skeptical of the expertise employed by the other. The scientists taking part in the meeting questioned not only the validity of the stories told by the activists about women in developing countries; they also were doubtful as to whether they were in a position—given their high level of education—to speak for poor and rural women whose voices they claimed to represent.10 Women’s health activists, conversely, felt that they were a legitimate source of information

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about both the content and the variety of women’s perspectives. According to one representative, “women’s health advocates and other women’s groups could act as a bridge between women and scientists, helping to interpret scientists’ findings to other women, and bringing women’s concerns to the attention of the scientific community” (WHO 1991, 13). In the eyes of the activists, serving as such a transmission belt between users and scientists was necessary because scientific language was not only “notoriously incomprehensible” but also “exclusive.” Women had “little or no hand in the design and introduction of modern fertility regulation methods, although they had been at the forefront of the family planning movement and constituted the majority of contraceptive users” (WHO 1991, 6). Despite disagreements such as these among the participants, the dialogue meetings culminated in a series of action frameworks intended to ensure the consideration of women’s concerns in population policies. One of the most prominent frameworks is “quality of care.” Reflecting the perspectives of the users of family planning—that is, women and men in developing countries—this framework stresses, among other things, the choice of contraceptive methods, the availability of full information about all methods and side effects, providers’ technical competence combined with interpersonal skill, and structural incentives for maintaining the availability of an appropriate constellation of services (IWHC and Population Council 1986). When the quality-of-care framework was first introduced by women’s health activists in a dialogue meeting during the mid-1980s, the members of the population establishment rejected it with the argument that the framework’s implementation in the developing world was logistically and culturally “unrealistic” (WHO 1991, 89). However, with the publication of the scientific article titled “Fundamental Elements of the Quality of Care: A Simple Framework” by Judith Bruce of the Population Council in the prestigious journal Family Planning in 1990 (Bruce 1990), the framework gained in acceptance. This article grounded the concept of quality of care theoretically and demonstrated its potential successfulness with references to field studies. Since then, major family planning organizations, such as the UNFPA and IPPF, have integrated the framework into their programming activities. The acceptance of the quality-of-care framework is striking given the initial skepticism of the population establishment with respect to the proposals of women’s health activists. What contributed to it? Some scholars suggest that shifts within political alignments and conflict within institutions can be of advantage to those seeking support for

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their ideas, because they can bring into power groups whose perspectives are more in alignment with those ideas (Tarrow 1994, 87). This was also true for women’s health activists. Their proposals and perspectives gained in legitimacy following a shift in political alignments within the population establishment away from what Dixon-Müller (1993, 69) refers to as the “supply-siders” of family planning—that is, the Northern countries—and toward the “demand-siders” of family planning—that is, the Southern countries. A major symbolic event in this respect was the First UN Population Conference in Bucharest in 1974. Whereas Northern governments, and more specifically the United States, had been in control of the agenda throughout the preparatory process for the conference, advocating the setting of population targets, Southern countries dominated the negotiations at the conference itself, promoting development as the best contraceptive and calling for a New International Economic Order (NIEO). This shift in power at the Bucharest conference had various sources. On the one hand, the shift in power reflected broader changes within the international system already alluded to in chapter 3 (e.g., the decolonialization of Southern countries mirrored by their growing majority within the UN General Assembly and the declining influence of the United States and its Northern allies). On the other, forces specific to the Population Conference amplified the South’s preeminence. One of these was the location of the conference. Chosen by Northern conference planners with the hope “that by holding an international population conference in a Marxist country they would demonstrate that population was no longer a major ideological issue,” Bucharest turned out to be highly political. Romania pursued a strong and highly controversial pronatalist policy and was sympathetic to the concerns of Southern bloc countries. In his keynote address, President Nicolae Ceau¸sescu of Romania urged that population be considered at Bucharest in the context of the NIEO (Finkle and Crane 1975, 100–1). Further, Southern governments occupied major conference offices, including the chair of the Working Group on the Program of Action, which was considered the most powerful. Whereas Northern bloc countries had wanted and expected an Asian to occupy that post, African countries, supported by Latin American and Socialist ones, succeeded in backing the selection of an Algerian delegate (Finkle and Crane 1975, 99). The office of the chairman of the Working Group gave the Algerian direct influence over the wording of the conference text, of which he made ample use. “In the judgment of many delegates from the Third World as well as the West, the Chairman used his

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position to the advantage of those who wanted to incorporate references to the NIEO in the Plan” (Finkle and Crane 1975, 99). Moreover, the Southern position was strengthened through influential allies. Prominent supply-siders favored and supported the linkage between population and development. In a speech at the NGO [Nongovernmental Organization] Forum, John D. Rockefeller III stated that it was his personal conviction that the “viable course [was] to place population policy solidly within the context of general economic and social development” (quoted in Mauldin et al. 1974, 369). Finally, the Population Conference received a great degree of media coverage, which according to some observers “was an incentive to the delegates to speak to the wider audience of world opinion and to treat the Conference as a platform to gain publicity for their positions” (Finkle and Crane 1975, 99–100).11 In sum, the Bucharest Population Conference highlights the way in which influential allies, conference offices, and the conference location gave Southern countries direct access to the agenda-setting process and enabled them to politicize the population issue by placing it squarely into the development framework. The politicization of the population issue and its link to development provided opportunities for women, who accounted for almost half of the 1,350 persons attending the parallel NGO Forum (Mauldin et al. 1974, 375). What had initially started out as a single paragraph on women in the draft program of action became expanded into six paragraphs in the final version, which received unanimous approval. In these paragraphs, governments recognized “that the promotion of the status of women [was] an integral factor in the development process” and that “socioeconomic development would be curtailed without the active participation of women in all fields of life since they represent half of the population of nations” (United Nations 1974, 30–31). Governments’ support of women in development was, according to Mauldin and others (1974, 375), “remarkable in view of the major divergences of opinion on virtually every other issue that the conference confronted.” It can be explained with the consensual nature of the framework. Its underlying assumptions were compatible with the goals of both Southern and Northern governments. On the one hand, the enhancement of women’s economic status could further development; on the other, it could lead to lower population growth because evidence suggested that women would develop different aspirations than having children and a family.12 In addition to the shift in political alignments, the spread of reproductive tract infections (RTIs) and HIV/AIDS focused policymakers’ at-

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tention on women in developing countries because they were the group most affected by these diseases. One event that was particularly eye-opening in this respect was another dialogue meeting titled “Reproductive Tract Infections in Women in the Third World” that the IWHC and the Rockefeller Foundation cosponsored in Bellagio, Italy, from April 29 to May 3, 1991. The eighteen scientific papers that participants had prepared for this meeting (including nine literature reviews and four country-specific papers from Brazil, India, Kenya, and Nigeria) for the first time “systematically reviewed the significance of RTIs for women’s health, family planning, child survival, and HIV control programs” (IWHC 1991, 1).13 First, they revealed that categorizing women in the general population in developing countries as a “low-risk group” was false,14 because they had a surprisingly high rate of infection. Up to 40 percent of women from thirty to thirty-four years of age had been found to be infected with the AIDS virus in some central African countries, and the proportion of pregnant women infected with the virus was estimated to be as high as 20 percent in most African countries (Dixon-Müller and Wasserheit 1991, 13). Second, the reports also provided evidence about the consequences that infected women suffer, among the most detrimental being death. More than 500,000 women were found to die annually from RTIs, 200,000 alone from botched abortions. If not death, RTIs could lead to infertility. In Asia the number of infected women suffering from infertility was estimated to be as high as 40 percent and in Latin America as high as 35 percent (Dixon-Müller and Wasserheit 1991, 5). Third, the papers put forth explanations for the vulnerability of women to RTIs. Contrary to the widely held belief that women’s sexual behavior was the major reason for infection and the spread of the disease, the papers found the major culprit to be structural in nature. In particular, prevailing gender inequalities left women little control with whom or under what conditions to have sexual intercourse. A. B. Ndugga Maggwa and Elizabeth N. Nguigi of the University of Nairobi elaborated on the issue in the following manner: “Women [in Kenya] usually have only one sex partner once they are married and also have fewer lifetime sexual partners, an average of two. However, . . . they still get infected and most probably this is the result of the spouse’s sexual behavior, . . . which borders on male prostitution” (quoted in IWHC 1991, 2). The participants in the meeting identified customs and traditions not only as sources of existing gender equalities but also as reasons why

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it was so difficult to treat RTIs because customs and traditions contributed to the stigmatization of women. Usha Luthra and Badri N. Saxena of the Indian Council of Medical Research reported: “The existing socio-cultural barriers and taboos associated with diseases even remotely connected with reproduction and sexuality are major hindrances to [women] seeking help. . . . [The] majority of Indian women are reluctant to talk or be examined by male doctors, especially for gynecological or sexual disorders. Nurses and paramedical workers are not trained to deal with gynecological diseases, and also the availability of female doctors in rural areas is greatly limited” (quoted in IWHC 1991, 7). Information such as this provided by scientists about the causes, the magnitude, and the consequences of RTIs prompted policymakers to question their past indifference to the problem. Particularly outspoken in this respect was Nancy Pielemeier of USAID: “Is it ethical not to intervene when the data are so strong? . . . The evidence of consequences for mothers and children is so compelling we must act. . . . Policies have been made on much less evidence” (quoted in IWHC 1991, 13). Similarly, Mahmoud Fathalla of WHO felt that the evidence was such that policymakers had no choice other than to act: “Should family planning programs be active in controlling RTIs? They have no choice and they have an obligation. They must do all they can do ranging from counseling women on appropriate method choice, provision of condoms, support where necessary to use two methods (one an effective contraceptive and one a barrier against infection), to clinical diagnosis and treatment” (quoted in IWHC 1991, 17). The technical information presented at the meeting prompted participants to adopt a series of recommendations that placed women at the center of international population policies. For example, they urged modifications in ongoing health, family planning, and STD/HIV programs, as well as in technological development and research. With respect to health, family planning, and STD/HIV programs, the experts considered improvement in the delivery of services, the availability of safe abortions, and the promotion of condom use to be the most critical. In the case of technological development and research, priority was given to the development not only of new female-controlled methods that protect against infections but also of simpler and less expensive treatments for RTIs (IWHC 1991, 12). Furthermore, participants placed a premium on education and social action. It was hoped that initiatives in this regard would, first, give women greater control when, with

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whom, and under what conditions they would have sexual relations; and, second, encourage men to adopt sexual behaviors that respect their own health and women’s health, dignity, and bodily integrity. To recapitulate, the HIV/AIDS crises and the overwhelming number of women suffering from RTIs, together with changes in the political climate following the Bucharest conference, helped women’s health advocates win the support of influential allies in the population establishment. These allies provided access to technical information, which served as a basis for gaining acceptance for women-centered population policies, such as the quality of care. However, the integration of women into the population framework was not unanimously supported. Instead, it became the subject of contestation at the International Conference on Population and Development (ICPD).

Politicization: The International Conference on Population and Development, Cairo, 1994

As soon as the meeting of the first Preparatory Committee for the ICPD had come to a close and it had become apparent that family planning had been dealt with in a demographic fashion and women’s rights had hardly been mentioned in the draft program of action, the IWHC organized the so-called London meeting in the spring of 1992, inviting a small international group of friends of other women’s health organizations.15 The London meeting participants—agreeing that the upcoming UN conference on population in Cairo presented an excellent opportunity to generate greater awareness about reproductive rights and health—formed what came to be known as the Women’s Alliance and adopted Women’s Voices ’94: The Women’s Declaration on Population Policies (IWHC 1994). This declaration defined women’s ability to control their fertility as a human right and specified seven ethical principles that population policies and programs should honor to ensure the centrality of women’s well-being (Antrobus et al. 1993). It had been drafted with the intention to be a lobbying tool for women’s organizations at the national, regional, and international levels (IWHC 1994, 2). Although, by the time of the second preparatory conference for the ICPD, the declaration had been circulated among women’s groups around the world and been endorsed and signed by a total of 2,539 individuals and organizations from over 110 countries (IWHC 1994),16 it also turned out to be highly divisive. The document triggered

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substantial criticism and counterframing activities from Vatican representatives and from segments within the women’s health movement, highlighting an argument by McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald (1996b, 17) that later framing efforts are much more strategic and therefore can devolve into intense framing contests. Reproductive rights and health challenged and was incommensurate with the values and perspectives of the Holy See. In contrast to women’s health activists—who associated reproductive rights and health with access to safe contraceptives, counseling, and health services—the Vatican representatives claimed that these activists stood for “an unrestricted right to abortion” and “a radical pro-choice position.” Accepting the issue’s inclusion into the agenda of the ICPD was unacceptable to the Holy See, because it was “coercive and demeaning to women,” constituted “a most grave threat to human dignity and liberty,” and violated the right of the “unborn life” (Holy See 1994). While making apparent the way in which frames introduced by certain groups can be appropriated and redefined by others, the Vatican’s opposing role was not unprecedented. At both the UN Population Conferences in Bucharest in 1974 and in Mexico City in 1984, the Holy See had abstained its vote from the platforms of action because it found their recommendations on family planning morally unacceptable.17 To prevent the inclusion of reproductive rights and reproductive health on the conference agenda, the Holy See together with Catholic countries responded by entering into an alliance with fundamentalist Islamic countries, such as Iran, Libya, and the Sudan, despite their ideological differences. The alliance successfully blocked discussion on chapters 7 and 8, devoted to women’s reproductive rights and health, by making ample use of UN rules and procedures, such as frequent oral interventions and the demand for brackets, indicating their disagreement. Their behavior and opposition attracted the attention of the international media. Guided by professional norms such as the preference for dramatic and visible events (Kielbowicz and Scherer 1986, 75–76), internationally prominent newspapers and television networks amplified the position of the Holy See and enhanced controversy by zeroing in on the abortion issue. For example, on September 6, 1994, the New York Times published an article with the headline “UN International Conference on Population and Development Tried to Avert Showdown over Abortion—But a Proposed Compromise Was Unlikely to Ease a Tense Standoff with the Vatican,” and CNN commented on the ICPD on September 7, 1994, in the following manner:

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“The world population conference just can’t seem to get past the abortion issue.” While the opposition of the Holy See was a significant obstacle, it remains unclear why the Women’s Alliance was unable to overcome it. A major impediment for the Women’s Alliance was the opposition it encountered from radical women’s organizations, which were critical of Women’s Voices and framed the issue of reproduction in a much broader fashion. Among the most vocal organizations expressing their disagreement with the declaration were the WGNRR (established at the Tribunal on Reproductive Rights in 1984 to facilitate cooperation and networking between Northern and Southern women); the Boston Women’s Health Book Collective; the Feminist International Network of Resistance to Reproductive and Genetic Engineering in Hamburg; and the Committee on Women, Population, and the Environment in Amherst, Massachusetts. These organizations criticized Women’s Voices ’94 for both procedural as well as substantive reasons. In particular, they had misgivings about the undemocratic process in which the declaration had been put together. According to Gisela Dutting of the WGNRR, it had been “drafted by an exclusive group of women whose perspectives were not representative of the entire women’s movement, but rather that of its more pragmatic wing” (Dutting 1996). Moreover, radical women’s organizations objected to “the lack of principle criticism of population policy” within the Women’s Alliance document for reasons detailed in their “Critical Appraisal of the Women’s Declaration on Population Policies” published in the January–March 1993 edition of the WGNRR Newsletter.18 According to these organizations, the declaration “[was] based on the acceptance of population policies which [was] at best confusing and at worst dangerous. It adds to a growing general consensus among established organizations and increasingly among women’s groups, that population policies are unavoidable to solve major problems like poverty and environmental degradation, whereby the underlying causes are once more neglected” (p. 4). In contrast to members of the Women’s Alliance, who perceived the population policy framework as an adequate channel to gain acceptance for women’s reproductive rights and health, the authors of the “Critical Appraisal” considered it as ill suited for reasons that Betsy Hartmann (1996) of the Committee on Women, Population, and the Environment stated in the following manner: “Population policies are not only sexist, racist, and imperialistic, but they are also superficial in that they leave untouched the fundamental causes for population

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growth, including the unequal distribution of wealth, military expenditures, and overconsumption.” Population policies reinforced the very same power structures, which these organizations perceived as the fundamental sources of population growth. In addition to the normative basis, the opposition of radical women’s organizations also had a strategic one. They feared co-optation and that working within the population policy framework would silence critical women’s voices. Again, Hartmann (1996) noted: “Accepting them [population policies] and their makers entails the threat of co-optation and doublespeak, that is, the danger that women’s reproductive rights and health discourse become appropriated by policymakers but that nothing changes in practice.” This position differed from that of Women’s Alliance members, who assumed that working within the population policy framework would enhance the legitimacy of the reproductive rights and health issue and was therefore a necessity. As one alliance member, Merge Berer, editor of the journal Reproductive Health Matters, had stated in the early 1990s: “If feminists continue to ignore population issues, it will serve to isolate the women’s health movement internationally and prevent us from making very necessary interventions in this area on behalf of women’s needs and interests” (WGNRR 1990b, 20). This controversy between pragmatists and radicals over the appropriate action frame, joined with the opposition of conservative forces, hampered the efforts of the Women’s Alliance to mobilize government support for their issue. After the last preparatory conference for the ICPD in the spring of 1994, chapter 7, “Reproductive Rights and Reproductive Health,” contained the largest number of brackets of any in the draft program of action, indicating substantial disagreement with the given text. The most controversial terms included “reproductive rights,” “reproductive health,” “sexual health,” “fertility regulation,” “safe motherhood,” “family planning,” and “abortion.” It was these conditions that prompted the alliance to rethink and alter its strategy. Shortly before the ICPD took place, the IWHC organized another symbolic event in Rio de Janeiro in the spring of 1994: the International Women’s Health Conference for Cairo, titled “Reproductive Health and Justice,” with the intention to “search for and identify common ground and universalities in women’s perspectives on reproductive health and justice, while recognizing and respecting the diversity that exists in the women’s movement” (IWHC and CEPIA 1994, 1). This meeting signaled that women’s organizations had learned from their past mistakes.

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In contrast to the meeting in London, the IWHC had taken steps toward more inclusiveness. For example, despite severe budgetary constraints, more than two hundred participants were invited instead of only eighteen. In addition, “difference” rather than “sameness” served as the overriding criterion for selecting participants. Women were chosen on the basis of their “nationality,” “culture,” “age,” “sexual orientation,” “income level,” “profession,” and “philosophy” (IWHC and CEPIA 1994, 2). Moreover, inclusiveness was also ensured by holding the meeting in South America rather than Europe, which, according to two observers, meant that “the strongest voices came from women of color and women from Southern countries, with Northern women assuming a lower profile” (Yanco and Canepa 1994, quoted in Higer 1999, 134). Although the diversification of the Women’s Alliance slowed down and complicated the decision-making process, the Rio conference contributed to a more inclusive issue and action frame. First, the inclusion of radical women’s organizations into the alliance resulted in a change of strategy. In light of the Holy See’s fierce opposition and the short amount of time left, participants at the Women’s Health Conference decided to work together as a “united front” and in “solidarity.”19 This did not mean, however, that differences between the various groups had disappeared. Yet, instead of viewing their differences as an obstacle, women’s organizations decided to turn them into their strength. Pragmatic organizations, on the one hand, would rely on their connections within the population establishment and push for a reproductive rights and reproductive health agenda inside the UN. Radicals, on the other hand, would continue to work outside established institutions, mobilizing political pressure, maintaining a critical voice in the process, and holding those working inside the UN accountable (IWHC and CEPIA 1994, 31–33). Second, in addition to these changes in strategy, the diversification of the Women’s Alliance had “radical flank effects” (McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald 1996b, 14), with the presence of more radical groups prompting more moderate ones to consider more extreme positions. Participants in the Rio conference adopted a twenty-one-point statement considerably broader in scope than Women’s Voices ’94. First, the statement was much more critical of population policies. In the introduction, conference participants strongly voiced their opposition to population policies that are intended to control the fertility of women but do not address their basic rights to a secure livelihood and to freedom from poverty and oppression (IWHC and CEPIA 1994, 4). A

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significant number of participants had even favored a stronger statement that “opposed population policies as being inherently coercive.” However, due to the lack of time to deliberate on the proposal (the respective declaration was introduced in the final session), no such statement was included in the final document (IWHC and CEPIA 1994, 4). Second, contrary to the Women’s Declaration, which had justified women’s ability to control their own fertility almost exclusively in terms of human rights, the twenty-one-point statement placed it squarely into the development framework. It claimed inequitable development models and strategies to be responsible for existing problems with respect to population and called for “alternative development strategies” starting from the concerns and priorities of women (IWHC and CEPIA 1994, 5–6). In short, the twenty-one-point statement was much more critical of the population establishment than Women’s Voices. It therefore seems counterintuitive that the Women’s Alliance started to gain leverage in the ICPD process following the Rio conference. Radical flank effects prompted not only moderate women’s organizations at the Rio conference to adopt more radical positions but also made them more acceptable negotiation partners vis-à-vis government delegates, helping them to win influential allies for their campaign. As in the case of gender violence, the U.S. delegation was also supportive of reproductive rights and health, including the right to safe abortions. Its position highlights the dynamic nature of the opportunity structure. Only a decade ago at the Population Conference in Mexico City in 1984, the U.S. delegation had been an outright opponent of reproductive rights. Yet the Bill Clinton administration adopted a different position (McIntosh and Finkle 1995, 240). Shortly after having entered office, Clinton nullified the U.S. Mexico City Policy. Moreover, he appointed Timothy Wirth, a former senator from Colorado, as head of the U.S. delegation for the ICPD. Wirth had several qualities that worked in favor of international women’s organizations. He was an environmentalist with liberal views on women’s issues who actively sought the input of NGOs in the formulation of the U.S. position. For example, before the conference in Cairo, he conducted the same type of coast-to-coast town meetings as Clinton had done during his election campaign (McIntosh and Finkle 1995, 242). In addition, Wirth included two representatives of the most powerful international women’s health organizations on the U.S. delegation: Bella Abzug of the Women, Environment, and Development Organization and Adrienne Germain of the IWHC.20 Both representatives were far from shy in stating their positions and tirelessly

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lobbied other members of the delegation to support their issue.21 Finally, Wirth was respected among governments. When he announced at the second preparatory conference for the ICPD that “the United States was back as a world leader in population” and supported “reproductive choice, including access to safe abortion,” he was greeted with a round of applause, which according to Cohen and Richards (1994, 274) is a most unusual occurrence at UN meetings. In addition to the support of the U.S. delegation, that of the secretary general of the ICPD, Nafis Sadik, was critical. She engaged in a series of actions that worked to the advantage of women’s organizations. First, because Sadik was interested in the success of the conference and was seeking to prevent the politicization of previous UN conferences, she and her staff organized several preparatory conferences at the national, regional, and international levels. Though primarily intended to provide forums for governments to air and resolve their disagreements before coming to Cairo (McIntosh and Finkle 1995, 229), these conferences gave women’s organizations ample access points to lobby. Second, using the prerogatives of her office as secretary general, Sadik revised the program of action more than a dozen times until it had lost much of its demographic character and the rights of the individual had gained prominence (McIntosh and Finkle 1995, 230), a frame that was more in alignment with that of reproductive rights and health. Finally, Sadik’s position as secretary general not only enabled her to influence the wording of the conference document and the proceedings but also gave her significant freedom. In contrast to her position as director of the UNFPA, she was able to take a political stand on the abortion issue, an issue she felt strongly about as a self-professed feminist and based on her past professional experience working as a gynecologist in a developing country (Cohen and Richards 1994). Although the U.S. delegation and Secretary General Sadik used their institutional standings and prerogatives to mobilize governments’ support, Ambassador Nicolas Biegman of the Netherlands—who chaired the negotiations on chapter 7, “Reproductive Rights and Reproductive Health,” and chapter 8, “Health, Morbidity, and Mortality”—facilitated consensus on these chapters through his astute employment of institutional rules and procedures. Having been confronted with numerous brackets and more than seventy requests by delegations for interventions on paragraph 8.25 (abortion) alone at the beginning of the ICPD, Biegman resorted to the “informals” to bring about resolution on the issue (International Institute for Sustainable Development 1994).22 The

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“private” nature of these informals allowed government delegates to adopt positions that they would have been unable to maintain in public. For example, while Iran, Egypt, El Salvador, and Pakistan had been vocal opponents in the abortion debate in the “open” working sessions, they were part of the “informals” that brought about what constitutes a rather radical language of compromise by UN standards. Although it was stressed that “in no case should abortion be promoted as a method of family planning,” the paragraph called on governments, relevant intergovernmental organizations, and NGOs “to strengthen their commitment to women’s health, to deal with the health impact of unsafe abortion as a major public health concern and to reduce the recourse to abortion through expanded and improved family planning services” (United Nations 1994, 58–59). The growing support of influential allies such as the U.S. delegation, General Secretary Sadik, and Ambassador Biegman was important and partly reflective of the tireless work of women’s organizations at the ICPD. Representatives made not only ample use of the women’s caucus to coordinate their lobbying strategies but also used already internationally accepted documents and language to legitimate their issue. For example, they employed the definition of WHO when referring to reproductive health in their lobbying documents, equating it with “a state of complete physical, mental and social well-being and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity, in all matters relating to the reproductive system and to its functions and processes” (United Nations 1994, 40). Moreover, women’s organizations such as the Center for Reproductive Law and Policy in New York circulated excerpts from the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women of 1979 to prove that, contrary to claims by the Holy See, reproductive rights were not new, but rather “embrace[d] certain human rights that [were] already recognized in national laws, international human rights documents and other consensus documents. Rights [which] rest on the recognition of the basic right of all couples and individuals to decide freely and responsibly the number, spacing and timing of their children and to have the information and means to do so, and the right to attain the highest standard of sexual and reproductive health” (United Nations 1994, 40). With the growing pressure from women’s organizations and the support of influential allies for the reproductive rights and health frame, ideological differences and conflicts within the conservative al-

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liance began to reemerge, leading to its breakup midway through the conference and leaving the Holy See with only a few devotees in the end, namely, Argentina, Benin, Ecuador, Honduras, and Malta. Many large Catholic countries, such as Mexico, the Philippines, and Peru, but also important Islamic countries, such as Egypt, Pakistan, and Iran, exhibited much more liberal positions than the Holy See on family planning and needed the financial support of Northern countries for its implementation. Though under different circumstances these disagreements may have gone unnoticed, the Group of Seventy-Seven’s (G-77’s) decision to negotiate as individual countries rather than a bloc, however, removed the pressure to formulate a common position. This decision reflected an altered international context. In contrast to the 1970s, members of the G-77 had very different economic and political experiences during the 1980s, so that in the 1990s, as McIntosh and Finkle (1995, 233–34) put it, “[they] had much less in common, and their interests and aspirations no longer coincided.” In addition, Algeria, which had provided strong leadership in representing the G-77 in Bucharest and Mexico City, was unable to do the same in Cairo as a result of political unrest at home. If the internal differences contributed to the breakup of the conservative alliance, the continuation of delaying tactics and intransigence of the Vatican representatives was responsible for the growing impatience among government delegates. For example, during a news conference, Egypt’s population minister, Maher Mahran, raised questions about the Holy See’s prerogatives as a permanent observer.23 “Does the Vatican rule the world?” he asked, saying that “the world is not here to be dictated to. . . . The [delegates] here represent more than five billion people in the world, and not only 190 at the Vatican” (quoted in Cohen and Richards 1994, 275). Though other government delegations were less vocal, their frustration was nevertheless noticeable. In response to a request by the Holy See to continue the discussion on the reproductive rights and health chapter, after it had already been negotiated for three days and nights, some government representatives shouted “no” and the rest booed, which was as Cohen and Richards (1994, 275) note, “a virtually unknown breach of decorum at UN meetings.”24 In light of mounting opposition, and finding themselves increasingly isolated, the Vatican representatives reconsidered their position. For the first time in the history of UN population conferences, they voted with the consensus, adopting the entire program of action. However, their support was not unconditional. Even after having gained considerable concessions

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on many issues, the Vatican representatives issued numerous reservations on the chapter on reproductive rights and reproductive health. This move left many government delegates skeptical as to whether their vote had been sincere or merely an attempt to redeem themselves in the face of world opinion (McIntosh and Finkle 1995, 249). The radical positions of individual women’s health organizations and the Holy See helped more moderate women’s organizations win the support of influential allies, and with it the inclusion of reproductive rights and health on the agenda of the ICPD. Apart from legitimizing women’s demands at the national level, the Cairo consensus triggered institutional changes. During and in the aftermath of the ICPD process, major players within the international population establishment added reproductive health programs to their organizational structures. Among them are the UNFPA, IPPF, USAID, the Population Council, and prestigious foundations such as MacArthur and Ford (Correa and Reichman 1994). In addition, empowered by the conference outcome, several international women’s organizations such as the Women, Environment, and Development Organization in New York established international mechanisms, such as “Women Watching Cairo,” to track governments’ efforts to implement their international commitments. However, the inclusion of reproductive rights and health on the agenda of the ICPD also created new obstacles for international women’s organizations. For example, the program of action adopted at the ICPD is not binding. The introduction of chapter 2, “Principles,” states that “[the] implementation of the recommendations contained in the Programme of Action is the sovereign right of each country, consistent with national laws and development priorities, with full respect for the various religious and ethical values and cultural backgrounds of its people, and in conformity with universally recognized international human rights” (United Nations 1994, 11). Though the insertion of such language was necessary for governments to be able to make any commitments, it leaves many loopholes and room for interpretation in the implementation process. Further, the successes of international women’s organizations at the ICPD fueled the determination of the opposition forces. At both the Social Summit in Copenhagen in the fall of 1994 and the Fourth World Conference on Women in Beijing in the summer of 1995, the Holy See together with several Catholic countries sought to roll back the achievements women had made in Cairo by bracketing language that already had been agreed upon by consensus at the Population Conference.

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Finally, the inclusion of reproductive rights and health reopened and deepened divisions among women’s organizations. Pragmatists perceived the conference as a major breakthrough in the struggle for reproductive rights and health. According to Rachel Kyte (1995) of the IWHC, “ninety-eight percent of what women were fighting for was accomplished.” In contrast, radicals were much more critical of the outcomes. For Hartmann (1996), the ICPD represented nothing but “doublespeak.” In her eyes, the changes that had been accomplished were largely rhetorical. What used to be called population control policies was now referred to as reproductive health policies. However, nothing had changed in practice. Moreover, radicals felt that the program of action ignored broader structural questions, such as the distribution of resources. A coalition of Southern NGOs together with the World Young Women’s Christian Association released a statement expressing their frustration: “We find the Program of Action to be nothing but an insult to women, men and children of the South who will receive an ever growing dose of population assistance, while their issues of life and death will have to await the Social Development Summit of 1995 in Copenhagen” (WGNRR 1994, 5). Others were caught somewhere in the middle. While recognizing ICPD as an important turning point, they perceived it as only one fueling station on the long road that still lay ahead. As Gita Sen—an economics professor at the Indian Institute of Management in Bangalore and founding member of the steering committee of Development Alternatives with Women for a New Era (DAWN)—explained, “When you are in a public arena to try to bring about change, the first step has to be to get your language in, and your language and concepts have to be the acknowledged language and concepts, or you will not get anywhere. While language can be co-opted, it is also what you need to go ahead” (quoted in Higer 1996, 48).

Conclusion

Independent of how the outcome was perceived, the inclusion of the issue of reproductive rights and health on the UN agenda is remarkable, given the opposition that women’s organizations encountered from conservative countries and even from within their own ranks. This case offers further insights into which political opportunities and mobilizing

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structures give rise to consensual frames over the course of the agendasetting process. To recapitulate: Similar to the campaign concerning violence against women, a small group of Northern women organized an International Tribunal and Meeting on Reproductive Rights in Amsterdam in 1984 to mobilize an international constituency and draw attention to the problems associated with international family planning. Though structural obstacles and conflicts among women posed significant challenges for the organizers, the tribunal constituted an important turning point in the international women’s health movement. The testimonies of women from developing countries about their experiences with Northern population policies, together with symbolic events such as the dumping of unsafe contraceptives by Northern pharmaceutical companies and the U.S. Mexico City Policy, prompted tribunal participants to condemn international family planning and call for alternative approaches. Changes in alignments away from the supply side of family planning toward the demand side, together with rising fundamentalism and the HIV/AIDS crisis, opened a window of opportunity and created incentives for representatives of the IWHC and other women’s organizations to initiate a dialogue with members of the population establishment in the late 1980s. Although initially hampered by distrust and different perceptions of the two involved parties, the dialogue was consequential. The technical expertise of scientists as well as the experiences of activists and users of family planning gave rise to more women-centered population policies, such as quality of care. Finally, the ICPD in Cairo in 1994 offered an excellent opportunity for women’s organizations to place reproductive rights and health on the UN agenda. The opposition that the Women’s Alliance encountered from both the conservative alliance as well as sections within the women’s health movement had radical flank effects. First, it prompted the alliance to broaden its strategy. At the Women’s Health Conference in Rio de Janeiro, radical and moderate women’s organizations decided to work together as a united front in solidarity and adopted a twentyone-point statement that was critical of the population establishment. Second, the presence of radical women’s groups improved the bargaining power of moderates vis-à-vis institutional actors. It helped to win influential allies such as the U.S. administration and the ICPD secretary general, Nafis Sadik, who used their institutional prerogatives to mobilize government support for the issue. Third, the radical position of the

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Holy See led to the breakup of the conservative alliance midway through the ICPD and weakened its position. How does the agenda-setting process regarding reproductive rights and health compare with that of violence against women? The final chapter will address this question and discuss the implications of the findings for the study of international organizations more generally.

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6 NGOS AND INTERNATIONAL ORGANIZATIONS

How, why, and under what conditions can nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) influence the agendas of international organizations? Conceiving of conventional international relations approaches as insufficient for answering this question, this book draws on various elements of the social movement literature to develop an alternative theoretical framework. I suggest that, given that they tend to be short of material resources, NGOs exert influence by strategically framing their issues. Whether the respective frames resonate with those whose support NGOs seek to enlist depends on their empirical credibility and ideational commensurability. The credibility and commensurability of NGOs, in turn, are contingent on the dynamic interaction of two interrelated factors. First, the political opportunity structure in which NGOs are embedded is critical. It is determined by the accessibility of institutions, the presence of influential allies that possess valuable tangible and intangible resources as well as changes in political alignments and conflicts. Second, the acceptance of NGOs’ frames is also dependent on the mobilizing structures that they have at their disposal, that is, their networks. These are made up of organizational entrepreneurs with links to institutions, charisma, experience conducting international campaigns, a heterogeneous constituency with individuals from different countries and regions of the world representing different societal groups, and experts including both scientists with technical information and affected victims whose knowledge is grounded in their experiences. This theoretical framework works well to explain the international campaigns launched by NGOs against gender violence and for reproductive rights. The two case studies help to determine which factors matter most and under which circumstances in the agenda-setting 163

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process. Access to institutions and the presence of entrepreneurs seem to be pivotal for the acceptance of initially contested frames across the different agenda-setting phases. But there is variation with respect to the importance of influential allies and political alignments, on the one hand, and international constituents and experts, on the other hand. Also, the cases reveal an interesting dynamic with respect to framing processes that, thus far, has been ignored in the literature. Over time, NGOs become more strategic and effective in their framing activities. I summarize these results in more detail below. To illustrate the explanatory power of the theoretical framework and to strengthen the evidence gleaned from the two case studies, I briefly examine the efforts of women’s organizations to place the issue of violence against women on the agenda in the European Union from 1995 to 2001. The EU offers an interesting case for comparison. First, the European Women’s Lobby (EWL)—a network composed of individuals and organizations—successfully placed the issue on the organization’s agenda. In the late 1990s, the EU adopted two programs— DAPHNE and STOP—offering financial assistance to NGOs and voluntary organizations engaged in fighting violence against women and trafficking in women, respectively.1 In addition, it launched a Europewide campaign titled “Zero Tolerance to Gender Violence” and conducted several expert meetings at the ministerial level discussing how to solve the problem. Second, unlike the UN, which is a multipurpose and universal organization, the EU is a regional organization with a still-strong, albeit changing, focus on economics. It therefore constitutes a harder case for NGO influence, because violence against women does not necessarily fit the organization’s central tenets. How did the EWL nevertheless manage to gain acceptance for the issue frame, and how did the choice of venue affect the strategies of NGOs? Which of the political opportunities or mobilizing resources played a particularly important role? Though further cases obviously are needed for comparisons of different issue areas and institutional venues, focusing on the EU helps to determine the broader applicability of the theoretical framework and the extent to which the findings about the agenda-setting power of NGOs in the UN are generalizable to other government organizations. Following a discussion of the findings with respect to the EU, I conclude this chapter with some thoughts about the policy and theoretical implications of this book.

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Summary of Findings

The cases of violence against women and reproductive rights reveal interesting similarities. Throughout the agenda-setting process and across the two issue areas, access to institutions, on the one hand, and the presence of organizational entrepreneurs, on the other hand, were necessary conditions for the framing activities of NGOs. With respect to the former, symbolic historic events as well as international meetings and conferences were particularly critical. While historic events, such as the mass raping of women in former Yugoslavia, helped to focus the attention of policymakers on the problems women face, conferences and meetings provided opportunities for women to lobby, exchange information, and share their experiences. Entrepreneurs, by contrast, were pivotal in each of the different phases of the agenda-setting process for the generation of new frames and the mobilization of support. Given their longtime experience with international activism, their reputation, and their connections to both national and international women’s organizations as well as international policymakers, organizations such as the International Women’s Health Coalition (IWHC) in the case of reproductive rights and the Center for Women’s Global Leadership in the case of violence against women were ideally suited for the task. However, their position was not uncontested. As both case studies illustrate, the entrepreneurs’ ideas, actions, and legitimacy were frequently questioned, which forced them to alter their strategies or to broaden their frameworks. The empirical analysis also reveals interesting patterns of variation across the different agenda-setting phases with respect to the political opportunities and the mobilizing structures, thereby giving weight to the call by some scholars that we need a more nuanced picture of the policymaking process (e.g., Zürn 1998; Risse 2002). In both issue areas, diagnostic framing took place outside and in opposition to established institutions. Small groups of women, primarily from the North, emerged as entrepreneurs organizing the International Tribunal on Crimes against Women in Brussels in 1976 and the International Tribunal and Meeting on Reproductive Rights in Amsterdam in 1984. Although put together under great duress due to the lack of financial resources and hampered by large geographical distances as well as ideological differences, these international conferences nevertheless gave rise to international constituencies for the two issues. Testimonial

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knowledge brought women together and gave rise to a collective consciousness among them. By sharing their personal experiences with male violence or with international family planning agencies and programs, women realized not only their commonalities but also that the sources of their problems were structural rather than the result of individual failure. Furthermore, the two cases give weight to the argument of NGO scholars that symbolic events are more effective when they take place in concert with others. The solidarity among women at these tribunals was reinforced by the dumping of unsafe contraceptives in developing countries in the late 1970s and the Second UN Population Conference in Mexico City in 1984 in the case of reproductive rights and health, and the UN World Conference on Women in Mexico City in 1975 in the case of violence against women. Both tribunals helped to win institutional allies, including governments and the media. Prognostic framing took place in more exclusive circles and inside institutions where expert group or dialogue meetings provided a forum for exchange with policymakers. Institutional actors rather than individual activists or NGOs assumed the role of the entrepreneur (e.g., the UN Division for the Advancement of Women in the case of gender violence; and the IWHC, Rockefeller Foundation, Population Council, and World Health Organization in the case of reproductive rights). In this phase, the influence of NGOs was only indirect and mediated. In contrast to the tribunals, where the victims themselves had been the experts, social scientists and physicians assumed a more prominent role in the development of possible solutions by providing technical information based on studies and statistics. Their knowledge set in motion policy changes. In the case of violence against women, the expert group meeting prompted a movement away from mediation between perpetrator and victim and toward the criminalization of domestic violence. With respect to reproductive rights, the dialogue meetings replaced demographic ceilings and targets with more women-centered population policies. The acceptance of these new, initially contested policy frames was facilitated by changes in alignments within the UN— with a shift in power away from Northern countries and toward Southern ones, whose ideas were more in alignment with the new frames and which could provide information about women in developing countries, who until then had been missing and who enhanced the credibility of the frames. Institutional support in this phase, however, was not

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without costs. The participants in the expert group and dialogue meetings framed the issues in a much narrower fashion than had the attendees at the two tribunals, prompting women activists to reassert control at the politicization stage. With respect to motivational framing, women’s organizations seized the UN specialized conferences taking place in the early 1990s. The World Human Rights Conference in Vienna in 1993 and the International Conference on Population and Development (ICPD) in Cairo in 1994 provided excellent opportunities for women activists to draw attention to their issues. These meetings were convened to help identify pressing problems in a broad range of policy areas, were attended by representatives of nearly all UN member countries, received quite a bit of media attention, and were open to NGOs. More specifically, the conferences allowed women’s organizations to link violence against women and reproductive rights and health—issues that until then had been treated in an isolated fashion as women’s concerns— to the broader and already-accepted frameworks of human rights and population. Women’s activities at both the Vienna and Cairo conferences lent support to a thesis of social movement scholars that, over time, NGOs become more experienced in their framing activities (McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald 1996b, 17–18). Thus, compared with the inchoate quality and the unintended consequences of the frames advanced by women in the 1970s and 1980s, those in the 1990s were much more strategic and more the exclusive property of NGOs. This is particularly evident in the case of violence against women. Emerging as an entrepreneur, the Center for Women’s Global Leadership adopted a twopronged strategy of engaging in symbolic activities to mobilize an international constituency and also providing scientific information to make the link between women’s rights and human rights plausible. It enlisted the support of powerful allies such as Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, and the U.S. delegation, and it actively influenced press coverage by establishing its own media consortium, distributing media kits, and by deciding itself which of its experts would give interviews. The case of reproductive rights, by contrast, supports the claim that later framing processes can also devolve into intense framing contests (McAdam, McCarthy, and Zald 1996b, 17–18). The Women’s Alliance encountered strong opposition from conservative countries and

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sections within the women’s movement in response to the release of Women’s Voices ’94, which was intended to serve as the major lobbying document at the ICPD, though for different reasons. While the Vatican and major Catholic and Islamic countries rejected the document because it was in their eyes too radical, women’s groups criticized it for not being radical enough and too accepting of population policies. That governments accepted the inclusion of reproductive rights and health in the program of action, nevertheless, was the result of radical flank effects. The presence of radical women’s organizations prompted moderate organizations not only to alter their strategies but also to improve their bargaining power vis-à-vis institutional actors and thus win the support of influential allies, such as the U.S. delegation and the UN secretary general. Similar to the problem definition and solution phases, women’s organizations at the World Human Rights Conference and the ICPD benefited also from symbolic events, such as the end of the cold war, which set in motion a change in the definition of security away from the exclusive focus on the state and toward a greater emphasis on the well-being of the individual, a definition more in alignment with the issue frames advanced by women’s activists. Finally, conflicts within existing political alignments provided opportunities for the inclusion of gender violence and reproductive rights on the UN’s agenda. In Vienna, women’s organizations exploited the conflicts between Northern and Southern countries over which human rights—civil and political rights or social, economic, and cultural rights—should be given priority by offering a frame on which governments could agree. And in Cairo, members of the Women’s Alliance benefited from the faltering conservative alliance between the Vatican and Catholic and Islamic countries. In sum, the cases of violence against women and reproductive rights show that the influence of NGOs varies across the different agenda-setting phases, requiring varying external and internal resources as well as modifications in the frames that these civil society actors employ. Moreover, the impact of NGOs is exponential. Over time and due to the expansion of political opportunities and mobilizing structures, NGOs have become increasingly able to change existing norms and rules in their favor. How do these findings compare with those for NGOs in the EU attempting to place violence against women on the organizational agenda?

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NGOs in Comparative Perspective: Violence against Women and the European Union

In the late 1990s, the EU launched an active response to violence against women, beginning with the establishment of two action programs— STOP and DAPHNE—and continuing with the initiation of a Europewide campaign on “Zero Tolerance to Gender Violence” in 1999 and a series of expert group meetings at the ministerial level designed to develop proposals for the elimination of gender violence. These activities came as a surprise to many. Although the EU had been quite a favorable venue for women in the past, it pursued an equal-opportunities policy in a narrow economic and neoliberal framework, focusing almost exclusively on issues related to women in the workplace (Rees 1998; Hoskyns 1996; Elman 1997). In this section, I detail the reasons for the inclusion of violence against women on the EU agenda, focusing on the activities of the EWL, the Women’s Rights Commission of the European Parliament, and the EU Commission as well as the pertinent institutional changes.

Defining the Problem: The European Women’s Lobby and Violence against Women At the EU level, the EWL emerged as an entrepreneur concerning the issue of violence against women. The EWL—a network created in 1990 comprising more than 2,700 affiliates in the fifteen EU member states (Helfferich and Kolb 2001, 143)—in the mid-1990s shifted from a primary focus on equality issues in the employment sector to pushing more social issues, including gender violence.2 The timing of this movement was no coincidence. The achievements of women’s organizations at the international level empowered women’s organizations at the supranational level. In particular, the World Conference on Human Rights and the Fourth World Conference on Women in Beijing in 1995, where violence against women had been a major topic of discussion, contributed to a favorable climate. A decisive factor, according to Mary Collins (2002) of the EWL, was how EU member states had presented themselves at these conferences: “At the Beijing Conference the EU had for the first time negotiated with one voice and adopted the program of action

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wholesale, which meant for us women’s activists that we could call on member states’ moral obligation to follow through on their international commitments.” Previous attempts of the EWL to motivate a response from the EU on the issue of gender violence had been rebuffed by policymakers, who argued that the treaties provided no legal basis for the EU to take any initiative in this area and that there were too few data indicating that this was a European problem. Also working against the EWL was the subsidiarity principle, according to which action in a particular issue area ought to be taken at the appropriate level, which EU policymakers assumed to be the national level in the case of violence against women (Helfferich 2002). Apart from these institutional barriers, the EWL encountered opposition from women’s groups. Grassroots organizations, which had been working on the issue for decades and had been engaged in service work, questioned the legitimacy of the EWL representing women’s concerns at the European level. As the former general secretary of the EWL, Barbara Helfferich (2002), recalls: “Some questioned the competency of the EWL, arguing that it was meeting politicians for lunch, but didn’t really know what was happening on the ground.” Several institutional changes, however, provided a window of opportunity for the EWL to gain access to EU policymakers. The Maastricht and Amsterdam treaties adopted in 1993 and 1997, respectively, were critical in this regard. First, in addition to establishing Economic and Monetary Union, the EU’s heads of state and governments agreed in the Maastricht Treaty to extend their cooperation to other policy areas and to add two further pillars to the EU institutional framework: the Common Foreign and Security Policy, and Justice and Home Affairs.3 The latter particularly paved the way for addressing noneconomic issues. According to Pollack and Hafner-Burton (2000, 434), “[It] has created the political space for a new and vigorous EU policy on violence against women, previously off-limits to an economically oriented EC.” Second, the Amsterdam Treaty facilitated action on violence against women because it placed greater emphasis on and made explicit reference to human rights, with article 6 of the treaty proclaiming that “the Union is founded on the principles of liberty, democracy, respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms and the rule of law.” Further, the EWL had successfully negotiated the integration of a new gender equality clause into the Amsterdam Treaty. Articles 2 and 3 make equal opportunities for women and men—and not simply equal pay or equal treatment in the workplace—a central EU objective. Hence, they pro-

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vided a steppingstone for fighting discrimination outside the labor market (Helfferich and Kolb 2001, 143; Pollack and Hafner-Burton 2000; Mazey 2000). Though the movement of the EU away from a purely economic association and toward a community based on common values and norms was crucial in placing violence against women on the institutional agenda, it was not sufficient. Also important were events within the broader environment that drew attention to the problem. The Dutroux case in Belgium involving the sexual abuse and murder of at least seven young girls by an unemployed Belgian electrician in 1996 was eye opening and symbolic in this respect. Drawing a lot of media attention,4 the issue sent, as one interviewee put it, “shock waves through Europe signaling that sexual violence was happening right in front of the EU’s door step and could no longer be ignored” (Collins 2002). Encouraged by these institutional changes in the EU and at the Beijing conference, the EWL established a Policy Action Center on Violence against Women as well as a European Observatory on Violence against Women in 1997. The center is devoted to the development of policy proposals for the EU based on the experiences of EWL members at the grassroots level, exemplary policies or rather “best practices” of EU member states, and the EWL’s Charter of Principles on Violence against Women (De Troy 2002). The observatory advises the center on the issues by supplying information and data. It is made up of independent experts from the EU member states, including social scientists and lawyers as well as women who have worked with survivors in women’s shelters or rape crisis centers. Together, the center and the observatory have contributed to greater awareness about the issue of gender violence within the EU. Responding to the frequent complaint by EU policymakers about the lack of data on the problem of violence against women, the center published a study in 1999 titled Unveiling the Hidden Data on Domestic Violence in the EU (European Women’s Lobby 1999), which details the activities of member states in the area of domestic violence. According to Helfferich (2002), “The publication hit the spot, because it was the first document detailing how little had been done thus far and how statistics about domestic violence had been put together in a questionable manner.” The document provided for the first time systematic evidence on the legal situation in member states as well as existing services for victims. It served as a tool for the EWL to lobby EU institutions and states and by doing so win influential allies.

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Developing Solutions: The European Parliament and Violence against Women Among the institutional allies responding to the pressure from the EWL and its members was the Women’s Rights Committee of the European Parliament. Several members of the European Parliament (MEPs) took leadership on the issue, including Patsy Sörensen from Belgium (Group of Greens/European Free Alliance), Marianne Eriksson (Confederal Group of the European United Left/Nordic Green Left), Maj Britt Theorin (Group of the European Socialists) from Sweden, and Lissy Gröner from Germany (Group of European Socialists). Apart from their interest in the issue, these women had in common their political outlook. All of them were members of socialist or green parties. Their initiatives with respect to violence against women date back to the mid-1980s. Prompted by the UN World Conference on Women in Nairobi in 1985, where violence against women had been identified as a major obstacle in the achievement of equality, development, and peace, the European Parliament had already adopted its first resolution on the problem on July 14, 1986. In the resolution, the MEPs among other things called for greater attention to gender violence, for the conduct of information campaigns in member states, for sexual violence to be considered as a crime, and for the extension of the nondiscrimination clause in the European Community treaties to include gender violence (European Parliament 1986). As in subsequent resolutions, the European Parliament justified its appeal, on the one hand, in terms of women’s fundamental rights with reference to UN documents, including the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women, and the Convention on Civil and Political Rights. On the other hand, however, the resolution was notably tailored to the still predominantly economic focus of the European Community. It attributed the vulnerability of women to gender violence to their “frequently weak economic position and the economic dependence of women which leads to an unequal division of power between men and women.” At that time, the European Parliament received little response from the European Commission or the Council of Ministers. It was constrained by its lack of legislative powers and by institutional resistance. A German MEP, Gröner (2002), recalled: “Resolutions on violence against women were rebuffed with arguments that there is no legal basis for action and no budget.”

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Similar to the EWL, the Maastricht and Amsterdam treaties in 1993 and 1997 provided a window of opportunity for MEPs by enhancing their legislative powers. First, the Maastricht Treaty granted the European Parliament the right to vote on new and incoming commissions, which it seized in 1995, when the Santer Commission was appointed. MEPs scrutinized individual commissioners in public hearings, pressing the priorities of individual members, including equal opportunities for men and women (Pollack and Hafner-Burton 2000, 436).5 Second, in the Amsterdam Treaty member states agreed on qualified majority voting in the Council and co-decisions with the European Parliament for future equal opportunity legislation. Though these institutional developments helped to move the issue of violence against women more to center stage, extra-institutional events were also critical. In particular, the rapid increase of trafficking in women following the end of the cold war and the opening of Eastern European borders focused policymakers’ attention on the problem (Locher 2002). Moreover, it prompted the European Parliament to adopt a series of resolutions urging action on both violence against women, more generally, and trafficking in women, more specifically.6 Of these parliamentary activities, two are discussed here in greater detail because they triggered a response from the European Commission. In 1994, MEP Erik Martin issued a motion calling for a Europeanwide campaign on zero tolerance for violence against women. It highlights how national frames become master frames for the international level. A similar campaign had been conducted quite successfully in the Edinburgh District of Great Britain, and Martin urged its replication at the European level, justifying it with the rise in unemployment and an increase in social tensions throughout Europe (European Parliament 1994). Following Martin’s motion, Swedish MEP Marianne Eriksson tabled a report in support of such a campaign, featuring a year on violence against women similar to those on lifelong learning in 1996 and on racism and xenophobia in 1997, and the adoption of a binding convention criminalizing acts of violence against women. The report provided a justification for the proposed activities. In line with previous resolutions, it made reference to women’s fundamental human rights and invoked international agreements, such as the UN General Declaration on Human Rights and the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women. However, the report also was framed in EU-specific language. For example, it appealed to the values and norms of the member states, arguing that “a society that claims to

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champion human rights and work for equality must seriously tackle the widespread violence which directly and indirectly affects a majority of the population—women and children” (European Parliament Committee on Women’s Rights 1997, 11). Further, the report justified Europeanwide action in economic terms. Drawing on a study commissioned by the Dutch government (Korf et al. 1997), it emphasized both the costs a state incurs as result of the problem of gender violence and those it could save when providing assistance to victims (European Parliament Committee on Women’s Rights 1997, 18). The report, which culminated in a parliamentary resolution, resonated with individuals on the EU Commission.

Politicization: The European Commission and Violence against Women Although the European Commission had shown little interest in the issue of violence against women until 1995, its position changed in the second half of the decade. The Beijing conference and the movement from an economic union toward a community based on common values and concerns certainly played a role (Helfferich 2002). However, there were also changes specific to the Commission that contributed to a more conducive climate for action. First, in 1995, three new states joined the European Community—Sweden, Finland, and Austria—countries with a long-standing commitment to sexual equality and to combating gender violence. Moreover, with the entrance of these new member states, the number of women commissioners increased from one or two to an unprecedented five on the incoming Santer Commission. Although the presence of women themselves was no guarantee of gender-sensitive policies, it did, in the words of one of my interviewees, “provide a better basis for getting something accomplished with respect to women’s issues” (Gradin 2002). At the insistence of the new Scandinavian and other women commissioners, Santer agreed to establish a new Commissioners’ Group on Equal Opportunities, consisting of Padraig Flynn of Ireland, who had previously held the equal opportunities portfolio as social affairs commissioner; Erkki Liikanen of Finland; Anita Gradin of Sweden; and the German commissioner in charge of the structural funds, Monika Wulf-Mathies (Pollack and Hafner-Burton 2000, 436; also see Palmer 1994, 13).

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Of the five female commissioners, Anita Gradin of the Justice and Home Affairs pillar emerged as a leader and institutional entrepreneur on the issue of violence against women. Gradin’s initiative was not surprising. As a previous minister for equality in Sweden, she was sensitive to women’s issues. Moreover, working as commissioner in the area of immigration, she was struck by the high level of trafficking in women and the associated violence (Gradin 2002). Already in 1997, she launched the so-called DAPHNE Initiative and the STOP Program, following a joint decision by the Council of Ministers and the European Parliament. In addition, she used the prerogatives of her office to increase awareness and knowledge about the problem of gender violence. For example, following a similar activity in Canada, she started a white-ribbon campaign in the EU in solidarity with the victims of male violence by distributing white ribbons among male politicians. She also proved instrumental in realizing the European Parliament’s call for a European-wide campaign on zero tolerance for violence against women. Symbolically started on March 8, 1999, International Women’s Day, the campaign involved the distribution of posters and videos and was accompanied by national campaigns in several member states.7 In connection with the campaign, Gradin commissioned two Eurobarometer surveys on “Attitudes to Violence against Women and Children” that were released in July 1999. The surveys questioned 16,179 people over fifteen years of age in the member states on their perception of gender violence. In them, European citizens condemned violence against women, indicating that they considered it widespread; identified drugs, alcohol, unemployment, poverty, and social exclusion as the primary causes for male violence; and favored action on the European level (European Commission 1999b). With the help of such symbolic activities, Commissioner Gradin prepared the ground for moving the issue to the ministerial level. In lieu of a European year on violence against women, for which the European Parliament had called, and in light of the lack of data on the problem, Gradin proposed a series of expert group meetings on domestic violence during the zero-tolerance campaign (European Commission 1998). Her proposal resonated with the incoming EU presidencies. The first such meeting was conducted under the Austrian EU presidency in Baden, from November 30 until December 4, 1998, and focused on the role of the criminal justice system in fighting violence against women. Bringing together social scientists, representatives of the criminal justice system, and NGOs, the meeting produced fifty-two standards and

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recommendations of how to improve police and court practices in dealing with victims and perpetrators (European Commission 1998). Three further meetings followed: The second was held in Cologne under the auspices of the German EU presidency, March 28 to 29, 1999, and titled “Violence against Women—Measures towards Combating (Domestic) Violence against Women within the European Union.” It resulted in the adoption of ten further recommendations regarding the criminal justice system (European Commission 1999c). The third meeting was conducted under the Finish presidency in Jyväskylä from November 8 to 10, 1999. At that meeting, experts scrutinized criminal proceedings, standards for shelters for victims, treatment programs for men, and standards for doing research with the aim of identifying models of “good practice” (European Commission 1999a). The last expert meeting was held under the Portuguese EU presidency in Lisbon in May 2000 (European Commission 2000). The case of the EU highlights how the accomplishments of NGOs at the international level can create opportunities for NGOs at the regional level. The acceptance of women’s rights violations as a human rights problem in the UN empowered the EWL to press for further policy changes in the EU. Similar to the UN, the presence of entrepreneurs supported by a broader constituency was equally important at the supranational level in the conception of frames, the initiation of campaigns, and the mobilization of a constituency. Different individuals and organizations played this entrepreneurial role throughout the agenda-setting process: the EWL in the problem definition phase, a small group of MEPs in the prognostic phase, and Commissioner Gradin in the politicization phase. Moreover, symbolic institutional events such as the adoption of the Maastricht and Amsterdam treaties and extra-institutional events like the Dutroux case were pivotal for gaining access to the institutional agenda, with the former setting in motion a shift away from an exclusive economic union and toward a political one and the latter bringing the problem of gender violence more into focus. Apart from these similarities, however, the campaigns of NGOs in the UN and the EU exhibit intriguing differences. First, contrary to the UN, where women activists emphasized the political or more specifically the rights dimension of gender violence, the EWL and its supporters packaged and framed the issue much more in economic terms. They justified the inclusion of violence against women on the EU agenda by stressing both the economic costs associated with the problem and its socioeconomic roots, that is, the unequal distribution of resources between men and women.

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Second, in contrast to the UN, where NGOs gained increasing access to the institutional agenda and with it opportunities to influence its content, the impact of the EWL in the EU was more confined. It appeared greatest in the problem definition phase, where the EWL drew attention to the problem by lobbying and disseminating information, but it diminished in the subsequent phases and with the growing involvement of EU policymakers. Unlike in the UN, where women’s organizations gained in agenda-setting power over time, NGOs in the EU lost control over the process. Third, technical expertise rather than experiential knowledge played a much more critical role throughout the agenda-setting process in the EU. Evidence for this can be found in the problem definition phase, with the EWL establishing the observatory and the policy center, which were staffed with social scientists and lawyers. Subsequent phases are even more indicative, with MEPs relying on studies detailing the economic costs of gender violence and Commissioner Gradin initiating expert group meetings with representatives of the criminal justice branch and social scientists preparing recommendations on how to eliminate the problem. In sum, the comparison between the EU and the UN is instructive. It strengthens the explanatory power of the theoretical framework and offers further insights into the conditions under which NGOs can have an impact. The comparison highlights how the choice of venue affects the strategies of NGOs, presents them with new opportunities or obstacles, and forces these civil society actors, in turn, to adjust their frames and their mobilizing resources. In terms of the process, we can conclude the following. Contrary to the UN, in which the influence of women’s NGOs was marginal at first but increased over time, it remained mediated and indirect in a highly institutionalized setting such as the EU. With regard to the outcomes, however, women’s efforts at the regional level resulted in more substantive and concrete steps, including the initiation of DAPHNE and STOP, while at the UN they produced only nonbinding declarations. What policy implications can be drawn from these cases?

Policy Recommendations

How can NGOs become more effective in influencing the agendas of international organizations? Although the evidence gleaned from this study is not conclusive, it has important practical implications for

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future campaigns. It challenges conventional wisdom regarding the influence of structures and agents. Some scholars suggest that the makeup of institutions determines the influence of nonstate actors. Focusing on the domestic level, Thomas Risse-Kappen, for example, considers the openness or the closure of institutions to be a decisive factor for transnational actors, such as NGOs. Defined by, among other things, the degree of fragmentation or centralization and the character of policy networks (consensual or polarized), the relative openness or closeness of institutions circumscribes an actor’s ability to form winning coalitions and to prepare the ground for national reforms and alternative policies (e.g., Risse-Kappen 1995a). Others, by contrast, argue that agency is pivotal. According to this school of thought, the moral authority and expertise of NGOs enables these otherwise weak actors to bring about normative changes at the international level (e.g., Keck and Sikkink 1998). Proponents of this position locate NGOs’ source of power and influence in their issuespecific knowledge and their moral authority. With these resources, they can manipulate information, provide a deeper understanding of events or influence the way in which they are perceived, and ultimately define states’ interests. This book moves beyond this dichotomy, arguing that the interaction between institutional factors and actors is critical. Even if the accessibility of institutions, the presence of sympathetic allies, and changing coalitions create a more conducive environment for new ideas, little will change if NGOs do not recognize these structural conditions as opportunities and lack the resources to respond to them. The theoretical framework delineated in this book and the findings from the cases offer eight principal lessons for NGOs pursuing change at the international level. First, frames are the weapon of the weak. Not only do they influence the way in which people think and make sense of the world, but they also constitute actors by defining them as carrier of rights, victims of violence, or protagonists of new perspectives. By (re-)framing issues in a certain way, NGOs can mobilize people for previously ignored issues or gain access to international institutions. New and contested frames are most likely to be accepted if they are empirically credible and experientially commensurable, that is, if they give meaning to events in the broader international environment, reflect symbols or other aspects of the institutional setting in which NGOs are active, and resonate with the values and beliefs of the individuals whose support NGOs seek to enlist.

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However, caution is also called for. By adjusting or altering frames so that they fit with an institutional venue or resonate with particular actors, they may loose their appeal and power. Though intended to become more attractive and convincing, a frame may ultimately become meaningless. Consider the rights frame, which by now has emerged as a master frame for organizing used by different groups for different purposes. Its universal appeal is the strength of the framework, but it also is its inherent weakness. By using the frame in different settings and by linking it to different issues, NGOs may risk diluting its power where rights might be a catchall phrase that means everything and potentially nothing or very little anymore. Second, changes in the broader institutional and international context create opportunities for NGOs. Of the prerequisite for influence considered in this study, access appears to be by far the most pivotal, though not a guarantee for it. More important, the cases of violence against women and reproductive rights suggest that different venues are suited for different purposes. Though UN conferences appear to be most appropriate for mobilizing states into action due to their magnitude, media attention, and public character, smaller and more intimate settings seem more conducive for the development of solutions. Noninstitutional settings, by contrast, seem most amicable for problem definition and the mobilization of a constituency. Furthermore, geographical location, architecture, and (in-)formal institutional rules also need to be considered in the choice of an institutional venue. Holding a meeting in a remote place or in a small room can diminish the chances for broadbased participation and precipitates questions among those excluded about representation and legitimacy. Third, the case studies belie conventional wisdom that powerful allies are always an asset. Instead, who constitutes a desirable ally and who does not changes across the different stages of the agenda-setting process or with the aim that NGOs pursue. For example, the presence and involvement of sympathetic states appears to be most valuable in the solution and politicization phase, but counterproductive in the problem definition phase. Furthermore, garnering the support of different allies requires different and sometimes incommensurable strategies. Mobilizing states for a particular issue, for example, demands more conventional forms of pressure, such as lobbying, whereas attracting media attention, by contrast, calls for rather unconventional strategies, such as organizing public demonstrations. Regardless of the types of allies involved, however, enlisting their support is not without risk. Even if

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states possess valuable resources, their allegiance may mean that NGOs lose control over their issue. Fourth, changes in political alignments can be conducive to furthering NGOs’ goals if they bring into power groups whose ideas resonate with the frames for which NGOs seek acceptance. On the basis of the findings of this study, NGOs benefit not only from changes taking place at the international level but also from those at the domestic level. Consider the case of reproductive rights and health. The political opportunity structure for women’s organizations changed significantly when President Ronald Reagan came into office and again when Bill Clinton was elected president. Political alignments are often precarious and shortlived because they are frequently entered into for strategic reasons and less because of ideational agreement. Divisions between different political blocs can only be exploited by NGOs if they themselves have managed to organize across them or if they have a frame that can help bridge the differences between the respective parties. Fifth, turning to the mobilizing structures of NGOs, entrepreneurs are the most essential resource for instigating a successful campaign because of their experience, their vision and charisma, and their connections to both policymakers and other NGOs. However, the organizations or individuals that assume this role are faced with a difficult task. Not only do they have to bring individuals of highly diverse backgrounds together but they also have to perform a balancing act between their institutional engagement and their constituents. Depending on how perfectly or imperfectly the entrepreneurs meet this challenge, they will be more or less subject to criticism regarding their credibility and representativeness. The two case studies are instructive as to how entrepreneurs may respond to voices of dissent among their constituents. In both, the organizations or groups that had assumed a leadership role opted for more inclusive decision-making structures. Faced with opposition from radical women’s organizations before the ICPD, the IWHC organized the Rio de Janeiro conference, choosing a location and selection criteria that ensured broad-based participation and even leadership from women in developing countries. Similarly, at the International Tribunal on Crimes against Women in Brussels, the organizers turned their decision-making power over to the participants when their legitimacy was questioned. Being more inclusive and enhancing the level of diversity within one’s constituency obviously is not without risk, because it may slow down decision making and inhibit consensus building. Nev-

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ertheless, at the international level, these costs appear to be outweighed by the benefits of a heterogeneous constituency. Sixth, in contrast to a homogeneous constituency, the inclusion of individuals from different countries and societal backgrounds has several merits. First, a heterogeneous constituency widens the repertoire of contention. It enables NGOs to organize at different levels of the international system—the local, the national, regional, and international—and to engage in a division of labor, with some members working inside the institution and others mobilizing outside but holding those lobbying inside accountable.8 Moreover, a heterogeneous constituency can enhance the credibility and effectiveness of NGOs vis-à-vis institutional actors. On the one hand, it deprives policymakers of the argument that their issue is exclusive and is the concern of only certain groups; on the other hand, a heterogeneous constituency can offer more information and evidence regarding the issue. Finally, the presence of more radical groups can also enhance the bargaining power of more moderate ones vis-à-vis policymakers because they may be viewed as more acceptable negotiation partners. Of course, heterogeneous constituencies are not without problems. It has been argued that they suffer from power asymmetries (e.g., Keck and Sikkink 1998). For instance, due to differences in financial resources and other factors, Northern NGOs, in contrast to Southern ones, frequently dominate campaigns. Although, the case studies do support this claim, they also show that these asymmetries need not be permanent. Though Northern NGOs had been in charge of both issue campaigns in the beginning, they and their frames were transformed when marginalized groups gained in influence and decision-making power. Seventh, expertise and knowledge are the currency of NGOs, though different types of knowledge are needed in the different phases of the agendasetting process. Testimonial knowledge appears to be the most pertinent ingredient for diagnostic framing when the primary aim is the creation of awareness and the mobilization of support among potential constituents. Personal experiences and stories of victims are most effective because they assign blame, frame issues in terms of right and wrong, attribute responsibility, and can be shocking. By contrast, technical knowledge is an imperative in the solution phase. More precise information in the form of studies and statistics forms the basis for framing proposals or alternative courses of action and to persuade policymakers of their merits. Finally, the politicization phase calls for both

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technical and testimonial knowledge. To justify action and mobilize government support, NGOs need to engage in actions that are symbolic but also provide well-researched evidence. In short, NGOs are well advised to use their information strategically, supplying different types of expertise for different purposes. Eighth, beyond the other crucial factors, studying the inclusion of women’s issues on the UN agenda shows that influence is also a matter of luck and serendipity—an aspect that, thus far, has been underemphasized in policy studies. No matter how much planning goes into a campaign, there is an unpredictable element. Because the policy process is nonlinear, contingencies, reversals, and sudden incidents are possible, closing off certain roads and opening others. Being in the right place at the right time with an issue, solution, or justification at hand is as critical a component of the agenda-setting process as other factors.

Implications for the Study of NGOs

International relations scholars have studied NGOs over the past decade in many different issue areas, detailing their role in the evolution of new norms, the diffusion of new ideas, and policy implementation. However, there has been surprisingly little comparative work explaining the conditions under which NGOs can have an impact. For this reason, theories of NGO influence need to be further developed. This study demonstrates that methodological pluralism can be beneficial. It has combined social movement theory with elements from the agenda-setting literature to delineate how and when NGOs can influence the international agenda and gain acceptance for their initially contested ideas. Other combinations are also plausible, with scholars drawing, for example, on comparative politics, anthropology, or public administration for inspiration in constructing their theoretical frameworks. Apart from encouraging theoretical eclecticism, this book also points to the need for further comparative work on how differences in institutional settings affect NGOs. Scholars increasingly recognize that the opportunities of NGOs to mobilize support for their issues are no longer confined to the national level but extend to the regional and international levels (e.g., Tarrow 2005; Meyer 2003; della Porta, Kriesi, and Rucht 1999). However, thus far, we still know very little about how civil society actors respond to what some have referred to as the multilevel context. How and on what

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basis do NGOs decide on which level to organize and where to devote their energies? How does the choice of venue affect their strategies and tactics? Should NGOs try to engage at several levels simultaneously or concentrate their efforts only on one level? Do different levels call for different strategies, or should NGOs behave the same regardless of where they are active? Most of the research in existence has either involved a single game— examining how NGOs mobilize in international institutions—or a twolevel game—looking at the interaction of the domestic and international levels. In case of the latter, scholars have been particularly interested in how national NGOs use international support to bring about domestic change with respect to human rights, development, or the environment (e.g., Risse, Ropp, and Sikkink 1999; Klotz 1995; Hawkins 2003). Less attention has been paid to how the domestic level affects international organizing. However, drawing on the evidence from this study, there appears to be quite a bit of interaction. Whether one looks at women’s organizations historically or in more recent times, the entrepreneurs spearheading international campaigns frequently drew on the experiences they had gained as leaders of national movements or tended to rely on frames that had already proven successful at the domestic level. These and other examples suggest that there seems to be as much a movement upward to the international level as there is a movement down to the domestic level, only that we know more about the former than the latter. What happens in the shift from one level to the other? What happens to the entrepreneurs or the “bridging individuals” (Fox and Brown 1998, chap. 12) who link the global and the local levels? Do they maintain their links to their domestic constituencies, do they use national opportunities and bring back the fruits of their international accomplishments, or do they eventually sever their national connections? Furthermore, what happens to the frames that originated at the national level? How do they change once they are introduced in international institutions, and more important, what are the implications of such modifications? How much (re-)framing is conducive before it begins to be counterproductive? Similar questions arise when we add the regional or supranational level. Most of what we know until this point stems from fledgling EU studies on the interaction between the national and regional levels. Here the findings from initial studies are still inconclusive and sometimes even contradictory. Though some suggest that nonstate actors still prefer the national to the supranational venue for collective action

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(Tarrow 2005), others, by contrast, argue that the EU offers many access points to NGOs, of which they increasingly take advantage (e.g., Pollack 1997), and again others claim that the neoliberal ethos of the EU privileges certain groups, namely business groups, but marginalizes so-called diffused interests representing women, consumers, and environmentalists (e.g., Streeck and Schmitter 1991). Many of these assumptions are based on anecdotal evidence and need to be specified further through more empirical analysis to determine how and under what conditions NGOs use the national and regional political opportunity structures in which they are embedded. If our understanding of the interplay between the national and regional levels regarding the influence of nonstate actors is still fragmentary, we know even less about how the regional and international levels interact. Do actors use the regional level as a testing ground for their ideas, as the historical chapters of this study suggest—where the frames developed in the context of the Pan-American conferences provided blueprints for legitimizing equal nationality rights in the League of Nations? Or do they target international institutions first and only pursue the regional level later to get more concrete results, as the case of the EU and violence against women implies? Or are they engaged at both levels at the same time? Is there much overlap between the actors pursuing change at both levels, or do they engage in a division of labor— and if so, how much do they know about each other and to what extent do they coordinate their actions? These and other questions should occupy researchers in the future. As the context in which NGOs engage becomes more complex, with more opportunities but also more obstacles at different levels, it will be pertinent to determine which routes these civil society actors will pursue and to assess the implications of their strategies. The theoretical framework developed in this book provides a useful tool for answering some of these questions by looking at the dynamic interaction between the institutional setting, the transnational actors, and the frames they develop.

APPENDIX UN Declaration on the Elimination of All Forms of Violence against Women

General Assembly Resolution 48/104 of 20 December 1993 The General Assembly, Recognizing the urgent need for the universal application to women of the rights and principles with regard to equality, security, liberty, integrity and dignity of all human beings, Noting that those rights and principles are enshrined in international instruments, including the Universal Declaration of Human Rights,1 the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights,2 the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights,2 the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women3 and the Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment,4 Recognizing that effective implementation of the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women would contribute to the elimination of violence against women and that the Declaration on the Elimination of Violence against Women, set forth in the present resolution, will strengthen and complement that process, 185

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Concerned that violence against women is an obstacle to the achievement of equality, development and peace, as recognized in the Nairobi Forward-Looking Strategies for the Advancement of Women,5 in which a set of measures to combat violence against women was recommended, and to the full implementation of the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women, Affirming that violence against women constitutes a violation of the rights and fundamental freedoms of women and impairs or nullifies their enjoyment of those rights and freedoms, and concerned about the long-standing failure to protect and promote those rights and freedoms in the case of violence against women, Recognizing that violence against women is a manifestation of historically unequal power relations between men and women, which have led to domination over and discrimination against women by men and to the prevention of the full advancement of women, and that violence against women is one of the crucial social mechanisms by which women are forced into a subordinate position compared with men, Concerned that some groups of women, such as women belonging to minority groups, indigenous women, refugee women, migrant women, women living in rural or remote communities, destitute women, women in institutions or in detention, female children, women with disabilities, elderly women and women in situations of armed conflict, are especially vulnerable to violence, Recalling the conclusion in paragraph 23 of the annex to Economic and Social Council Resolution 1990/15 of 24 May 1990 that the recognition that violence against women in the family and society was pervasive and cut across lines of income, class and culture had to be matched by urgent and effective steps to eliminate its incidence, Recalling also Economic and Social Council Resolution 1991/18 of 30 May 1991, in which the Council recommended the development of a framework for an international instrument that would address explicitly the issue of violence against women,

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Welcoming the role that women’s movements are playing in drawing increasing attention to the nature, severity and magnitude of the problem of violence against women, Alarmed that opportunities for women to achieve legal, social, political and economic equality in society are limited, inter alia, by continuing and endemic violence, Convinced that in the light of the above there is a need for a clear and comprehensive definition of violence against women, a clear statement of the rights to be applied to ensure the elimination of violence against women in all its forms, a commitment by States in respect of their responsibilities, and a commitment by the international community at large to the elimination of violence against women, Solemnly proclaims the following Declaration on the Elimination of Violence against Women and urges that every effort be made so that it becomes generally known and respected:

Article 1

For the purposes of this Declaration, the term “violence against women” means any act of gender-based violence that results in, or is likely to result in, physical, sexual or psychological harm or suffering to women, including threats of such acts, coercion or arbitrary deprivation of liberty, whether occurring in public or in private life.

Article 2

Violence against women shall be understood to encompass, but not be limited to, the following: (a) Physical, sexual and psychological violence occurring in the family, including battering, sexual abuse of female children in the household, dowry-related violence, marital rape, female genital

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mutilation and other traditional practices harmful to women, nonspousal violence and violence related to exploitation; (b) Physical, sexual and psychological violence occurring within the general community, including rape, sexual abuse, sexual harassment and intimidation at work, in educational institutions and elsewhere, trafficking in women and forced prostitution; (c) Physical, sexual and psychological violence perpetrated or condoned by the State, wherever it occurs.

Article 3

Women are entitled to the equal enjoyment and protection of all human rights and fundamental freedoms in the political, economic, social, cultural, civil or any other field. These rights include, inter alia: (a) The right to life;6 (b) The right to equality;7 (c) The right to liberty and security of person;8 (d) The right to equal protection under the law;7 (e) The right to be free from all forms of discrimination;7 (f ) The right to the highest standard attainable of physical and mental health;9 (g) The right to just and favourable conditions of work;10 (h) The right not to be subjected to torture, or other cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment.11

Article 4

States should condemn violence against women and should not invoke any custom, tradition or religious consideration to avoid their obligations with respect to its elimination. States should pursue by all appropriate means and without delay a policy of eliminating violence against women and, to this end, should: (a) Consider, where they have not yet done so, ratifying or acceding to the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of

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Discrimination against Women or withdrawing reservations to that Convention; (b) Refrain from engaging in violence against women; (c) Exercise due diligence to prevent, investigate and, in accordance with national legislation, punish acts of violence against women, whether those acts are perpetrated by the State or by private persons; (d) Develop penal, civil, labour and administrative sanctions in domestic legislation to punish and redress the wrongs caused to women who are subjected to violence; women who are subjected to violence should be provided with access to the mechanisms of justice and, as provided for by national legislation, to just and effective remedies for the harm that they have suffered; States should also inform women of their rights in seeking redress through such mechanisms; (e) Consider the possibility of developing national plans of action to promote the protection of women against any form of violence, or to include provisions for that purpose in plans already existing, taking into account, as appropriate, such cooperation as can be provided by non-governmental organizations, particularly those concerned with the issue of violence against women; (f ) Develop, in a comprehensive way, preventive approaches and all those measures of a legal, political, administrative and cultural nature that promote the protection of women against any form of violence, and ensure that the re-victimization of women does not occur because of laws insensitive to gender considerations, enforcement practices or other interventions; (g) Work to ensure, to the maximum extent feasible in the light of their available resources and, where needed, within the framework of international cooperation, that women subjected to violence and, where appropriate, their children have specialized assistance, such as rehabilitation, assistance in child care and maintenance, treatment, counselling, and health and social services, facilities and programmes, as well as support structures, and should take all other appropriate measures to promote their safety and physical and psychological rehabilitation; (h) Include in government budgets adequate resources for their activities related to the elimination of violence against women; (i) Take measures to ensure that law enforcement officers and public officials responsible for implementing policies to prevent,

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investigate and punish violence against women receive training to sensitize them to the needs of women; (j) Adopt all appropriate measures, especially in the field of education, to modify the social and cultural patterns of conduct of men and women and to eliminate prejudices, customary practices and all other practices based on the idea of the inferiority or superiority of either of the sexes and on stereotyped roles for men and women; (k) Promote research, collect data and compile statistics, especially concerning domestic violence, relating to the prevalence of different forms of violence against women and encourage research on the causes, nature, seriousness and consequences of violence against women and on the effectiveness of measures implemented to prevent and redress violence against women; those statistics and findings of the research will be made public; (l) Adopt measures directed towards the elimination of violence against women who are especially vulnerable to violence; (m) Include, in submitting reports as required under relevant human rights instruments of the United Nations, information pertaining to violence against women and measures taken to implement the present Declaration; (n) Encourage the development of appropriate guidelines to assist in the implementation of the principles set forth in the present Declaration; (o) Recognize the important role of the women’s movement and non-governmental organizations worldwide in raising awareness and alleviating the problem of violence against women; (p) Facilitate and enhance the work of the women’s movement and non-governmental organizations and cooperate with them at local, national and regional levels; (q) Encourage intergovernmental regional organizations of which they are members to include the elimination of violence against women in their programmes, as appropriate.

Article 5

The organs and specialized agencies of the United Nations system should, within their respective fields of competence, contribute to the recognition and realization of the rights and the principles set forth in the present Declaration and, to this end, should, inter alia:

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(a) Foster international and regional cooperation with a view to defining regional strategies for combating violence, exchanging experiences and financing programmes relating to the elimination of violence against women; (b) Promote meetings and seminars with the aim of creating and raising awareness among all persons of the issue of the elimination of violence against women; (c) Foster coordination and exchange within the United Nations system between human rights treaty bodies to address the issue of violence against women effectively; (d) Include in analyses prepared by organizations and bodies of the United Nations system of social trends and problems, such as the periodic reports on the world social situation, examination of trends in violence against women; (e) Encourage coordination between organizations and bodies of the United Nations system to incorporate the issue of violence against women into ongoing programmes, especially with reference to groups of women particularly vulnerable to violence; (f ) Promote the formulation of guidelines or manuals relating to violence against women, taking into account the measures referred to in the present Declaration; (g) Consider the issue of the elimination of violence against women, as appropriate, in fulfilling their mandates with respect to the implementation of human rights instruments; (h) Cooperate with non-governmental organizations in addressing the issue of violence against women.

Article 6

Nothing in the present Declaration shall affect any provision that is more conducive to the elimination of violence against women that may be contained in the legislation of a State or in any international convention, treaty or other instrument in force in a State.

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NOTES

INTRODUCTION

1. During the fiftieth session of the UN Commission on Human Rights in March 1994, Radhika Coomaraswamy of Sri Lanka was appointed as special rapporteur on violence against women. In 2003, Yakin Ertürk of Turkey became her successor (for further information, see Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights, Special Rapporteur on Violence against Women, http://www.ohchr.org/english/issues/women/ rapporteur/). 2. E.g., the Women, Environment, and Development Organization in New York, together with other women’s NGOs, launched the initiative “Women Watching ICPD” to monitor the implementation of the program of action of the International Conference on Population and Development. CHAPTER ONE

1. For documentation of the growing influence of NGOs in international relations more generally see, e.g., Metzges (2006); Friedman, Hochstetler, and Clark (2005); Clark, Friedman, and Hochstetler (1998); Tarrow (2005); Khagram, Riker, and Sikkink (2002); Anheier, Glasius, and Kaldor (2001); Gaventa (2001); Korey (2001); O’Brien et al. (2000); Cox (1999); Florini (1999); Keck and Sikkink (1998); Fox and Brown (1998); Smith, Pagnucco, and Chatfield (1997b); Lipschutz (1992, 1996); Weiss and Gordenker (1996); Willetts (1982, 1996a); Clark (1995); Wapner (1995, 1996); Princen and Finger (1994); and Peterson (1992). 2. For a discussion of these conferences and the role of NGOs see, e.g., Friedman, Hochstetler, and Clark (2005); Clark, Friedman, and Hochstetler (1998); Friedman (2003); Chen (1996); Boyle (1995); Nowak (1994); and Finger (1994). 193

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3. There are relatively few studies of agenda setting in international organizations, and those in existence draw on agenda-setting models from the domestic politics literature. See, e.g., Gordenker et al. (1995); Livingston (1992); and Vasquez and Mansbach (1983). 4. While the concept of framing has been primarily applied to study social movements in the domestic realm (e.g., Snow and Benford 1988; Snow et al. 1986; Tarrow 1994), recent studies have employed the concept to investigate the role of transnational networks and movements at the international level (e.g., Keck and Sikkink 1998; Smith, Pagnucco, and Chatfield 1997b) and to policymaking in the EU (e.g., Pollack and Hafner-Burton 2000; Mazey 1998). For a critical analysis of the role of cognitive and normative frames in policymaking, see Surel (2000). 5. For a more elaborate discussion of these two types of strategies, see, e.g., Beyers (2004). 6. Other frame alignment processes can involve “frame bridging,” which involves the linkage of two or more ideologically congruent but structurally unconnected frames regarding a particular problem (Snow et al. 1986, 467); “frame amplification,” the clarification, or invigoration of certain values or beliefs contained in a particular frame (Snow et al. 1986, 469); or “frame transformation”—what Goffman (1974, 45) refers to as “keying,” involving the redefinition of activities or events that are already meaningful from the standpoint of some primary frame, in terms of another so that they are now “seen by the participants to be something quite else.” 7. See, e.g., Kriesi (1989), Duerst-Lahti (1989), Staggenborg (1988), Kitschelt (1986), and Jenkins and Perrow (1977). For comparative studies of political opportunity structures see, e.g., Soper (1994), Escobar and Alvarez (1992), and Brockett (1991). 8. According to, e.g., Gamson and Meyer (1996, 275), the concept “threatens to become an all-encompassing fudge factor for all the conditions and circumstances that form the context of collective action. Used to explain so much, it may ultimately explain nothing at all.” See also Tarrow (1988, 430), who deems it more appropriate to think of the political opportunity structure “less [as] a variable than [as] a cluster of variables—some more relevant than others.” 9. For a critical reflection on these conferences, see, e.g., Fomerand (1996). 10. For excellent discussions of changes in the rules for NGO participation in UN meetings and conferences, see Reimann (2006), Alger (2002), and (Willetts 1996b, 1996c, 2000). 11. Willetts (1996c, 54) notes that there has been a steady increase in the accreditation of NGOs, but that UNCED resulted in a dramatic upsurge. UNCED also resulted in an unprecedented high level of participation of Southern NGOs, which can be partly attributed to the location of the conference.

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12. According to Reimann (2006, 54), foundation grants to NGOs steadily increased in the 1980s and skyrocketed in the 1990s. 13. See also McCarthy and Zald (1977). 14. The expression was also hinting at Abzug’s appearance. She always wore colorful hats, with which she could not be missed in the midst of government delegates in their dark suits. 15. For an excellent discussion of the pros and cons of the professionalization of women’s NGOs, see Markowitz (2002). CHAPTER TWO

1. For exceptions, see, e.g., Berkovitch (2003), Rupp (1994), Costain (1992), Pfeffer (1985), Wiltsher (1985), Foster (1989), and Whittick (1979). 2. The only flag that the ship was flying was one made by the delegates themselves with blue letters spelling “Peace,” which, according to Costin (1982, 309), was “a hasty handmade substitute for an emblem which the New York major had promised but failed to deliver.” 3. In addition to nationality, two further issues had been included on the conference agenda: territorial water rights and the responsibility of states for damages to the property or persons of foreigners within their boundaries (Stienstra 1994, 68). 4. Some organizations had begun their work on nationality even earlier; e.g., the ICW had started to investigate the situation of women’s nationality already in 1905 and the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom worked on the issue after World War I (Bredbenner 1990, 435). Moreover, the IAW was not alone in its quest for equal nationality rights for married women. Instead, it had influential allies. The International Law Association at its thirty-first conference in Buenos Aires in 1922 unanimously resolved that “it would be desirable to fix uniformly by treaty the nationality of married women, reserving to a married woman, as far as possible, the right to choose her own nationality.” Later, at its thirty-third conference in Stockholm in 1924, it even adopted a resolution recommending the adoption of a model statute by individual states according to which marriage was to continue to cause changes in women’s nationality, but only if they had acquired their husbands’ nationality and exercised their option in the matter (Waltz 1937, 102–3). 5. The author of the act, Representative John L. Cable (R-Ohio), also had introduced a resolution in the House of Representatives in 1924, authorizing the president to call a conference of the governments of the world to formulate and conclude a convention regulating the nationality of married women (Waltz 1937, 103). For a detailed analysis of the Cable Act and its enactment, see Sapiro (1984). 6. Although the Young Women’s Christian Association had been invited to be part of the committee, it refused the offer (Stienstra 1994, 71).

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7. According to Becker (1981, 177), it was the head of the U.S. Women’s Bureau who spearheaded the efforts of reformers to derail the equal rights treaty in the League of Nations. 8. According to Pfeffer (1985, 467), the experts included only one equal rights advocate and at least one woman opposed to equal rights, Dorothy Kenyon from the United States. Two experts were members of National Councils of Women of their respective countries (International Council of Women 1966, 70). 9. Stienstra (1994, 77) cites three prominent examples: Bertha Lutz, president of the Brazilian Federation of Women; Jesse Street from Australia, a leading member of the women’s movement and chairperson of the Australian Women’s Charter Conference; and Minerva Bernadino from the Dominican Republic, president of the Inter-American Commission on the Status of Women from 1944 to 1949. The American delegation included Virginia Gildersleeve, dean of Barnard College, whose appointment, according to Pfeffer (1985, 468), constituted in the eyes of equalitarians an “insurmountable obstacle” because of her anti–equal rights stand in the United States. Other countries—e.g., China, Canada, Mexico, Norway, the United Kingdom, Uruguay, and Venezuela—included women who were politicians or other prominent members of their society (Stienstra 1994, 77). 10. E.g., Jessie Street distributed copies of telegrams sent by 1,200 trade and women’s groups in Australia to all heads of delegations at the opening session urging that the “United Nations Conference incorporate into postwar plans the democratic principle of equality of status, opportunity, responsibility, and reward for men and women, and elimination of all discrimination based on sex” (Equal Rights 1945, 45; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 77). 11. E.g., references to equality were contained in Article 1, paragraph 3, on the purposes and principles of the United Nations; article 13, paragraph 1b, on the General Assembly and its role in promoting international cooperation; or article 55, paragraph c, on international economic and social cooperation. For a more detailed discussion, see Stienstra (1994, 78–80). 12. For a more detailed discussion of Eleanor Roosevelt’s position regarding women’s rights and human rights, see Glendon (2001). 13. E.g., Bodil Begtrup was chairperson of the National Council of Women in Denmark, Minerva Bernadino of the Dominican Republic was chairperson of the Inter-American Commission of Women, and Hansa Metha of India was the founder of the Women’s College in Baroda and president of the All-India Women’s Conference (Equal Rights 1946, 27; quoted in Stienstra 1994, 82). 14. For an in-depth discussion see, e.g., Coliver (1987). 15. For a more detailed discussion on the Women’s Convention see, e.g., Fraser (1995), Cook (1990, 1993), and Halberstam and Defeis (1987).

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CHAPTER THREE

1. For a more detailed discussion, see, e.g., Puchala (1989) and Marin-Bosch (1987). 2. The congress was sponsored by the Women’s International Democratic Federation, which also had proposed the International Women’s Year. It was attended by 2,000 women from 141 countries. 3. While supporting the call to end sex discrimination, Eastern European delegations claimed that the problem did not exist in their countries because their national constitutions prohibited it (Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 34). 4. According to Allan, Galey, and Persinger (1995, 38), the phrase was a negotiated substitute for the proposed wording of women’s “rights to control their own bodies.” 5. Some resolutions called for improvements of women and development programs, others recommended government-supported credit mechanisms for women, and still others proposed the establishment of new institutions (Allan, Galey, and Persinger 1995, 38). 6. E.g., a proposal of G-77 countries for women to declare their solidarity with Palestinian self-determination led to a vote following a long and strenuous debate due to a reference that listed Zionism with racism, colonialism, neocolonialism, and apartheid. Seventy-one voted in favor (Eastern European and G-77 countries), three against (United States, Israel, and the Bahamas), and forty abstained (mainly Western states) (United Nations 1975b, 110–13, 166–68). 7. According to Fraser (1987, 57), the delegates to the IWY Conference preferred a tribune—a place where papers are delivered and commented upon. NGO representatives, conversely, favored a more open forum with freer and more open discussion, which they succeeded in getting at the subsequent two conferences in Copenhagen and Nairobi. 8. The daily newspaper Xylonen was named after an Aztec deity, the goddess of tender corn. It appeared in both English and Spanish. 9. According to Stienstra (1994, 124), member states had made a commitment on paper to international women’s groups but did not provide adequate institutional or financial support. 10. Some of the proposed revisions were minor changes ranging from more gender-inclusive to stronger language. Others, however, were more substantive, including the need for a body with authority and funds to monitor and assess the implementation of these recommendations (Stienstra 1994, 126). 11. Six states (including the United States) were from the North; three (including the Soviet Union) were from the East; and the rest from the South, with four from Asia and Africa, three (including Cuba) from Latin America and the Caribbean, and two from the Middle East ( Jaquette 1995, 49).

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12. Southern representatives had chaired all the preparatory conferences as well as the committees that had been established for the conference. 13. These NGOs included the Afro-Asian People’s Solidarity Organization, the All-India Women’s Conference, the World Union of Catholic Women’s Organizations, the World YWCA, the World Women’s Christian Temperance Union, and Zonta International (Fraser 1987, 142). 14. This was a single issue report, undated. The Exchange was an organization set up to run a series of women and development workshops at the 1980 Forum (Fraser 1987, 158). 15. According Patton (1995, 71), the consensus rule also carried the day partly due to Reagan’s active efforts to develop a working relationship with her Soviet counterparts. 16. The title “dame” had been bestowed on Nita Barrow by the British government for her international work (Fraser 1987, 206). CHAPTER FOUR

1. The organizers included Mariam Bazzanella, from Italy; Lily Boeykens, from Belgium; Grainne Farren, an Irish woman living in Paris; Erica Fischer, from Austria; Maureen Giroux, an American living in Paris; Lydia Horton, an American living in Brussels; Mireya Gutierrez, a Mexican woman who used to live in Paris; Jennifer Morris and Marguerite Russell, from Britain; Diane Russell, from the United States; and Marit Winnem and Lisbet Natland, from Norway (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, acknowledgments). 2. E.g., the Iranian and Indian embassies had contacted the organizers to enquire about the participants from their countries (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 2). 3. E.g., one idea was the initiation of anticrime days, during which embassies in different countries would be confronted about the crimes against women in their respective countries (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 215). 4. E.g., Alice Schwarzer from Germany, Lidia Falcon from Spain, Nuala Fenell from Ireland, and Marcia Freedman from Israel were well-known feminists in their respective countries (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 3). 5. The absence of high-profile women was, according to some observers, a reason why the mainstream media, such as Time and Newsweek, did not run a story on the tribunal. Even though both magazines had sent reporters and photographers, they seemed more interested in women’s attire and status than their motives for gathering at the international level (Russell and Van de Ven 1984, 3). 6. For a more detailed discussion of the treatment of the issue at the Nairobi Women’s Conference, see, e.g., Joachim (1999, 146–48) and Keck and Sikkink (1998, 17).

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7. For a more detailed discussion of the evolution of governmental policy on domestic violence in Canada, see Weldon (2002) and Hawkins and Humes (2002). 8. The participants included: Jadesola O. Akande, professor of law at Lagos State University, Lagos; Badria Abdullah Al-Awadhi of the Regional Organization for the Protection of the Marine Environment; Tina Anselmi of the Italian Parliament, Cheryl Benard and Edit Schlaffer of the Ludwig Boltzmann Institute of Politics, Vienna, and members of Amnesty for Women; Jane Frances Connors, lecturer in law at the University of London; Elisabeth Dior Fall Sow of the Senegalese Ministry of Justice, Dakar; Malak El Husseiny Zaalouk of the National Center for Social and Criminal Research, Cairo; Chana Elroy of the International Alliance of Women, Tel Aviv; Emilio García Méndez of the United Nations Social Defense Research Institute, Rome; Frederick Edward Gibson of the Department of the Solicitor General, Ottawa; Lois Haight Herrington of the Department of Justice, Washington; Helen L’Orange of the New South Wales Government Domestic Violence Committee, Sydney; Mphanza P. Mvunga of the Law Development Commission, Lusaka; Lynette Maria Seebaran of the National Commission on the Status of Women, Port-of-Spain; Ishrat Shamim, professor of sociology at the University of Dhaka; Hira Singh, director of the National Institute of Social Defense, Ministry of Welfare, New Delhi; Siriporn Skrobanek, coordinator of the Women’s Information Center, Bangkok; Calliope Spinellis, professor of law at the University of Athens; Nini Torp of the Ministry of Health and Social Affairs, Oslo; Betty Nafuna Wamalwa of the Public Law Institute, Nairobi; Tatiana Nikolaeva of the Russian Council of Ministers, Moscow; Jan Pahl Senior Research Fellow at the University of Kent, Canterbury; Suguna Papachan of the Asia and Pacific Development Centre, Kuala Lumpur; Kenneth Nathaniel Pryce, senior lecturer in sociology at the University of West Indies, Saint Augustine, Trinidad and Tobago; Geneviève Reynard of the French Ministry for Social Affairs and Employment, Paris; Renée Römkens of the Research Institute on Sexuality and Violence, Amsterdam; Diane Wood, director of Social Policy, Status of Women Canada, Ottawa; and Wu Han, director of the Criminology and Crime Investigation Department of the East China Institute of Law and Politics, Shanghai (ECOSOC 1986). 9. E.g., article 8 of the European Convention on Human Rights and article 17 of the International Convention on Civil and Political Rights. 10. At its eleventh session in 1992, CEDAW issued general recommendation 19, which concluded that (1) gender-based violence is discrimination, (2) such discrimination violates women’s human rights, (3) the convention covers both public and private acts, (4) gender-based violence is contrary to numerous specific articles of the convention, and (5) governments

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11.

12.

13.

14.

should take legal and other measures to prevent such violence and report back in their regular implementation reports (CEDAW 1992). E.g., in Costa Rica, women organized an entire conference, “La Nestra,” around the issue of human rights with the intention to prepare a document and demands for the regional governmental conference (Bunch and Reilly 1994, 38). The idea for such an event had been conceived at the Strategic Planning Institute, which the CWGL organized in February 1993 at Rutgers University, bringing together a small group of women from around the world (Bunch and Reilly 1994, 10). They included Asma Abdel Halim of Women in Law and Development in Africa (WiLDAF), Sudan; Marion Bethel of the Caribbean Association for Feminist Research and Action (CAFRA), the Bahamas; Florence Butegwa of WiLDAF, Zimbabwe; Roxanna Carrillo of UNIFEM; Winde Evenhuis of the Humanist Committee on Human Rights (HOM), the Netherlands; Alda Facio of the United Nations Latin American Institute for the Prevention of Crime and the Treatment of Offenders (ILANUD), Costa Rica; Hina Jilani of AGHS Legal Aid, Pakistan; Nelia Sancho Liao of the Asian Women’s Human Rights Council, the Philippines; Rosa Logar of the Austrian Women’s Shelter Network; Annette Pypops of Match International Centre, Canada; Ana Sisnett of the Fund for a Compassionate Society, United States; Maria Suárez of the Feminist International Radio Endeavor (FIRE), Costa Rica; and Anne Walker of the IWTC. In addition, the Asia and Pacific Forum on Women, Law, and Development, the Family Violence Prevention Fund in San Francisco, and the International Solidarity Network of Women Living Under Muslim Laws (WLUML) joined as organizational sponsors of the tribunal. The judges included Gertrude Mongella, secretary general of the 1995 UN Fourth World Conference on Women and former Tanzania high commissioner to India; Justice P. N. Bhagwati, former chief justice of the Supreme Court of India and chair of the Asian NGO Association of Women for Action and Research (AWARE); Ed Broadbent, a former Canadian member of Parliament and president of the International Center for Human Rights and Democratic Development in Montreal; Elizabeth Odio, then minister of justice in Costa Rica and a member of the UN Committee against Torture; and Mary Robinson, then president of Ireland.

CHAPTER FIVE

1. For an excellent discussion see, e.g., Gordon (1983), Petchesky (1990), and Ruzek (1978). 2. ICASC had been launched in 1978 in response to both pronatalist and antinatalist movements (Correa and Reichman 1994, 61). It had started as an abortion action campaign, but following the involvement of Latin Ameri-

Notes

3. 4. 5.

6. 7. 8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

201

can women living in Europe, issues of contraception and forced sterilization were also included (WGNRR 1990b, 3). Among the organizations involved were the Population Office of USAID, the UNFPA, and the IPPF (Ehrenreich, Dowie, and Minkin 1979). For a more detailed discussion of the U.S. Mexico City Policy see, e.g., Finkle and Crane (1985), Fox (1986), and Jaquette and Staudt (1985). Since the 1950s, the United States had contributed the most to population research and, through the Office of Population of USAID, mounted the largest population assistance program of any donor, maintaining a corps of some sixty professionals in Washington, along with advisers in more than forty countries, and providing support to family planning programs in more than ninety countries (Finkle and Crane 1985, 9). Since the early 1970s, USAID contributed to over half of the budget of IPPF and UNFPA (Hartmann 1987, 106). For a critical discussion of U.S. population policy see, e.g., Jaquette and Staudt (1985) and Donaldson (1990). As a U.S. senator during the 1970s, Buckley had worked closely with the right-to-life movement for a constitutional amendment that would have banned abortion (Finkle and Crane 1985, 17). The first such meeting was titled “The Contraceptive Development Process and Quality of Care in Health Services,” held in New York in the fall of 1986, and cosponsored by the Population Council. It was followed by the Second Christopher Tietze International Symposium, titled “Women’s Health in the Third World: The Impact of Unwanted Pregnancy,” held in Rio de Janeiro in October 1988, and a meeting in Bellagio, Italy, in 1991 on “Reproductive Tract Infections in Women in the Third World,” which had been cosponsored by the Rockefeller Foundation. Similar dialogue meetings also took place at the regional level, e.g., the Asian Regional Meeting on “Women’s Perspectives and Introduction of Fertility Regulation Technologies” in Manila in October 1992, which was organized by the Special Program of Research, Development, and Research Training in Human Reproduction of the WHO. Of the women’s health advocates who participated, three were from Africa, four from Latin America, three from Asia, and four from international women’s health advocacy organizations (WHO 1991, 7). However, the three main committees and the Working Group on the Program of Action were conducted in private, which according to Finkle and Crane (1975, 100) helped to bridge differences and enabled the conference to produce an acceptable plan. According to Dixon-Müller (1993, 70), the frame also fit with the perceptions family planners had of women, who continued to view women in an instrumental fashion. Their economic advancement was a means to an end rather than an end in itself.

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13. The papers and deliberations were concerned primarily with women in the general population (not commercial sex workers) and their vulnerability to infection of three types: (1) STDs, including HIV infection; (2) endogenous infections—those due to the overgrowth of organisms normally existing in the reproductive tract; and (3) latrogenic infections—those resulting from procedures performed by health care and family planning service providers, including unsafe abortions (IWHC 1991, 1). 14. Women in the general population had been placed in this category based on the assumption that they do not have high rates of partner change and large numbers of partners (IWHC 1991, 2). 15. The participants were Amparo Claro of the Latin American and Caribbean Women’s Health Network and ISIS-International; Sonia Correa and Peggy Antrobus of Development Alternatives with Women for a New Era, or DAWN; Joan Dunlop and Adrienne Germain of the IWHC; Claudia Garcia-Moreno of Oxfam International, who also served on the British delegation to Cairo; Frances Kissling of Catholics for Free Choice; Rose Petchesky of the International Reproductive Rights Research Action Group; Jacqueline Pitanguy, director of Citizenship Studies, Information, and Action, or CEPIA; and Julia Scott, director of the National Women’s Health Project. 16. Of the individuals and organizations that had signed or endorsed the declaration, 447 were from Africa, 317 from Asia, 433 from the Pacific, 406 from Latin America, 429 from Europe, and 507 from North America (IWHC 1994). 17. At the UN Population Conference in Mexico City in 1984, the Holy See abstained from the vote because “the recommendations endorsed and encouraged methods of family planning that the Catholic Church considered morally unacceptable” (United Nations 1984, 75). In Bucharest, the Holy See reserved its vote because “the Plan of Action remained in the domain merely of demographic policy instead of serving as a guide to a genuine population policy” (United Nations 1974, 133). 18. The signers of the declaration were the WGNRR; the Forum against Oppression of Women, Bombay; the Forum against Sex Determination and Sex Preselection, Bombay; and the Women’s Group against Genetic Engineering, Reproductive Technologies, and Population Policies, or ANTIGENA, Zurich. 19. The desire to work together had already become apparent at the Seventh International Women and Health Meeting in Kampala, September 13–17, 1993, which was conducted under the motto “United We Stand to Take Action on Women’s Health” and which revolved to a large extent around the ICPD. However, at the time, participants were still too divided to produce a cohesive position paper (Latin American and Caribbean Women’s Health Network 1993, 52).

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20. The inclusion of the two NGO representatives was reflective of the openness of the U.S. delegation toward NGOs more generally. Half of the fortythree person delegation came from NGOs and the private sector (Cohen and Richards 1994, 272–73). 21. E.g., Germain contributed to the writing of Wirth’s speech at the third preparatory conference and lobbied for its approval among other members of the U.S. delegation (Kyte 1995). 22. The informal working group that had been established by Biegman was not welcomed by everybody. Though some NGOs and governments feared that it would compromise on issues of women’s empowerment and reproductive rights, others considered it exclusive and lacking transparency (International Institute for Sustainable Development 1994). 23. Though permanent observers cannot vote in the General Assembly, it has become customary to grant them the same rights as UN member states during UN specialized conferences, including the right to vote. 24.The unwillingness of the Holy See to compromise also led several women’s organizations to circulate a petition calling on the UN to rescind the privileges granted to the Holy See. CHAPTER SIX

1. The DAPHNE Initiative was launched in 1997 as a one-year program with a budget of €3 million to support programs that bring together NGOs concerned with violence against women from at least two EU member states to cooperate among other things in research, data collection and analysis, awareness-raising and information campaigns, direct action to support victims, or the production of policy tools. It has been replaced by DAPHNE I, which lasted from 2000 to 2003 and had a fund of €20 million. Given the persistence of gender violence, EU member states agreed to adopt DAPHNE II and to increase both the funding to approximately €40 million and the time span of the program, which started in 2004 and will end in 2008 (European Commission 2005). STOP was launched in November 1996 as an incentive and exchange program to support actions by public officials and NGOs engaged in the fight against and the prevention of trafficking in human beings and the sexual exploitation of children. The program was approved for a period of four years with a budget of €6.5 million. When the program ended in 2000, STOP II was launched with a budget of €4 million and the duration of two years (for further information, see http://ec.europa.eu/ justice_home/news/8mars_en.htm). 2. For a history of gender-equality policies in the European Union, see, e.g., Hoskyns (1996) and Liebert (1999). 3. The European Union, established by the Maastricht Treaty in 1993, rests on three pillars: Economic and Monetary Union (pillar one), the Common

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4.

5.

6. 7.

8.

Foreign and Security Policy (pillar two), and Justice and Home Affairs (pillar three). Of the three pillars, only the first is supranational in nature; the other two are principally intergovernmental. E.g., on August 18, 1996, The Observer carried an article with the headline “Girl Found in the ‘Dungeon’: Arrested Belgian Pedophiles Could Be Linked to Disappearance and Murder of 13 Other Children.” E.g., individual members of Women’s Rights Committee criticized the returning social affairs commissioner, Padraig Flynn, for his alleged lack of progress on women’s issues in the Delors Commission and demanded that the portfolio be taken away from him, which Santer, however, refused (Pollack and Hafner-Burton 2000, 436). For a more detailed discussion of the issue of trafficking in women, see, e.g., Wijers (2000) and Locher (2002). Despite these activities regarding the issue, resistance toward the issue continued to persist. E.g., some of the campaign posters that had been mounted in EU buildings had been overwritten with the words “they (women) really deserve it” (Eriksson 2000). See also Fox and Brown (1998) on this point.

APPENDIX

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

Resolution 217 A (III). See resolution 2200 A (XXI), annex. Resolution 34/180, annex. Resolution 39/46, annex. Report of the World Conference to Review and Appraise the Achievements of the United Nations Decade for Women: Equality, Development and Peace, Nairobi, July 15–26, 1985 (United Nations publication, Sales No. E.85.IV.10), chap. I, sect. A. Universal Declaration of Human Rights, article 3; and International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, article 6. International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, article 26. Universal Declaration of Human Rights, article 3; and International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, article 9. International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, article 12. Universal Declaration of Human Rights, article 23; and International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, articles 6 and 7. Universal Declaration of Human Rights, article 5; International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, article 7; and Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment.

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INDEX

AAWORD (West African women’s group), 88 abortion debate: and ICPD in Cairo (1994), 150–51, 155–58; and U.S. Mexico City Policy, 139–41, 154; and the Vatican (Holy See), 150–51, 157–58 Abzug, Bella, 33, 34, 81, 154–55, 195n14 accreditation of NGOs, 25–26, 194n11 Addams, Jane, 42, 48, 49–51 Africa: and contraceptives “dumping,” 138–39; and HIV/AIDS, 147; and violence against women, 103, 104 African-American Institute, 97 Afro-Asian Solidarity Organization, 198n13 agenda setting, 2, 6–8, 16–18, 165–68; formal or institutional agendas, 17; garbage can model, 18; political salience/impact of, 16; systemic agendas, 17; UN agendas, 17–18; UN process contrasted with the EU, 164, 169–77 Akande, Jadesola O., 199n8 Al-Awadhi, Badria Abdullah, 199n8 Algeria, 145, 157 Allan, Virginia R., 75, 79, 197n4 All-Asian Conference of Women, 65, 66 All-India Women’s Conference, 198n13 American Society of International Law, 62

Amnesty International (AI), 21, 33, 128, 131, 167 Amsterdam Treaty (1997), 170–71, 173, 176 Amsterdam Tribunal. See International Tribunal and Meeting on Reproductive Rights (Amsterdam, 1984) Andrews, Fannie Fern, 42 Anselmi, Tina, 199n8 Anthony, Susan B., 53 Antrobus, Peggy, 202n15 Argentina, 157 Arnesen, Emily, 42 Asia: RTIs in, 147; and violence against women, 103, 104 Asia and Pacific Forum on Women, Law, and Development, 200n13 Associated Country Women of the World, 117 Augspurg, Anita, 42 Australia, 78, 83, 86, 121 Austria, 174, 175–76 Austrian Coalition for Women’s Human Rights, 126 Austrian Verein Notruf für Vergewaltigte Frauen (Rape Crisis Center), 117 Balch, Emily, 50 Bangladesh, 104 Barnett, Michael, 3

225

226

Index

Barrow, Dame Nita, 96–97, 198n16 Baumer, Gertrud, 46 Bazzanella, Mariam, 198n1 Beauvoir, Simone de, 114 Becker, Susan D., 196n7 Begtrup, Bodil, 69–70, 196n13 Beijing conference. See Fourth World Conference on Women (Beijing, 1995) Belgium, 106, 108; Dutroux case, 171, 176, 204n4. See also International Tribunal on Crimes against Women (Brussels, 1976) Bellagio dialogue meeting on RTIs (1991), 147–48 Belmont, Alva, 60 Benard, Cheryl, 199n8 Benedick, Richard, 140–41 Beneson, Peter, 33 Benford, Robert, 19, 20, 21, 22 Benin, 157 Berer, Merge, 152 Bernadino, Minerva, 196n9, 196n13 Bethel, Marion, 200n13 Bhagwati, P. N., 200n14 Biegman, Nicolas, 155–56, 203n22 Black Women’s Health Group, 136 Boeykens, Lily, 198n1 Boissevain, Mia, 42 Boserup, Esther, 75 Bosnia-Herzegovina, war in, 104, 129 Boston Women’s Health Book Collective, 141–42, 151 Bravo, Marcia, 81 Brazil, 1, 69, 138–39 Bredbenner, Candice D., 58 Britain: and Brussels Tribunal, 106; equal nationality rights campaign and the CSW, 70–71; and First International Women’s Congress in The Hague (1915), 42–43, 45, 46–47, 48; and suffrage movement, 46–47; and violence against women, 124 British National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies (NUWSS), 46, 47 Broadbent, Ed, 200n14 Bruce, Judith, 144 Brussels Tribunal. See International Tribunal on Crimes against Women (Brussels, 1976)

Bucharest Population Conference. See UN Population Conference in Bucharest (1974) Buckley, James L., 141, 201n8 Bunch, Charlotte, 24, 81, 122, 123–24 Bund Deutscher Frauenvereine (Union of German Women’s Organizations), 46 Butegwa, Florence, 200n13 Cable, Rep. John L., 195n5 Cable Act (1922), 57, 58, 195n5 Cairo Population Conference. See International Conference on Population and Development in Cairo (ICPD) (1994) Campbell, John, 32 Canada: and Expert Group meetings on domestic violence (1986), 116; and First International Women’s Congress in The Hague (1915), 46; and Mid-Decade Conference in Copenhagen (1980), 83; and violence against women issue campaign, 104, 116, 121 Canadian National Committee for Patriotic Service, 46 Carnegie, Andrew, 44 Carnegie Corporation of New York, 97, 99 Carrillo, Roxanna, 125–26, 129, 130, 200n13 Carter, Jimmy, administration, 128, 140 Catholic Church and the ICPD (1994): Catholic–Islamic alliance, 150, 157; and reproductive rights agenda, 150–51, 153, 157–58, 168, 203n24. See also Vatican (Holy See) Catt, Carrie Chapman, 53, 60 Ceau¸sescu, Nicolae, 145 CEDAW. See Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW) (1979) Center for Reproductive Law and Policy (New York), 156 Center for Women’s Global Leadership (CWGL), 24, 81, 165, 167; and Bunch, 24, 81, 122, 123–24; and the Eighteen-Hour Tribunal, 126–27, 129, 131, 200n12;

Index and the global petition, 124–25, 129; leadership institutes, 122–25, 200n12; as organizational entrepreneur, 122, 131–32, 167; and the Sixteen Days of Activism, 124, 131; and three-year campaign leading up to Vienna, 123–25; violence against women issue campaign, 122–30, 131–32, 165; and World Human Rights Conference in Vienna (1993), 122–27, 130, 131–32, 167 Central Communication Center, 112 Chernobyl accident (1986), 38–39 Chile, 77, 84 China, 103–4, 130 CHR. See UN Commission on Human Rights (CHR) Christian Science Monitor, 127 Christopher, Warren, 128 CIM. See Inter-American Commission on Women (Comisión de Interamericano Mujeres, or CIM) Cisse, Jeanne Martin, 79 La Cité, 109 Claro, Amparo, 202n15 Claude, Inis C., Jr., 17 Clinton, Bill, administration, 128, 154, 180 CNN, 27, 150–51 Cobb, Roger W., 17 codification conference. See International Conference for the Codification of International Law in the Hague (1930) “cognitive liberation,” 20 Cohen, Michael, 18 Cohen, Susan A., 155, 157 cold war, post–, 24, 25, 31; and expansion of UN rights frame, 129–30, 132, 168; and violence against women issue campaign, 129–30, 132 Collins, Mary, 169–70 Commissioners’ Group on Equal Opportunities (European Union), 174 Commission on the Status of Women (CSW), 70–71, 73, 93, 116, 121, 123 Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women, 13,

227

121–22, 199n10. See also Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW) (1979) Committee on Women, Population, and the Environment (Amherst, Massachusetts), 151 The Common Cause (NUWSS journal), 46 Conca, Ken, 26 Conference of NGOs (CONGO), 80, 87 Connors, Jane Frances, 199n8 Conseil National des Femmes Françaises (National Council of French Women), 45–46 “consensus mobilization,” 21 “The Contraceptive Development Process and Quality of Care in Health Services” (New York dialogue meeting, 1986), 201n9 contraceptives “dumping,” 138–39, 166, 201n3 Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW) (1979), 71, 85, 121–22, 130, 156, 172, 173; and reproductive rights, 156; and violence against women, 121–22, 130, 172 Coomaraswamy, Radhika, 193n1 Copenhagen conference. See MidDecade Conference in Copenhagen (1980) Correa, Sonia, 202n15 Costa Rica, 124, 135, 137, 200n11 Costin, Lela B., 51, 195n2 Cotton, Joseph, 57 Courtney, Kathleen, 42, 48 Crane, Barbara B., 201n11 “Creating Common Ground: Women’s Perspectives on the Selection and Introduction of Fertility Regulation Technologies” (Geneva dialogue meeting, 1991), 142–44, 201n10 criminal justice frame and domestic violence campaign, 119–22, 175–76 “Critical Appraisal of the Women’s Declaration on Population Policies” (WGNNR), 151–52 Croatia, 104

228

Index

CSW. See Commission on the Status of Women (CSW) Cuba, 66 CWGL. See Center for Women’s Global Leadership (CWGL) Daily Express, 45 Dalkon Shield IUDs, 138–39 DAPHNE Initiative, 164, 169, 175, 203n1 Daugaard, Thora, 42 Davar (Israeli women’s monthly), 115 Davis, Angela, 81 Denmark, 75 Dennis, William, 62 De Standaard (Belgium), 109 Development Alternatives with Women for a New Era (DAWN), 97, 159 diagnostic framing, 20, 21, 37, 165–66 dialogue meetings and womencentered population policies, 5, 141–49, 160, 166–67; Bellagio meeting (1991), 147–48; Geneva meeting on family planning (1991), 142–44, 201n10; and quality-ofcare action framework, 144–45; on RTIs and HIV/AIDS control, 146–49, 201n9; scientists and women’s health activists, 142–44, 201n10 Dixon-Müller, Ruth, 145, 201n12 domestic violence: and criminal justice frame, 119–22, 175–76; defining, 117, 118; EU expert group meetings, 175–76, 177; Expert Group meetings in Vienna (1986), 116–22, 131; lasting effects for victims/children, 120–21; and prevailing images/definitions of the family, 117–18; social and economic costs, 121; statistical invisibility, 118; and technical information/knowledge, 120–22; victims’ reporting/authorities’ handling, 117–18 Dominican Republic, 124 Dunlop, Joan, 142, 202n15 Dutroux case (Belgium), 171, 176, 204n4 Dutting, Gisela, 151

Earth Council Alliance, 29 Earth Summit (Stockholm, 1972), 29 East Timor, 104 Echeverria Alvarez, Luis, 77 Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC): and domestic violence, 121; and IWY Conference in Mexico City, 76; and Mid-Decade Copenhagen conference, 86; and NGO accreditation, 25; UN equality framework and subcommission on status of women, 69–70, 196n13 Ecuador, 66, 157 Egypt, 78, 156, 157 Eighteen-Hour Tribunal (Vienna, 1993), 126–27, 129, 131, 200n12; and the ICC, 126–27, 200n13; tribunal judges, 127, 200n14 Eighth Pan-American Conference (Lima, 1938), 64 Eighth UN Congress on the Prevention of Crime and Treatment of Offenders, 119 Eisinger, Peter, 23 Elder, Charles D., 17 Elroy, Chana, 199n8 El Salvador, 156 environmental NGOs, 30–31, 35 equal nationality rights campaign (1920–1935), 41–42, 52–71, 72; and the CSW, 70–71; draft convention (equal rights for married women), 53–59; and dynamic nature of government support, 72; and equalitarians, 52, 66–68, 69–70, 72; and The Hague Codification Conference (1930), 52–59; and The Hague Nationality Convention, 56–58, 65–66; and heterogeneous constituencies, 72; and the IAW, 53–59, 195n4; and influential allies, 54–55, 66–67; and international media, 64; and Latin American countries, 59, 66–67, 68, 72; and the League of Nations, 52–59, 65–71; and the Pan-American conferences, 41–42, 59–65; post-codification consultative women’s committee,

Index 65–66; radical flank effects, 41–42, 68, 72; and reformers, 52, 53, 66, 67, 69–70, 72; and the UN’s equality framework, 68–71; U.S. position, 56–58, 72 Equal Pay Act (1963), 75 Equal Rights Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, 59, 60, 75 Equal Rights International, 65 Equal Rights Treaty (Latin America), 66–67 Equal Times (Boston newspaper), 91 Eriksson, Marianne, 172, 173 Ertürk, Yakin, 193n1 Ethiopia, 104 European Observatory on Violence against Women, 171 European Union: Economic and Monetary Union, 170, 203n3; and post–cold war political alignments/economic blocs, 30, 129–30; three pillars of, 170, 203n3. See also European Union’s violence against women campaign European Union’s violence against women campaign, 164, 169–77; and Amsterdam Treaty, 170–71, 173, 176; comparing to the UN, 164, 169–77; DAPHNE Initiative, 164, 169, 175, 203n1; and the EU Commission, 174–77; and EU institutional changes, 170–71; Eurobarometer surveys, 175; the EWL and problem-definition phase, 164, 169–71, 177; expanded awareness of gender violence, 171, 172; expert group meetings on domestic violence, 175–76, 177; framing in economic terms, 174, 176; institutional barriers, 170; and Maastricht Treaty, 170, 173, 176, 203n3; and organizational entrepreneurs, 176; parliamentary resolutions, 172, 173–74; STOP Program against trafficking, 164, 169, 175, 203n1; symbolic institutional events, 175, 176; and systematic evidence, 171; and technical expertise, 177; and the Women’s Rights Commission of the European Parliament, 172–74,

229

204n5; zero-tolerance campaign and report (1999), 164, 169, 173–74, 175–76, 204n7 European Women’s Lobby (EWL), 164, 169–71, 177; Charter of Principles on Violence against Women, 171; and European Observatory on Violence against Women, 171; and Policy Action Center on Violence against Women, 171; and violence against women issue campaign, 164, 169–71, 177 Evenhuis, Winde, 200n13 Evening Standard, 45 EWL. See European Women’s Lobby (EWL) Exchange Report, 91, 198n14 expatriation, right to, 57–58 Expert Group meetings on domestic violence (Vienna, 1986), 4–5, 116–22, 131, 142, 166–67; Canada’s leadership, 116; CEDAW and general recommendations on violence against women, 121–22, 199n10; and criminal justice frame, 119–22; definition of domestic violence, 117, 118; expert participants, 117, 199n8; and influential allies, 118–19; NGO attendees (the IAW), 117; prognostic phase goals, 117, 131; and role of technical information/knowledge, 120–22; series of recommendations, 119 Facio, Alda, 200n13 Falcon, Lidia, 198n4 family planning: and Amsterdam Tribunal (1984), 138–41; and contraceptives “dumping,” 138–39, 166, 201n3; Geneva dialogue meeting (1991), 142–44, 201n10; and U.S. Mexico City Policy, 139–41, 154. See also population policies, women-centered; reproductive rights and health campaign Family Planning journal, 144 Family Violence Prevention Fund (San Francisco), 200n13

230

Index

Farren, Grainne, 198n1 Fathalla, Mahmoud, 148 Fawcett, Millicent, 46 female circumcision/female genital mutilation, 88–89, 103 Feminist Encuentro for Latin American and the Caribbean, 124 Feminist International Network of Resistance to Reproductive and Genetic Engineering (Hamburg), 151 feminists: and Brussels Tribunal on Crimes against Women, 107–8, 114, 198n4; and IWY Conference in Mexico City, 81–82, 90; and MidDecade Conference in Copenhagen, 90; and Nairobi Conference, 93; and National Women’s Party (1920s), 60 Feminists International for Peace, 98 Fenell, Nuala, 198n4 Ferrar, Orestes, 59 Finkle, Jason L., 140, 157, 201n11 Finland, 76, 104, 174, 176 First International Women’s Congress in The Hague (1915), 41, 42–52, 60, 71–72; and Addams, 42, 48, 49–51; controversiality of, 47, 71; the four envoys and mobilization of government support, 49–52; and The Hague location, 44; and international media, 44–45, 51, 109; obstacles/opposition encountered in organizing, 42–47; organizers, 42; and proposal for a conference of neutrals, 47–49; rules of procedure, 48; and suffrage movement, 42, 46–47, 48–49; and travel to The Hague, 43–44; and U.S. delegation, 48; war-related opposition by women’s groups, 45–47; and women’s organizational entrepreneurship, 41, 42, 71–72; and World War I, 42–47 Fischer, Erica, 198n1 Flournoy, Richard, 57, 58 Flynn, Padraig, 174, 204n5 focusing events, 24–26 Fonda, Jane, 81 Ford Foundation, 27, 97

Forum against Oppression of Women, Bombay, 202n18 Forum against Sex Determination and Sex Preselection, Bombay, 202n18 “Forward-Looking Strategies for the Advancement of Women” (FLS) (Nairobi Conference document), 92, 99 Fourth World Conference on Women (Beijing, 1995), 24, 158, 169–70, 174; preparatory meeting (New York City), 13 framing processes, 2, 6–8, 19–22, 163, 165–67, 178–79; conflicts between framing tasks, 19–20, 22; defining, 19, 194n4; diagnostic, 20, 21, 37, 165–66; frame alignment, 22, 194n6; frame amplification, 194n6; frame bridging, 194n6; frame extension, 22; frame transformation, 194n6; and master frames, 22, 40, 99, 115–16, 134; and mobilizing structures, 2, 7–8, 32–40, 163; motivational, 21–22, 167; and political opportunity structures, 22–31, 38–40; prognostic, 20–21, 37, 166–67; relationships between political opportunities, mobilizing structures, and, 38–40; three criteria decisive for success of, 22 France: and Brussels Tribunal, 106; and First International Women’s Congress in The Hague, 45–46; and IWY Conference in Mexico City, 79–80; and suffrage movement, 46; women journalists’ association, 112 Fraser, Arvonne: and IWY Conference in Mexico City, 76, 197n7; and MidDecade Copenhagen Conference, 85, 87, 91; and Nairobi Conference, 93, 97, 98, 99 Freedman, Marcia, 198n4 Friedan, Betty, 81–82 Friends of the Earth, 33 “Fundamental Elements of the Quality of Care: A Simple Framework” (Bruce), 144 Galey, Margaret E., 75, 79, 197n4 Gamson, William A., 27, 127, 194n8

Index García Méndez, Emilio, 199n8 Garcia-Moreno, Claudia, 202n15 “Gender and the Agenda for Peace” (New York City, 1994), 13 General Arab Women Federation, 117 Geneva dialogue meeting on fertility regulation and family planning (1991), 142–44, 201n10 Genoni, Rose, 42 Germain, Adrienne, 154–55, 202n15, 203n21 Germany: and Brussels Tribunal, 106; and First International Women’s Congress in The Hague, 46; and IWY Conference in Mexico City, 79–80 Gibson, Frederick Edward, 199n8 Gildersleeve, Virginia, 69, 196n9 Giroux, Maureen, 198n1 Glasgow Herald, 45 Global Feminist Workshop to Organize against Traffic in Women (Rotterdam, 1983), 115–16 Glucklich, Vilma, 42 Goffman, Erving, 19, 194n6 Gordenker, Leon, 33–34 Goslinga, Sjoerd, 92 Gradin, Anita, 174–75, 177 Greece, 78 Gröner, Lissy, 172 Group of Seventy-Seven (G-77): and IWY Conference in Mexico City, 79–80, 197n6; and the Mexico City Declaration, 79, 80; and post–cold war political alignments/economic blocs, 30, 130; and reproductive rights/health campaign at the ICPD, 157; and UN World Conferences for Women, 73–74 Grynpas, Jerome, 109 Guardian, 115 Guatemala, 59 Gutierrez, Mireya, 198n1 Hafner-Burton, Emilie, 170 The Hague, 44. See also First International Women’s Congress in The Hague (1915); International Conference for the Codification of International Law in the Hague (1930)

231

Hague Nationality Convention, 56–58, 65–66; and IAW draft convention, 55–57; post-conference consultative women’s committee, 65, 66; and U.S. position on nationality rights of married women, 56–58, 72; and U.S. women’s organizations, 57, 58. See also International Conference for the Codification of International Law in the Hague (1930) Haines, Herbert H., 35 Halim, Asma Abdel, 200n13 Hamer, Eugenice, 42 Han, Wu, 199n8 Hansson, Emma, 42 Harris, Rosalind, 80–81 Hartmann, Betsy, 151–52, 159 Harvard Research Group, 54, 61–62 Haselgrave, Marianne, 87 Hazard, Henry, 62 Heemskerk, Theodorus, 54 Heise, Lori, 125 Helfferich, Barbara, 170, 171 Herrington, Lois Haight, 199n8 heterogeneous international constituencies, 8, 34–36, 163, 181 Het Volk, 110 Heymann, Lida Gustava, 42 HIV/AIDs, 20, 37, 146–49 Holy See. See Vatican (Holy See) Honduras, 157 Hoover, Herbert, 57 Horton, Lydia, 107, 198n1 Hosken, Fran, 88 Huggard, Marianne, 87 Hughes, Charles Evan, 63 Hull, Cordell, 64 human rights agenda: and the UN, 122–23; and women’s rights, 122–25; and World Human Rights Conference in Vienna (1993), 122–25, 128, 131–32 Human Rights Quarterly, 123 Human Rights Watch (HRW), 128, 131, 167 Hutar, Patricia, 74, 78 IAW. See International Alliance of Women (IAW) ICC. See International Coordinating Committee (ICC)

232

Index

ICPD. See International Conference on Population and Development in Cairo (ICPD) (1994) ICW. See International Council of Women (ICW) India, 103, 148 Indian Council of Medical Research, 148 Indonesia, 130 influential allies, 7, 26–30, 38, 164, 179–80, 195n12; Bucharest Conference and the population establishment, 146, 149; as doubleedged sword, 30, 179–80; and equal nationality rights campaign, 54–55, 66–67; EU violence against women campaign, 172–74; Expert Group meetings on domestic violence, 118–19; governments as, 29–30; ICPD in Cairo (1994), 154–56, 160; and the international media, 27–28; Mid-Decade Conference in Copenhagen, 87; and Nairobi Conference NGO Forum, 97–98; UN secretariats, 28–29; World Human Rights Conference in Vienna, 125–26, 128, 131–32, 167 institutional access, 23–26, 38, 165 Inter-American Commission on Women (Comisión de Interamericano Mujeres, or CIM), 61–65, 66, 67 Interchange (YWCA newsletter), 90 International Alliance of Women (IAW), 53–59, 117; draft convention (equal rights for married women), 53–59; employment agenda, 53; equal nationality rights campaign, 53–59, 65, 66, 195n4; establishment of, 53; and Expert Group meetings on domestic violence, 117; and The Hague Codification Conference, 53–59; and the NWP, 60–61; reformist philosophy, 53; and suffrage movement, 53 International Center for Research on Women, 87–88 International Conference for the Codification of International Law in the Hague (1930), 52–59; conference agenda, 53, 195n3;

Dutch delegates, 56; as focusing event, 53; and Hague Nationality Convention, 56–58, 65–66; IAW draft convention, 53–59; and influential allies, 54–55; participation and access/exclusion, 54–55; postconference consultative women’s committee, 65–66; proposed alternative four articles, 55–57; and reformists, 53; and U.S. insistence on the right to expatriation, 57–58; and U.S. position, 56–58, 72; and U.S. women’s organizations, 57, 58 International Conference on Population and Development in Cairo (ICPD) (1994), 1, 5, 24, 141, 149–59, 160–61, 167–68, 193n2; adoption of twenty-one-point statement, 153–54, 160; breakup of the conservative alliance, 156–57, 161; Catholic–Islamic alliance, 150, 158; divisiveness over reproductive rights agenda, 149–52, 168; and influential allies, 154–56, 160; informal working groups and the abortion debate, 155–56, 203n22; institutional changes triggered by, 158–59, 168; international media, 150–51; preparatory events and meetings, 149–54, 155; and radical flank effects, 153–55, 158, 160, 168; and radical women’s organizations, 151–52, 153–54, 168, 202n19; Secretary General Sadik, 155; and U.S. delegation, 154–55; use of internationally accepted documents and rights language, 156; and the Vatican (Holy See), 150–51, 153, 157–58, 168, 203n24; and the Women’s Alliance, 149, 151–55, 158, 160, 167–68; and women’s rights in development framework, 154; and Women’s Voices ’94: The Women’s Declaration on Population, 149–54, 202n16 International Contraception, Abortion, and Sterilization Campaign (ICASC), 134, 137, 200n2

Index International Coordinating Committee (ICC), 126–27, 200n13 International Council for Adult Education, 96 International Council of Women (ICW), 53, 65, 66, 195n4 International Court of Arbitration (The Hague), 44 International Day against Violence against Women (November 25), 124 International Day of Action for Women’s Health (May 28), 137 International Federation of University Women, 65, 66, 87, 98 International Federation of Women Lawyers, 76–77 International Feminist Network, 112 International Herald Tribune, 115 International Human Rights Day (December 10), 124 International Information and Communication Service (ISIS), 90, 112 International Institute of Law, 62 International Labor Organization, 68 International Law Association, 195n4 International News Bulletin (ISIS), 90, 112 International Plan for Continuous Mediation without Armistice, 47 International Planned Parenthood Federation (IPPF), 140, 158, 201n3, 201n6 International Press Association, 109 International Research and Training Institute for the Advancement of Women, 83 International Solidarity Network for Women Living Under Muslim Laws (WLUML), 200n13 International Tribunal and Meeting on Reproductive Rights (Amsterdam, 1984), 134–41, 160, 165–66; constraints on Southern women’s attendance, 134–36; and cultural barriers/societal customs and traditions, 135–36; and European location, 134–35; and expansion of reproductive rights frame, 137; Northern and Southern divisions,

233

134–36; Northern/Southern alliance, 137; organizers (“the coordination group”), 134; symbolic events, 134, 138–41, 166; victims’ testimonies, 135–38, 165–66 International Tribunal on Crimes against Women (Brussels, 1976), 4, 105–16, 131, 165–66; attendees, 106, 114, 198n2, 198nn4–5; conflict/ contention over tribunal structure, 106–11; as counteraction to Mexico City Conference, 105, 114, 131; definition of crimes against women, 113, 131; disruptions and ad hoc events, 106–7, 111; funding/expenditures problems, 108–9; global constituency and international networks, 112–13, 131, 165–66; and international media, 109–10, 114–15, 198n5; lasting influence, 112–13, 115–16, 131, 165–66; media exclusion policy, 109–10; moderators and participants’ rejection of, 106–7; national tribunal committees, 106; organizers, 105, 165, 180, 198n1; original organizational intent, 105, 114; power-shift to participants, 110–11; radical flank effects, 116; and testimonial knowledge, 108, 113–14, 165–66; tribunal location, 108; “we-feeling” and solidarity, 111, 114–15 International Women’s Day, 175 International Women’s Health Coalition (IWHC), 142, 147, 152–54, 165, 166; and dialogue meetings, 142–49, 166; and Dunlop, 142, 202n15; and ICPD in Cairo (1994), 149–59; as organizational entrepreneur, 142, 165, 166; and the reproductive rights and health campaign, 149–59, 160, 166; and the Women’s Alliance, 149, 151–54; Women’s Voices ‘94: The Women’s Declaration on Population, 149–54 International Women’s Health Meetings: Costa Rica (1987), 137; Geneva (1981), 134; Hannover (1980), 134; Kampala (1993),

234

Index

International Women’s Health Meetings (cont.): 202n19; Kampala, Uganda (1993), 137, 202n19; Philippines (1990), 137; Rio (1994), 152–54, 160; Rome (1977), 134 International Women’s Tribune Center (IWTC), 12, 24, 83, 124, 126; and the global petition, 124–25, 129; and IWY Conference in Mexico City (1975), 83; and the Rights Place for Women, 126; and Walker, 24, 83, 129, 200n13; and the World Human Rights Conference in Vienna (1993), 126, 129 International Women’s Tribune Center Newsletter, 90 International Women’s Year. See IWY Conference in Mexico City (1975) Internet and electronic mail, 124 intrauterine devices (IUDs), 138–39 Iran, 130, 156 Islam and the reproductive rights/health campaign: Amsterdam Tribunal (1984), 136; and the ICPD (1994), 150, 157 Israel, 77, 83, 85, 91, 197n6 IWY Conference in Mexico City (1975), 73, 74–83, 166; original proposal and objections, 74–75; adoption of program of action, 82–83; agreements, 77–78, 82–83; amendments to official program of action, 81, 197n10; and Brussels Tribunal, 105, 114, 131; Committee I, 78–80; Committee II, 80; competing frames (equality and development), 77; and draft program of action, 75–76, 78–79; draft resolutions, 80, 197n5; elite participants/delegation heads, 76–77; essentialist perspectives of women and peace, 78; and feminism, 81–82, 90; informal working groups (Sub-Group B), 79; and international media, 99, 100–101; lasting influence, 83; and Mexico City Declaration, 79–80, 82–83, 87; and Nairobi Conference, 92–93, 97–99, 100–101; North American participants, 81–82; parallel NGO meeting (the “tribune”), 80–82, 197n7;

preparation time, 75; resource shortages, 75–76; strategy to end sex discrimination, 77–78, 197n3; and symbolic events, 75; tribune conference site, 81 Jacobs, Aletta, 42, 48, 49 Japan, 30, 104, 129–30 Jaquette, Jane S., 77, 87 Jenson, Jane, 25 Jilani, Hina, 200n13 JUSCANZ ( Japan, the United States, Canada, and New Zealand), 30, 129–30 Jus Suffragi, 46, 49 Kassenbaum Amendment, 94 Kaul, Sheila, 84 Keck, Margaret E., 17, 118 Keilhau, Louisa, 42 Kennedy, John F., administration, 75, 140 Kenya, 147. See also Nairobi Conference (1985) Kenyatta, Margaret, 94–95 Kenyon, Dorothy, 196n8 Khaled, Leila, 91 Kielbowicz, Richard B., 28, 45 Kingdon, John W., 18, 24 Kissling, Frances, 202n15 Klandermans, Bert, 21, 92 Kleman, Anna, 42 Kulka, Leopoldima, 42 Kyte, Rachel, 159 Lambie, Margaret, 61 land mines, 36 Latin American and Caribbean Women’s Health Network, 137, 142 Latin American countries and equal nationality rights: and The Hague Codification Conference, 59; and the League of Nations, 59, 66–67, 68, 72; and the Pan-American conferences, 61 League of Nations: consultative women’s committee, 65–66; and equal nationality rights campaign, 41, 52–59, 65–71; and The Hague Codification Conference, 52–59; and the IAW, 53–56; and Latin American countries, 59, 66–67, 68, 72

Index League of Nations Assembly in Geneva (1930), 59 Lebanon, 85 lesbians and the Brussels Tribunal (1976), 111, 112, 113 Liao, Nelia Sancho, 200n13 Liikanen, Erkki, 174 Logar, Rosa, 200n13 London meeting on reproductive rights and health (1992), 149, 202n15 L’Orange, Helen, 199n8 Los Angeles Times, 127 Luthra, Usha, 148 Lutz, Bertha, 196n9 Maastricht Treaty (1993), 170, 173, 176, 203n3 MacArthur Foundation, 27 Macmillan, Chrystal, 42, 48, 49 Maggwa, A. B. Ndugga, 147 Mahran, Maher, 157 Mair, Lucille, 76, 86–87 Malaterre-Sellier, Germaine, 49 Malta, 157 Manifesto of the Women of the Neutral and Allied Countries (French Alliance for Women’s Suffrage), 46 March, James, 18 Marcos, Imelda, 76 Margrethe of Denmark, Queen, 87 Marti, Jose, 61 Martin, Erik, 173 master frames, 22, 40, 99, 115–16, 134 Matthews, Burnita Shelton, 61 Mauldin, Parker W., 146 McAdam, Doug, 20, 23, 32, 38, 39, 43, 150 McCarthy, John D., 20, 23, 32, 38, 39, 150 McIntosh, Alison C., 140, 157 media, international: and Brussels Tribunal (1976), 109–10, 114–15, 198n5; and Bucharest Population Conference (1974), 146; and equal nationality rights campaign, 64; and First International Women’s Congress in The Hague, 44–45, 51, 109; the ICPD in Cairo and the Vatican, 150–51; as influential allies, 27–28; and IWY Conference in Mexico City (1975), 99, 100–101;

235

Mid-Decade Conference in Copenhagen (1980), 91–92, 99, 100–101; and Nairobi Conference (1985), 99, 100–101; and reproductive rights and health campaign, 146, 150–51; and the UN World Conferences for Women (1975-1985), 100–101; and violence against women issue campaign, 119; and World Human Rights Conference in Vienna (1993), 127 Il Messagero, 109 Metha, Hansa, 196n13 Mexico, 157 Mexico City Conference. See IWY Conference in Mexico City (1975) Mexico City Declaration, 79–80, 82–83, 87 Mexico City Policy, 139–41, 154 Mexico City Population Conference. See UN Population Conference in Mexico City (1984) Meyer, David S., 27, 127, 194n8 Mid-Decade Conference in Copenhagen (1980), 73, 83–92; and CEDAW debate, 85; Conference Committee I, 84–85, 86; Conference Committee II, 84, 85; conflicts and controversies, 83–87, 88–89, 91–92; in contrast to Mexico City conference, 90; in contrast to Nairobi Conference, 97–99, 100–101; countries voting against program of action, 83–84; draft resolutions considered, 84; family planning resolution, 86; influential allies of Southern bloc countries, 87; and international media, 91–92, 99, 100–101; issues of female genital mutilation, 88–89; Northern and Southern divisions, 84, 86–87, 88–89; organizational newsletters, 90–91; and Palestine/Israel question, 85, 91; and the parallel NGO Forum, 87–92, 198n13; preparatory activities and conferences, 86, 87–88; resolution on battered women, 86; sexism and the program of action, 86; Vivencia! program and training workshops, 89–90

236

Index

Middle East and violence against women, 103, 104 Miller, David Hunter, 57, 58 Mirabal sisters, murder of (1960), 124 Misar, Olga, 42 mobilizing structures and NGO framing processes, 2, 7–8, 32–40, 163, 180–81; defining, 32; dynamic relationships between, 38; relationships between variables, 38–40. See also heterogeneous international constituencies; organizational entrepreneurs; technical knowledge and expertise; testimonial knowledge Le Monde, 109, 115 Mongella, Gertrude, 200n14 Montjoie, Albert, 115 Morocco, 77 Morphet, Sally, 30 Morris, Jennifer, 198n1 motivational framing, 21–22, 167 Mvunga, Mphanza P., 199n8 Nairobi Conference (1985), 73, 92–99, 116, 172; adoption of final consensus document (FLS), 92, 99; in contrast to Mexico City/Copenhagen conferences, 92–93, 97, 98–99, 100–101; data collection surveys and questionnaires, 95–97; delegates’ political expertise, 92–93; five-year action plan, 99; focus on future strategies, 93–94, 99; Forum workshops and women’s empowerment, 97; and influential allies, 97–98; and international media, 99, 100–101; Kenyatta’s leadership, 94–95; negotiations over identification of obstacles to advancement of women, 95; and the NGO Forum, 96–99, 116; Northern/Southern negotiations, 95; peace focus and Eastern bloc countries, 92; Peace Tent, 98; preparatory meetings/ consultations, 94, 97; proposal for decision making by consensus, 94–95, 198n15; Reagan’s leadership of U.S. delegation, 94; Shahani as secretary general, 92–93; and

Southern women’s participation, 98; successes, 92–93; and violence against women, 116 National Councils of Women, 196n8 Nationality Act (1930), 58 nationality rights. See equal nationality rights campaign (1920–1935) National League of Women Voters (NLWV), 60–61, 67 National Women’s Party (NWP), 59–61 National Women’s Trade Union League of America, 67 Natland, Lisbet, 198n1 New International Economic Order (NIEO), 74, 77, 145 Newsweek, 198n5 New York Times, 87, 93, 109, 115, 127, 150 New York Topics, 51 NGO accreditation, 25–26, 194n11 NGO Forums at UN conferences, 25; Bucharest Population Conference (1974), 146; and IWY Conference “tribune” in Mexico City (1975), 80–82, 197n7; Mid-Decade Conference in Copenhagen (1980), 87–92, 198n13; Nairobi Conference (1985), 96–99, 116; World Human Rights Conference in Vienna (1993), 126–27 NGOs, environmental, 30–31, 35 NGOs and international organizations, 1–13, 15–40, 163–84; achievements of women’s NGOs, 1–2; agenda setting, 2, 6–8, 16–18, 165–68; agenda-setting process in the UN contrasted with the EU, 164, 169–77; comparative overview of NGO issue campaigns, 4–6, 165–68; interaction at domestic level/international level, 183; interaction at regional/ supranational level, 183–84; and mobilizing structures, 2, 7–8, 32–40, 163, 180–81; policy recommendations for NGOs’ influence on organizations, 177–82; and the political opportunity structure, 2, 7, 22–31, 38–40, 163, 180; rationalist/constructivist approaches, 2–4, 8; relationships

Index between pivotal variables, 38–40; and strategic framing processes, 2, 6–8, 19–22, 163, 165–67, 178–79; study methodology (comparative and historical), 12–13, 182; theoretical framework, 2–4, 6–9, 11–12, 40, 182, 184; theories of NGO influence, 182–84 Nguigi, Elizabeth N., 147 De Nieuwe Gids, 110 Nikolaeva, Tatiana, 199n8 Northern countries and Northern NGOs: and Amsterdam Tribunal on Reproductive Rights, 134–36, 137; and Brussels Tribunal, 106; and Bucharest Population Conference, 145–46; and heterogeneous international constituencies, 35, 181; and IWY Conference in Mexico City, 77, 81–82, 87, 114, 197n6; and Mid-Decade Conference in Copenhagen, 84, 86–87, 88–89 Northern Mail, 45 Notre Temps (Belgium), 109 Nouvel Observateur, 114 NWP. See National Women’s Party (NWP) Odio, Elizabeth, 200n14 Oktober, Marianne, 115 Olsen, Johan P., 18 Organ, Dennis W., 33–34 organizational entrepreneurs, 33–34, 39, 165; as essential resource, 180–81; and EU’s violence against women campaign, 176; as facilitators of contact, 33–34; First International Women’s Congress in The Hague, 41, 42, 71–72; friendship and networks, 33; and mobilizing structures, 8, 33–34, 39, 163–64, 165, 180–81; risks for, 34; World Human Rights Conference in Vienna, 122, 131–32, 167 Organization of American States (OAS), 52, 59 Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC), 74 Page, Walter Hines, 44 Pahl, Jan, 199n8 Pakistan, 156

237

Palace of Peace (The Hague), 44, 54, 55 Palestine-Israel conflict, 77, 85, 91, 197n6 Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), 77 Palmer, Elizabeth, 87–88 Panama, 77 Pan-American conferences and equal nationality rights campaign, 41–42, 59–65; and the CIM, 61–65; and draft Convention on the Nationality of Women, 59, 61–65; Havana conference (1928), 61; and international media, 64; and the League of Nations, 41–42; Lima conference (1938), 64; Montevideo conference (1933), 59, 62–64; and the NWP, 59–61, 64–65, 67; and radical flank effects, 41–42; and reformers, 52, 72; and U.S. delegation’s veto, 63–64, 72; and women’s organizations’ opposition to internationalization, 60–61 Panlada, Pedro Ojeda, 77 Papachan, Suguna, 199n8 Paqui, Hilda, 87 Paraguay, 66 Paris Peace Conference (1919), 53 Patton, Charlotte G., 94, 198n15 Paul, Alice, 59, 60, 61, 62, 70 peace issues: IWY Conference in Mexico City and essentialist perspectives of, 78; Nairobi Conference and peace focus, 92; suffrage movement, 42, 46–47, 48–49. See also First International Women’s Congress in The Hague (1915) Perkins, Frances, 64 Persinger, Mildred, 75, 79, 80–81, 197n4 Peru, 59, 104, 157 Petchesky, Rose, 202n15 Pethick-Lawrence, Emmeline, 60 Pew Charitable Trusts, 27 Pfeffer, Paula F., 60, 64, 65, 69, 196nn8–9 Philippines, 137, 140, 157 Pielemeier, Nancy, 148 Pietila, Hilkka, 96 Pitanguy, Jacqueline, 202n15

238

Index

Polano, Schonfeld, 56 Policy Action Center on Violence against Women (European Union), 171 political alignments, 7, 30–31, 38, 168, 180; and reproductive rights campaign, 145–46, 201n11; and UN World Conferences for Women, 73–74, 77–78, 82, 87, 100, 114, 197n6; and women-centered population policies, 145–46. See also Northern countries and Northern NGOs; Southern countries and Southern NGOs political opportunity structures, 2, 7, 22–31, 38–40, 163, 179–81; access to institutions, 7, 23–26, 164, 165; defining, 22–23, 194n8; political opportunity structures (cont.), relationships between framing, mobilizing structures, and, 22–31, 38–40. See also influential allies; political alignments Politis, M., 55 Pollack, Mark, 170 Population Action International, 142 population control policies: and contraceptives “dumping,” 138–39, 166, 201n3; and U.S. Mexico City Policy, 139–41, 154. See also family planning; International Conference on Population and Development in Cairo (ICPD) (1994) Population Council, 5, 142, 144, 158, 166, 201n9 Population Crisis Committee, 142 population policies, women-centered: Bellagio meeting (1991), 147–48, 201n9; Bucharest Population Conference (1974), 145–46, 201n11; dialogue meetings, 5, 141–49, 160, 166–67; dialogue of scientists and women’s health activists, 142–44, 201n10; and family planning, 142–44; Geneva meeting on fertility regulation and family planning (1991), 142–44, 201n10; Northern/Southern political alignment shifts, 145–46; and quality-of-care action framework,

144–45; on RTIs and HIV/AIDS control, 146–49; and scientific/technical knowledge, 142–44, 147–48, 202n13; and successful integration into the population framework, 144–49 Portugal, 176 President’s Commission on the Status of Women (1961), 75 professionalization of NGOs, 37 prognostic framing, 20–21, 37, 166–67. See also technical knowledge and expertise Pryce, Kenneth Nathaniel, 199n8 Pypops, Annette, 200n13 quality-of-care action framework, 144–45 Rabin, Leah, 76 radical flank effects, 35; Brussels Tribunal (1976), 116; equal nationality rights campaign, 41–42, 68, 72; Pan-American conferences, 41–42; Women’s Alliance and Cairo ICPD, 153–55, 158, 160, 168 rape, 104, 129, 165 Reagan, Maureen, 94, 198n15 Reagan, Ronald, administration, 140, 180 Reid, Elizabeth, 76 Reimann, Kim D., 195n12 Rein, Martin, 20 Reproductive Health Matters, 152 reproductive rights and health campaign, 133–61; Amsterdam Tribunal (1984), 134–41, 160, 165–66; and contraceptives “dumping,” 138–39, 166; and the ICPD in Cairo (1994), 149–59, 160–61, 167–68; and influential allies in population establishment, 146, 149; institutional changes triggered by Cairo consensus, 158–59, 168; and international media, 146, 150–51; and politicization of population issue, 146, 201n12; and quality-of-care action framework, 144–45; RTIs and HIV/AIDS control, 146–49; scientific and technical knowledge,

Index 142–44, 146–49, 166–67, 202n13; and shifts in Northern/Southern political alignments, 145–46, 201n11; and testimonial knowledge, 135–38, 165–66; and U.S. Mexico City Policy, 139–41, 154; and violence against women campaign, 4–6, 133; womencentered population policies and dialogue meetings, 5, 141–49, 160, 166–67. See also population control policies; population policies, women-centered “Reproductive Tract Infections in Women in the Third World” (Bellagio dialogue meeting, 1991), 147–48, 201n9 reproductive tract infections (RTIs), 146–49; Bellagio meeting and scientific knowledge of, 147–48, 202n13; consequences of, 147; rates and risk groups, 147, 202n14; role of cultural customs/traditions in treatment of, 147–48; series of recommendations adopted, 148–49 Republican Lorrain, 115 Reynard, Geneviève, 199n8 Rhondda, Lady Margaret, 60 Richards, Cory I., 155, 157 Rights Place for Women (World Human Rights Conference in Vienna, 1993), 126 Rio conference (1992). See UN Climate, Environment, and Development Conference (UNCED) (Rio de Janeiro, 1992) Rio Conference on “Reproductive Health and Justice” (1994), 152–54, 160, 180 Risse, Thomas, 16 Risse-Kappen, Thomas, 178 Robinson, Mary, 200n14 Rochester Herald, 51 Rockefeller, John D., III, 142, 146 Rockefeller Foundation, 27, 97, 142, 147, 166, 201n9 Rogers, Adam, 29 Romania, 145 Römkens, Renée, 199n8 Roosevelt, Eleanor, 64, 69, 70

239

Roosevelt, Franklin, 63, 64 Roosevelt, Theodore, 44 RTIs. See reproductive tract infections (RTIs) Rupp, Leila J., 49 Russell, Diane, 109, 198n1 Russell, Marguerite, 198n1 Rwanda, 1–2, 104 Sadat, Jihan El-, 76, 91 Sadik, Nafis, 155 Santer Commission (European Parliament), 173, 174, 204n5 Sarten, Marguerite, 42 Saxena, Badri N., 148 Scandinavian countries, 75, 174 Scherer, Clifford, 28, 45 Schlaffer, Edit, 199n8 Schlumberger, Marguerite de Witt, 46 Schön, Donald A., 20 Schwarzer, Alice, 198n4 Schwimmer, Rosika, 42, 47–48, 49–50 Scott, James Brown, 61–62 Scott, Julia, 202n15 Seebaran, Lynette Maria, 199n8 Sen, Gita, 159 Senegal, 1 Service Feminine International d’Information et de Communication (ISIS), 112 Seventh International Women and Health Meeting in Kampala (1993), 137, 202n19 Seventh Pan-American Conference (Montevideo, 1933), 59, 62–64 sexual harassment in the workplace, 104 sexual slavery, 116 sexual violence: domestic battery/ rape and assault in the U.S., 104; and human trafficking, 164, 174, 175, 203n1; industrial countries, 104; by intimate partners, 104; war and civil violence/rapes, 104, 129, 165; and workplace harassment, 104. See also domestic violence Shahani, Leticia, 80, 92–93 Shamim, Ishrat, 199n8 Sharp, Evelyn, 45 Sheffield, Jill, 99

240

Index

Sierra Leone, 104 “signifying agents,” 19 Sikkink, Kathryn, 17, 118 Singh, Hira, 199n8 Sipila, Helvi, 76–77, 81 Sisnett, Ana, 200n13 “Sixteen Days of Activism against Gender Based Violence” (1993), 124, 131 Sixth Pan-American Conference (Havana, 1928), 61 Skrobanek, Siriporn, 199n8 Smith, Jane Norman, 60 Smuts, Field Marshall, 68 Snow, David, 19, 20, 21, 22 Social Development Summit (Copenhagen, 1994), 158, 159 Sörenson, Patsy, 172 South Africa, 68, 84 Southern countries and Southern NGOs: and Amsterdam Tribunal on Reproductive Rights, 134–38; and Brussels Tribunal on Crimes against Women, 106, 198n2; and Bucharest Population Conference, 145–46, 149; and environmental NGOs, 30–31; frustration with population control policies, 159; and heterogeneous international constituencies, 35; IWY Conference in Mexico City and “bloc politics,” 77, 82, 87, 114, 197n6; MidDecade Conference in Copenhagen, 84, 86–87, 88–89; Nairobi Conference (1985), 98; and New International Economic Order, 74, 77; testimonies on reproductive rights and health, 135–38; and UNCED, 194n11 South Korea, 124 Sow, Elisabeth Dior Fall, 199n8 Spain, 77, 106 Der Spiegel, 109 Spinellis, Calliope, 199n8 La Stampa, 109 Stanton, Elizabeth Cady, 53 Steinem, Gloria, 81, 82 Stephenson, Carolyn M., 89, 98 Stevens, Doris, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64–65 Stienstra, Deborah, 65, 70, 76, 86, 196n9, 197n9 STOP Program, 164, 169, 175, 203n1

Street, Jesse, 196nn9–10 Strong, Maurice, 28–29 Sturgkh, Baron Karl von, 50–51 Suárez, Ana, 200n13 subsidiarity principle, 170 suffrage movement, 42, 46–47, 48–49, 51, 59 Sunday Pictorial, 44–45 Sunday Times, 45 “sustainable development,” 30 Sweden, 141, 174, 175 Swidler, Anne, 23 Switzerland, 106 Syria, 85, 130 Tanzania, 104 Tarrow, Sidney, 23, 27, 39, 194n8 technical knowledge and expertise, 8, 36–38, 39, 76, 166, 181–82; data collection surveys and questionnaires, 95–96; dialogue meetings on women-centered population policies, 142–44, 146–49, 166–67, 202n13; and different sources of information used by scientists/activists, 143–44; and draft convention on the Nationality of Women, 62; and EU’s violence against women campaign, 175–76, 177; Expert Group meetings on domestic violence (Vienna, 1986), 117, 120–22, 199n8; IWY Conference in Mexico City (1975), 76; Nairobi Conference (1985), 95–96; procedural knowledge, 37–38; and professionalization of NGOs, 37; and RTIs, 146–49; scientific expertise/technical information, 36, 166; as stimulating additional research, 121–22; UN World Conferences for Women as catalysts for, 100; and violence against women, 120–22, 131. See also testimonial knowledge testimonial knowledge, 8, 36–37, 105, 113–14, 181–82; Amsterdam Tribunal on reproductive rights, 135–38, 165–66; Brussels Tribunal on Crimes against Women, 105, 106–8, 113–14, 165–66; constraints on, 37; HIV/AIDS crisis, 37

Index Theorin, Maj Britt, 172 Third UN Development Decade, 96 Third World Forum on Women, Law, and Development (1986), 116 Tilly, Charles, 23 Time magazine, 91, 99, 198n5 The Times (London), 109 Torp, Nini, 199n8 trafficking in women, 164, 174, 175, 203n1 Tweedie, Jill, 115 Tybjerg, Clara, 42 Uganda, 137, 202n19 UN agenda setting, 16–18; as dynamic process, 18, 163–64; formal or institutional agendas, 17; garbage can model, 18; and the General Assembly, 17–18; and member states’ interests, 17–18; political salience/impact of, 16; process contrasted with the EU, 164, 169–77; systemic agendas, 17 UNCED. See UN Climate, Environment, and Development Conference (UNCED) (Rio de Janeiro, 1992) UN Center for Social Development and Humanitarian Affairs, 116 UN Charter, gender equality in, 68–69, 196n11 UN Climate, Environment, and Development Conference (UNCED) (Rio de Janeiro, 1992), 24, 25, 28–29, 30–31, 33, 194n11 UN Commission on Human Rights (CHR), 69–70, 122, 123, 193n1 UN Committee on Crime Prevention and Control, 119 UN Conference on International Organizations (1945), 68–69, 196nn9–10 UN Convention on Civil and Political Rights, 172 UN Crime Prevention and Criminal Justice Division, 116, 119 UN Decade for Women and the World Conferences for Women (1975–1985), 73–101, 167; as catalysts for data collection, 100; comparing the three conferences, 100–101; and

241

the international media, 100–101; IWY Conference in Mexico City (1975), 74–83, 166; Mid-Decade Conference in Copenhagen (1980), 83–92; Nairobi Conference (1985), 92–99; political alignments and “bloc politics,” 73–74, 77–78, 82, 87, 100, 114, 197n6; and symbolic events, 100; and women in development frame, 73 UN Declaration on the Elimination of All Forms of Violence Against Women (1993), 1, 130; text of, 185–91 UN Development Fund for Women (UNIFEM), 83, 125–26 UN Division for the Advancement of Women, 4, 12, 71, 116, 119, 131, 166 UN General Assembly: adoption of Declaration on the Elimination of All Forms of Violence Against Women, 1, 130; and “formal or institutional agenda,” 17–18; and IWY Conference in Mexico City (1975), 76; and permanent observers, 203n23 Union Française pour le Suffrage des Femmes (French Alliance for Women’s Suffrage), 45–46 United Nations Development Program, 87 United Nations Economic and Social Council. See Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC) United Nations Population Fund, 5 United Nations (UN): division between women’s rights and human rights, 122–23; equal nationality rights campaign and equality framework of, 68–71; post–cold war expansion of rights frame, 129–30, 132, 168; and prevention of violence against women, 119; secretariats, 28–29. See also UN agenda setting; UN General Assembly United States: and Brussels Tribunal (1976), 106; failure of realist approaches to explain positions of, 3; and First International Women’s Congress in The Hague, 43–44,

242

Index

United States: and Brussels Tribunal (1976) (cont.), 195n2; and The Hague Nationality Convention, 56–58, 72; and ICPD in Cairo (1994), 154–55; and IWY Conference in Mexico City (1975), 79–80; Mexico City Policy on international family planning, 139–41, 154; and Mid-Decade Conference in Copenhagen (1980), 83; Pan-American conferences and draft Convention on the Nationality of Women, 63–64, 72; and population control/ reproductive rights, 139–41, 154, 201n5; and right to expatriation, 57–58; and World Human Rights Conference in Vienna (1993), 128–29, 131–32, 167 Universal Declaration of Human Rights, 21, 124, 156, 172 UN Population Conference in Bucharest (1974), 75, 80, 145–46, 149, 201nn11–12; parallel NGO Forum, 146; and Vatican opposition to family planning agenda, 150, 202n17; Working Group on the Program of Action, 145, 201n11 UN Population Conference in Mexico City (1984), 166; and Mexico City Policy, 139–41, 154; and the Vatican’s opposition to family planning agenda, 150, 202n17 UN Population Fund (UNFPA), 140, 158, 201n3, 201n6 Unveiling the Hidden Data on Domestic Violence in the EU (European Women’s Lobby), 171 UN Water Decade, 87 Uruguay, 66 U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID): Population Office, 139, 140, 201n3, 201nn5–6; and reproductive health, 158 U.S. Congress: and equal nationality rights for women, 63; and First International Women’s Congress in The Hague, 47–48; Kassenbaum Amendment and Nairobi Conference, 94 U.S. Food and Drug Administration, 139

U.S. Information Agency, 77 U.S. National Council of Jewish Women, 91 U.S. Women’s Bureau, 196n7 Van Biema-Hymans, Hanna, 42 Van Houtryve, Suzanne, 110 Vatican (Holy See): and Copenhagen conference, 86; history of opposition to family planning agendas, 150, 202n17; and ICPD reproductive rights agenda, 150–51, 153, 157–58, 168, 203n24; and IWY Conference in Mexico City, 78; permanent observer status, 157, 203n23 Venezuela, 59 Verghese, Valsa, 90–91 Vickers, Jeanne, 96 Vienna Conference. See World Human Rights Conference in Vienna (1993) Vietnam, 77 “Violence against Women: An Obstacle to Development” (Carrillo), 125 Violence against Women in the Family (United Nations 1989), 121 violence against women issue campaign, 103–32; Brussels Tribunal (1976), 105–16, 131, 165; criminal justice frame and domestic violence, 119–22, 175–76; Expert Group meetings on domestic violence (1986), 4–5, 116–22, 131, 142, 166–67; and linkage of women’s rights and human rights, 122–25; and patterns of NGO influence, 130–32; and politicization, 122–30; and post–cold war expansion of UN rights frame, 129–30, 132; problem definition phase, 105–16, 131; and reproductive rights and health campaign, 4–6, 133; and technical knowledge/expertise, 120–22, 131; and testimonial knowledge, 105, 113–14; universality of the problem, 103–5, 113; World Human Rights Conference in Vienna (1993), 122–30, 132. See also domestic violence; European

Index Union’s violence against women campaign; sexual violence Vivencia! program and training workshops (1980), 89–90 Die Waffen Nieder, 49 Waldheim, Kurt, 77, 87 Wales, Julia Grace, 47 Walker, Anne, 24, 83, 129, 200n13 La Wallonie, 109 Waltz, Kenneth, 62–63 Wamalwa, Betty Nafuna, 199n8 Wapner, Paul, 27 Weiss, Thomas G., 33–34 WGNNR Newsletter, 137, 151 Whitaker, Jennifer, 81–82 Wij (Belgium), 110 Willetts, Peter, 194n11 Wiltsher, Ann, 43, 44 Wingspread, 97 Winnem, Marit, 198n1 Winslow, Mary, 64–65 Wirth, Timothy, 154–55, 203n21 Wold, Emma, 61 Women . . . A World Survey, 97 Women, Environment, and Development Organization (New York), 33, 158, 193n2 Women in the Front Line (Amnesty International), 128 women’s agenda-setting process in the UN contrasted with the EU, 164, 169–77 Women’s Alliance (ICPD in Cairo, 1994): and inclusion of radical women’s organizations, 153–54, 202n19; and influential allies, 154–56, 160; population policy framework and divisions with radical women’s organizations, 151–52, 168; preparatory events and meetings, 149, 151–54; and radical flank effects, 153–55, 158, 160, 168; and twenty-one-point statement, 153–54, 160; and Women’s Voices ‘94, 149–54, 168, 202n16 Women’s Expert Committee (League of Nations), 68, 196n8 Women’s Global Network for Reproductive Rights (WGNRR), 137, 151; and Amsterdam Tribunal

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on Reproductive Rights (1984), 137, 151; “Critical Appraisal of the Women’s Declaration on Population Policies,” 151–52, 202n18; and population policy action framework at ICPD in Cairo (1994), 151–52 Women’s Group against Genetic Engineering, Reproductive Technologies, and Population Policies (ANTIGENA), Zurich, 202n18 “Women’s Health in the Third World: The Impact of Unwanted Pregnancy” (Rio de Janeiro dialogue meeting, 1988), 201n9 Women’s International Democratic Federation, 73, 98, 197n2 Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom, 65, 66, 98, 195n4 Women’s International Network, 88 women’s organizations between 1915 and 1945, 41–72; equal nationality rights campaign, 41–42, 52–71, 72; and the First International Women’s Congress in The Hague, 41, 42–52, 71–72; and The Hague Codification Conference, 52–59; and influential allies, 54–55, 66–67; and international media, 44–45, 51, 64, 109; and the League of Nations, 52–59, 65–71; and the PanAmerican conferences, 59–65; radical flank effects, 41–42, 68, 72 “Women’s Perspectives and Introduction of Fertility Regulation Technologies” (Manila dialogue meeting, 1992), 201n9 Women’s Press, 115 “Women’s Rights as Human Rights” (Bunch), 123–24 Women’s Rights Commission of the European Parliament, 172–74, 204n5 Women’s Role in Economic Development (Boserup), 75 Women’s Voices ‘94: The Women’s Declaration on Population, 149–54, 168, 202n16 Women’s World Banking, 87–88

244

Index

“Women Watching Cairo,” 158 “Women Watching ICPD” initiative, 193n2 Wood, Diane, 199n8 World Congress for Women (1975), 74, 197n2 World Council of Churches, 96 World Federation of Methodist Women, 117 World Food Conference (Rome, 1974), 75 World Health Organization (WHO), 5, 156, 166; Special Program of Research, Development, and Research Training in Human Reproduction, 142, 201n9; study of women’s health and domestic violence (2005), 104 World Human Rights Conference in Vienna (1993), 5, 24, 122–30, 131–32, 167, 168, 169; adoption of draft program of action, 130; and the CWGL, 122–27, 130, 131–32, 167; CWGL and politicization phase, 131–32; CWGL leadership institutes, 122–25, 200n12; drafting of Vienna document, 125; and the Eighteen-Hour Tribunal, 126–27, 129, 131, 200n12; global constituency, 124–25; and global petition, 124–25, 129; and the ICC, 126–27, 200n13; influential allies and like-minded groups, 125–26, 128, 131–32, 167; and international media, 127; linkage of women’s rights and human rights, 122–25; organizational entrepreneurs, 122, 131–32, 167; parallel NGO Forum, 126–27; regional preparatory conferences, 125, 200n11; and the Rights Place for Women, 126; and the Sixteen Days of Activism, 124,

131; successes, 130; symbolic gestures/activities, 124, 129, 131, 167, 168; three-year global campaign leading up to, 123–25; UNIFEM and framing violence as development issue, 125–26; U.S. leadership, 128–29, 131–32, 167; women’s daily caucus, 126 World Summit for Social Development (Copenhagen, 1995), 24 World Union of Catholic Women’s Organizations, 117, 198n13 World Union of Women for International Concord, 65, 66 World War I, 41, 42–47, 51 World Women’s Christian Temperance Unions, 198n13 World Women’s Party (WWP), 65, 69, 70 World Young Women’s Christian Association (YWCA), 81, 98, 117, 159 World YWCA, 96, 198n13 Wulf-Mathies, Monika, 174 Xylonen (Mexico City tribune newspaper), 81, 197n8 Yaron, Joanne, 115 Yugoslavia, former, war in, 129, 132, 165 YWCA (U.S.), 90 Zaalouk, Malak El Husseiny, 199n8 Zald, Mayer N., 20, 23, 32, 38, 39, 150 Zeitlin, June, 27 “Zero Tolerance to Gender Violence” campaign (European Union, 1999), 164, 169, 173–74 Zionism, 85, 87, 94, 95, 197n6 Zonta International, 117, 198n13