Rites vs rights: Female genital cutting at the crossroads of local values and global norms

Introduction

Not only is the Convention on the Rights of the Child the most widely ratified treaty in the history of the United Nations, it is also the most rapidly ratified. Within the first year of its adoption 62 states had ratified it, many of which were African, with Ghana being the first to do so in February 1990 (de Waal, 2002; Muscroft, 1999). Thus, for many, the Convention represents a real commitment on the part of governments to protect the rights and welfare of all children around the world. Nevertheless in the 22 years since the Convention was adopted by the United Nations General Assembly, culture, which is often thought of as a bounded entity that occupies a specific physical territory (see Clifford, 1988), has frequently been advanced as a key obstacle to its effective implementation. In fact, many governments have reported to the Committee on the Rights of the Child that while they, as the State, are trying to implement the provisions of the Convention, they are restricted by the culture of the communities they govern (Grover, 2004).

While there are, indeed, cultural differences between the vision of childhood represented in the Convention and the social norms, values and beliefs relating to childhood in various regions of the world, the premise of this article, as I have argued elsewhere (see Twum-Danso Imoh, 2011), is that culture is not a static entity descended from our ancestors. With regards to female genital cutting, which is often used to show the way culture can act as an obstruction to the realization of children’s rights, Winterbottom et al. (2009: 48) argue that ‘simplistic views of ‘‘tradition’’ as sets of static practices, posited in opposition to universal rights, conceal complex changes in patterns of cultural behavior’. This is supported by the modifications that have been evident in the practice of female genital cutting in recent generations as a result of social and health concerns particularly in relation to HIV/AIDs (see Prazak, 2007). Hence, the notion of culture as something that is pure and unchangeable must be, and has been, questioned (see Chanock, 2002; Donnelly, 1990; Stephens, 1995).

This is especially the case after years of colonization, enormous social change and decades of globalization which has intensified the flows of goods, capital, people and information and ideas, and hence, has ‘radically pulled culture apart from place’ (Inda and Rosaldo, 2008). As a result, it has now become more difficult to talk of cultures as symbols, norms and values that are not only linked to fixed geographical regions, but that are also resistant to change.

Such increased interactions between cultures have led some to argue that we are now moving into a ‘post-cultural’ world (Wilson, 1997). And this must surely have implications for how we understand, and indeed, talk, about children’s rights and human rights more generally. As Donnelly (2007: 298) posits:

No culture or comprehensive doctrine is by nature; or in any given or fixed way, either compatible or incompatible with human rights. Whatever their past practice, nothing in indigenous Africa, Asia or American culture prevents them from endorsing human rights now. The cultures described are idealized representations of a past that if it ever, existed, certainly does not exist today. (see also Howard, 1992)

This is not to dismiss or trivialize the important role of culture in communities around the world and I certainly do not mean to suggest that culture is not useful as a variable of social analysis. Indeed, culture, and its transmission to younger generations, remains crucial, especially for local communities whose everyday actions and interactions continue to be guided by the regulations dictated by their traditions and culture.

Instead, the argument that I do want to put forward is that in light of these changes that have affected almost all parts of the globe, the reality of people’s lives shows that they live their lives at the crossroads of culture and global standards, leading to a situation whereby the outlook of many communities incorporates both local and global values. This, then, requires us to develop an approach for children’s rights and protection that not only recognizes the importance of local culture, but also accepts that communities in both the Global North and South have been exposed to external values which have been imported from elsewhere as a result of globalization and other factors and have had an impact on their child-rearing practices.

This is an argument that I have advanced by developing a theoretical framework (see Twum-Danso Imoh, 2011) which can be applied to various so-called traditional cultural practices. What I would like to do here is demonstrate the efficacy of this approach by using female genital cutting, which is informed by deeply-rooted socio-cultural ideologies, as a case study to explore how local communities are adapting long held values while at the same time maintaining the essence of their traditions and culture in relation to child-rearing and thus, living their lives at the crossroads of local values and global norms.

The cultural logic behind the practice of female genital cutting

All communities around world have their specific traditional and cultural practices which reflect the values and beliefs held by their members for periods often spanning generations. These cultural values and beliefs are key to the lives of these communities and they guide the way many people live their lives, especially in the way they raise their children. As Van Bueren (1998: 17) posits:

Certain traditional practices by their very nature reach down into the heart of a community and may even be regarded by members of that community as important in defining that community’s identity.

Thus, for many, these cultural values and practices have descended from their ancestors and therefore, they are required to do their utmost to preserve them. For example, in the case of female genital cutting, communities supporting the practice claim that by ensuring that their daughters undergo the procedure, parents show a respect for their culture and ancestors (see Hernlund, 2001). For some communities in West Africa and parts of East Africa, the practice has long been seen as an important component of initiation rituals that mark the transition into adulthood for many girls. Thus failure to undergo the procedure means that one remains a child in community perceptions. As Boddy (1982, in Shell-Duncan and Hernlund, 2001: 21) argues, genital cutting is a ‘necessary condition of becoming a woman, of being enabled to use her one great gift, fertility’. Hence, from the perspectives of practicing communities, contrary to how it is perceived elsewhere, the practice of female genital cutting is not inimical, dehumanizing or harmful to girls. Instead, they view it as a ritual that benefits their daughters and ensures their honour. Furthermore, they argue that this practice is inherent to their culture and to their very essence or identity and therefore, any analysis of this practice must be situated within their local contexts in order for it to be properly understood and made meaningful.

From local practice to global debate: The impact of international interventions

In recent decades ‘local’ and so-called ‘traditional practices’ such as female genital cutting have become part of a global debate which predominantly focuses on the dangers, scars, abuse and trauma many victims suffer as a result the practice (see Ford, 2005; Obiora, 2006; Prazak, 2007; Shell-Duncan et al., 2011). And within the global discourse, they are presented as harmful traditional practices, which violate the rights of primarily women and children – hence, the preference many international organizations have for the term ‘female genital mutilation’ as opposed to ‘female circumcision’. As human rights violations, then, these practices must be eliminated immediately through, predominantly, legislation, advocacy campaigns raising awareness of the health-related dangers of such practices, and, in the case of female genital cutting, providing alternative livelihood strategies for circumcisers (see Ford, 2005).

However, many of the initiatives developed at the international level have had little impact on the way local communities live their lives (see Ford, 2005; Obiora, 2006; Shell-Duncan et al., 2011). This can largely be attributed to the fact that they have primarily focused on behaviour change communication which emphasizes directive communication to influence individual behaviour without addressing or considering the views or priorities of the local communities or exploring how they can work with such communities to redefine a social practice. As Ford (2005: 186) states:

Community members (insiders) do not respond to directive messages from technical specialists (outsiders). The specialists are not part of the trusted group that influences decision-making in the community, so their messages are often ignored.

This is supported by Hernlund (2001: 245), who, writing of the Gambia, argues that campaigns are often seen by proponents of female circumcision as rooted in outside influences, leading to comments such as:

These people who say they are against female circumcision are just trying to get tubaabo [white person] money.

or

Those who are working against female circumcision are trying to destroy our culture. They want us to become like America, who have no culture.

Hence, those campaigners condemning female genital cutting find themselves accused of being too Westernized and betraying their culture.

As a result of the lack of impact international interventions have had, there is a need for an approach based on dialogue in which all parties are seen as equals and whose views are treated with respect and considered seriously even if they go against international public opinion (see Twum-Danso Imoh, 2011). Ford (2005) supports this by proposing an approach based on community dialogue and the need for shared understanding. Therefore, instead of condemning female genital cutting as a ‘harmful traditional practice’, the dialogue approach to communication that Ford (2005: 184) puts forward starts with an understanding that ‘female circumcision occurs because parents love their children and want the best for them’. It does not direct community members to a preferred behaviour through health education messages. Rather, it uses a non-directive approach that encourages the entire community to discuss health and development issues and reach a consensus on the human rights and responsibilities of members, especially girls and women. And importantly, Ford argues, this approach is in line with human rights principles of self-determination, participation and inclusion and helps build community ownership, which is a necessary pre-condition for sustained change.

This approach is supported by the fact that local communities themselves are also becoming increasingly aware that their local practices have become part of a global debate, leading to closer scrutiny and more critical questioning of long-held values and practices within local communities themselves. In her study of the Gambia, for example, Hernlund (2001: 237) found that the way female circumcision is talked about in the country has changed since the 1980s, not only as a result of local media coverage, but also because of the widespread availability of international media in the country. Therefore, many local communities are increasingly realizing that their ‘local practice has become part of a global debate’. The result of this is the emergence of a dialogue process between those Gambians who advocate for the eradication of ‘female genital mutilation’ and those who seek to preserve female ‘circumcision’ as an integral part of their culture (Hernlund, 2001: 237). Therefore, internal dialogue is critical for changing a social practice. As An-Na’im (1992: 4) claims, there may be ‘room for changing a cultural position from within, through internal discourse about the fundamental values of the culture and the rationale for these values’. Therefore, local communities themselves are scrutinizing their local practices in much more detail in light of social change and exposure to global discourses and media, leading, in some cases, to communities themselves feeling inspired to make changes and modifications to their lifestyle and practices. Hence, as Colville (1989, in Hernlund, 2001: 249) claims, in countries around the world today many communities are asking themselves ‘to what extent is ritual capable of dealing with the new and ‘‘present’’ world’?

Adapting rites to respect rights: In search of a middle ground

This internal introspection by communities has led, in the case of female genital cutting, to the development of alternative rituals – also known as ritual without cutting or circumcision with words – which preserve the positive socio-cultural aspects of the ritual but do not require girls to undergo the actual procedure (UNICEF, 2010). The growing popularity of these alternative rituals can arguably be traced back to 1995 when a community-based organization, Maendelet Ya Wanawake (MYWO), which has branches across Kenya, organized a national seminar with technical support from an international organization called the Program for Appropriate Technology in Health (PATH). The aim of the seminar was to bring together MYWO national and grassroots level leaders and staff from the districts implementing its anti-female genital mutilation activities (Chege et al., 2001). Amongst the participants in this seminar were MYWO leaders from one particular district – Tharaka – who were inspired to explore the possibility of introducing an alternative rite of passage within their community on their return home. Through consultations with families that had decided to stop circumcising their daughters, these women leaders worked with MYWO and PATH, who had already been documenting its prevalence and the factors that have shaped its continued persistence in the Tharaka area, to develop and introduce the first alternative ritual in August 1996. The programme developed by MYWO began with community-level awareness-raising activities to recruit participants. As many ethnic groups in Kenya continue to believe that female genital cutting is a critical component of a girl’s passage to womanhood, and that some form of public declaration is required to show that a girl has completed this passage, a period of seclusion (three to five days) was incorporated into the alternative ritual. The purpose of this was to mimic the traditional practice whereby girls are put in seclusion immediately after being circumcised and receive formal and informal instruction on family life skills, community values and reproductive health, women’s roles, cultural values and sexuality (Chege et al., 2001; UNICEF, 2005). The ritual culminated in a public event which was modelled on a community’s traditional ceremony to mark the passage into adulthood. Thus, it was attended by parents, local leaders and other community members and included communal feasting, traditional singing and dancing, gift giving to the girls passing through the ritual, declarations by the girls that they have not been, and will not be, cut and declarations by parents and community leaders of their commitment to support abandonment of the practice (Chege et al., 2001). Twenty-nine girls participated in the first alternative ritual held in Thakara. The success of this approach can be inferred as 10 years later Winterbottom et al. (2009) found, on a visit to Narok, Kenya, similar alternative ceremony models being used as the culmination of a training programme on health and reproductive issues for Maasai girls.

The key point to note about this approach is that it was widely recognized as successful because it was the product of a locally driven initiative as ‘community members designed the alternative rituals and decided how and when to hold them’ (UNiTE, 2000: 26). While NGOs were involved, they, especially MYWO, were deemed to be ‘insiders who understood the cultural and social significance of the practice due to their work in the area’ (UNiTE, 2000: 25). Therefore, this example highlights the central role locals themselves can, and do, play in exploring ways to adapt or eradicate a local cultural practice. As a result, this bottom-up approach had an impact on both attitudes and behaviour associated with female genital cutting in the community.

The phenomenon of such replacement rituals has also been noted in Gambia, where they emerged largely as a reaction to the growing phenomenon of cutting with little, or no, ritual which has alarmed many activists (Hernlund, 2001). Thus, as part of the movement to establish replacement rituals, a group of female farmers, professionals and business women came together to set up a non-governmental organization (NGO) in 1992 called the Association for the Promotion of Girls and Women’s Advancement (APGWA), which aimed to not only campaign against female genital cutting, but also ‘engage people in cultural programmes to promote awareness and appreciation for the tradition of the Gambia and the sub-region’ (in Hernlund, 2001: 246). Hence, again, this example demonstrates the ways local communities themselves have adapted their cultural practices in order to maintain some aspects of their culture while putting an end to others. Within the context of the Gambia, this approach was seen to be effective as it not only contributed to the elimination of female genital cutting, but also enabled individuals and communities to avoid the accusation, as mentioned above, that by campaigning against female genital cutting they were betraying their culture (Hernlund, 2001).

In contrast, there is also evidence to suggest that such alternative rites can fail when the impetus does not come from within communities themselves. For example, Prazak (2007) refers to the case of Kuria, a village in southwest Kenya, where, during the 2004 initiation season 3500 boys and girls went through the traditional ritual which included genital cutting. Parallel to this process, however, was the introduction of an alternative rites of passage ceremony involving 289 girls. This alternative ritual was a response to several years of campaigning by international NGOs and church groups including Action AID, GTZ, the Pentecostal Fellowship of America and the Seventh Day Adventist Church. Instead of going through genital cutting the girls participating in the alternative ritual attended workshops which were led by teachers, doctors, priests and some of their mothers on a wide range of topics such as culture, female genital cutting, empowerment, adolescence, legal rights, youth peer counselling, religion, communication, problem solving, the reproductive system, peer pressure, STD/HIV and gender. On completion of this alternative ritual all participants were awarded certificates in a public ceremony attended by family members, community members and some representatives of international NGOs. However, on their return home, all but 80 of the girls were forced by their relatives or pressured by their peers to undergo the procedure of genital cutting (Prazak, 2007).

This latter example raises issues about the limitations of this approach. In particular, when the impetus for change is a result of external pressure and campaign, especially when it is explicit, replacement rituals are less effective. This is supported by Winterbottom et al. (2009) who claim that one of the key limitations of this approach is that many of these ceremonies are initiated by schools, churches and NGOs who are often seen as outsiders by the community. In addition, Prazak (2007) argues that in her research in Kenya she found that some of the hostility within the community stemmed from the fact that the leaders of alternative rite rituals ‘use the language of the NGOs and churches in their rhetoric, branding their neighbours as backward, undeveloped, engaged in mutilating their children and performing taboo acts’ (2007: 28). The resulting outcome of these limitations is that some communities have lowered the age of genital cutting in defiance (see Winterbottom et al., 2009).

A further limitation of this approach is that they can only be effective in communities that associate female genital cutting with rites of passage or coming of age ceremonies that mark transition to adulthood such as those found in Gambia, Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda (Hernlund, 2001; Mackie, 2001; UNICEF, 2010). However, in light of the growing trend among many communities towards cutting girls at a younger age and with less associated ritual, questions are raised about the effectiveness of these replacement rituals (Hernlund, 2001; Mackie and Lejeune, 2008; UNICEF, 2005, 2010). According to Dorkenoo (1994, in Mackie and LeJeune, 2008) the trend towards less ritual and younger ages undermines the hypothesis that female genital cutting is explained as an initiation rite and hence weakens the argument of those advocating for replacement rituals.

Therefore, for such alternative rites of passage to be effective they need to emerge, not in response to outrage from outsiders, but in response to voices from the inside, in a way that allows people to embrace meaningful change (see Prazak, 2007). This is not to say that outsiders cannot have a role. As Prazak and Coffman (2007) argue, many communities are prepared to welcome collaborative assistance from outsiders with regards to alternative rites as long as those offering assistance have been willing to recognize the issues that communities themselves consider to be priorities (in Prazak and Coffman, 2007). In addition, such ceremonies must be accompanied by community awareness and dialogue (UNICEF, 2005). This is supported by a 2001 evaluation of this approach which concluded that introducing an alternative rite will have limited effect unless it is preceded or accompanied by a process of participatory education that engages the whole community in collective reflection and leads to changes in its members’ expectations (UNICEF, 2010). Initiatives that engaged only at-risk girls rather than the entire community did not promote collective reflection and changes in social attitudes and norms. Hence, in isolation, such replacement rituals have limited impact since they do not address the underlying social values associated with female genital cutting and therefore, provide little assurance that a girl will not be cut at a later date (UNICEF, 2005). Due to the limitations of this approach, it is necessary to explore how local communities have gone even further and sought to abandon their cultural practices altogether.

Moving beyond adaptation of rites to outright abandonment

The first public declaration by a community to abolish female genital cutting was made on 31 July 1997 when the people of Malicounda Bambara, a village of about 3000 people in Senegal, publically declared its decision to abandon female genital cutting and urged other villages to follow its example (Mackie, 2001). This public declaration can be traced back to September 1996 when a group of women living in Malicounda decided to seek the abolition of female genital cutting in their village. The women went on to persuade the rest of the village that abolition was needed to protect the health of their female children and respect their human rights. Following the public declaration made by the people of Malicounda, the women of Ngueringne Bambara decided to renounce female genital cutting on 6 November 1998. A smaller village, Keur Simbara, decided that it could not stop the practice without consulting with its extended family residing in 10 villages. Thus, village elders sent two men from village to village over an eight-week period to discuss the issue before they also publicly declared their abandonment of the practice of female genital cutting. Following this initial start, numerous other villages in the country publicly declared the end of female genital cutting in their communities. Thus, by December 2009, 4121 villages in Senegal had pledged to abandon the practice (UNICEF, 2010). The evaluation of the 2000–2005 National Plan of Action conducted in 2008 confirmed that the practice of female genital cutting is declining in Senegal. In communities that have declared abandonment, girls who are not cut are fully accepted in society and are able to marry, indicating a shift in social convention (UNICEF, 2010).

The common factor behind all these public declarations to eradicate female genital cutting is that they were initiated by women who had participated in the same basic education programme based on non-directive principles designed and delivered by Tostan, a local NGO in Senegal, which runs a basic education programme consisting of six modules undertaken over 18 months, covering such issues as problem-solving, health and hygiene, financial and material management, income generation, leadership, democracy and group dynamics. Thirty women, and indeed men, attend sessions three times a week over the duration of the programme in classrooms provided by their community. That these classrooms have been provided by communities themselves is significant to the whole approach as it leads to a greater sense of shared ownership and hence commitment from the community to eliminate the practice. The pedagogy uses local cultural traditions and learner-generated materials including proverbs, stories, songs, games, poetry and plays (see also Mackie, 2001).

The key point to note about the approach of Tostan, which means ‘break through’ in Wolof, one of the main languages in Senegal, is that, unlike many NGOs and other groups advocating for the abolition of female genital cutting, it does not explicitly state that its aim is to abolish the practice. In fact, within its basic programme female genital cutting is only one session within this curriculum and furthermore, it is only introduced towards the end of the course. According to Tostan, they do not ask villages or participants in their programmes to make any commitments towards ending female genital cutting. Instead, they allow ‘villagers to make their own conclusions about female genital cutting and to lead their own movements for change’ (www.Tostan.org). Hence, they recognize the rights and ability of participants to make up their own minds and respect their decisions whatever they may be. This is corroborated by Obiora (2006: 41) who argues that participants were able to set the agenda of the programmes which:

were informed by their social setting, including an urgent desire to acquire the resources that will better enable them to engage the daunting challenges of their objective experiences and become more self-reliant and politically effective. Arguably, their main preoccupation pertained to how to harness the means to guarantee a full belly, albeit broadly defined, for themselves and their dependents. TOSTAN met them where they were and the abandonment of female circumcision evolved out of this ‘dialogic democracy’.

Therefore, its approach is holistic, multidimensional and integrated. Hence, as Obiora (2006: 41) argues, ‘Tostan shows that the fight against female circumcision is best pursued within the context of larger transformative projects that attack persistent gender disparities holistically.’

As a result, Mackie and Lejeune (2008) argue that the approach adopted by Tostan should not be conceived of as the ‘imperious transmission’ of informed and legitimated international norms to less informal and less legitimate local communities. Instead, such an approach is about joining local values and practices, with international rights discourses and experiences, each enlightening and improving the other. They refer to Merry (2006, in Mackie and Lejeune, 2008) who argues that to be effective human rights ideas need to be translated into local terms and be actively remade in the local vernacular. This view is supported by Ibhawoh (2000) who claims that if respect for human rights is to be achieved and made sustainable, human rights must reside not only in law but in the living and practised culture of the people. He adds that without such a sense of ‘ownership’ of human rights at the grassroots level, resistance to human rights laws and principles is likely to remain strong (see also Van Bueren, 1998).

Thus, Tostan is considered to have chalked up great successes in Senegal primarily because it does not dictate what community members should do. Instead, it operates by working with women in practising communities for extended periods of time. These empowered women, in turn, spread the word and eventually people voluntarily make the choice to reject the practice for their children. This depicts a process through which practising communities can come to accept other views on female genital cutting and in the process, change their own local norms without a feeling of having had unacceptable legislation or the views of ‘outsiders’ imposed on them. This compromise appeals to the notion of choice, agency and people’s own free will to make informed decisions based on what they deem to be fit for themselves.

Conclusion

This article has shown that while culture and its attendant values remain vital to the identity of local communities, these values are not static. Instead, they are open to examination, debate and change not only as a result of interventions by the international community, but also as a result of local communities who are engaged in ongoing dialogue about their own local practices. And this environment of dialogue and self-scrutiny or introspection and reflection by local communities presents an opportunity for policy-makers and practitioners seeking to explore avenues to enter this ongoing dialogue process, not to impose behaviour change, but to develop a partnership with local communities in which the priorities and needs of all stakeholders are considered seriously, even when they are not in line with children’s rights principles.