Protecting Human Rights Defenders at Risk [1 ed.] 1138392618, 9781138392618

Citation preview

“Using an intersectional, contextually rooted approach, this important new book unites academic rigor with critical insights from the practice of extending protection to human rights defenders. The chapters use a variety of data-gathering and analytical methods to excavate the dynamics surrounding individual and collective protection in five countries. Tackling the hardest – and most important – protection issues, the book’s diverse contributors interrogate ideas of security, risk and wellbeing. The result is a book that will make major contributions to the efficacy and strength of movements for justice”. Margaret L. Satterthwaite, Professor of Clinical Law, NYU School of Law, USA “There are extraordinary women and men around the world, from all sorts of occupations, willing to speak out against injustice, environmental depredation and discrimination. They stand up for others in frightening circumstances. If not attacked directly by security forces, armed groups or organised crime, they may be stigmatised and smeared to turn others against them. This welcome and timely volume by an interdisciplinary team of academics and activists draws valuable lessons from the experiences of hundreds of human rights defenders in Colombia, Egypt, Indonesia, Kenya and Mexico about how defenders survive at the local level and what help might be had from the international community”. Neil Mitchell, Professor of International Relations, Department of Political Science, University College London, United Kingdom “Alice Nah’s book offers a sociopolitical analysis of the risks that human rights defenders face while conducting their activities. Discussing Indonesian, Egyptian, Kenyan, Mexican and Colombian experiences it fills a gap in the literature regarding the lives of those who risk much in their activism against injustice and for the rights of others. This is a critical contribution for those interested in the realities of human rights struggles around the world”. Ulisses Terto Neto, Professor of Human Rights Law, State University of Goiás, Brazil “Alice Nah and her team offer readers a highly relevant and timely book, Protecting Human Rights Defenders at Risk. This is a must read for those who want to know

more about how human rights defenders around the globe navigate risks and how they should be better protected”. Sriprapha Petcharamesree, Director of the PhD Programme, Institute of Human Rights and Peace Studies, Mahidol University, Thailand “In this well-written book, Alice Nah and her team of researchers provide insightful, nuanced observations about how human rights defenders navigate risk, manage security and receive protection support. Based on rigorous research, their thoughtprovoking proposals on protection should be shared, discussed and debated by all involved in the protection of defenders at risk”. Mary Lawlor, UN Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders, Ireland “Protecting Human Rights Defenders at Risk is an important and timely contribution to learning and practice on this critical issue. The combination of academic rigour and engagement with practitioners, most importantly human rights defenders themselves, is a hallmark of the great work of Alice Nah and her team”. Andrew Anderson, Executive Director Front Line Defenders, Ireland “Human rights defenders around the world can welcome this volume composed by an incredible team who have spent years in the trenches of our field, looking past simple explanations and never losing sight of the practical application of their work”. Hassan Shire, Executive Director DefendDefenders, Uganda “Based on the experience of risk of over 400 defenders across three continents, Protecting Human Rights Defenders at Risk prompts us to rethink security and protection as we know it. We are grateful to Alice Nah, Chair of our Board of Directors, for taking us and the fortunate reader on this thoughtful journey”. Liliana De Marco Coenen, Executive Director, Protection International, Belgium

Protecting Human Rights Defenders at Risk

This book assesses the construction, operation and effects of the international protection regime for human rights defenders, which has evolved significantly over the last two decades in response to the risks people face as they promote and protect human rights. Drawing upon the experiences of human rights defenders who continue to persevere in their activism in Indonesia, Egypt, Kenya, Mexico and Colombia, this edited collection examines the ways in which formal protection mechanisms by state and civil society actors intersect with self-protection measures and informal protection initiatives by families and friends. It highlights that protection practices are most effective when they are designed to address the specific risks that human rights defenders face (which are gendered and intersectional); reflect how defenders understand risk, security and protection; and are appropriate for the dynamic sociopolitical and legal contexts in which defenders operate. This book proposes ways in which the protection of human rights defenders at risk should be reimagined and practised. This book will be a thought-provoking guide for students and scholars of politics, international relations, law and human rights, as well as to practitioners engaged in the protection of human rights defenders at risk. Alice M. Nah is a Senior Lecturer at the Department of Politics and the Centre for Applied Human Rights at the University of York, UK.

Routledge Studies in Human Rights

The Routledge Studies in Human Rights series publishes high quality and crossdisciplinary scholarship on topics of key importance in human rights today. In a world where human rights are both celebrated and contested, this series is committed to create stronger links between disciplines and explore new methodological and theoretical approaches in human rights research. Aimed towards both scholars and human rights professionals, the series strives to provide both critical analysis and policy-oriented research in an accessible form. The series welcomes work on specific human rights issues as well as on cross-cutting themes and institutional perspectives.

Series Editors: Mark Gibney, UNC Asheville, USA, Thomas Gammeltoft-Hansen, University of Copenhagen, Denmark, and Bonny Ibhawoh, McMaster University, Canada. Politics of International Human Rights Law Promotion in Western Europe Order versus Justice Koldo Casla Extending International Human Rights Protections to Vulnerable Populations Raymond A. Smith Fundamental Rights Challenges in Border Controls and Expulsion of Irregular Immigrants in the European Union Complaint Mechanisms and Access to Justice Edited by Sergio Carrera and Marco Stefan Why Human Rights Still Matter in Contemporary World Affairs Edited by Mahmood Monshipouri Actualizing Human Rights Global Inequality, Future People, and Motivation Jos Philips Protecting Human Rights Defenders at Risk Edited by Alice M. Nah

Protecting Human Rights Defenders at Risk

Edited by

Alice M. Nah

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 selection and editorial matter, Alice M. Nah; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Alice M. Nah to be identified as the author of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-1-138-39261-8 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-40211-1 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India

This book is dedicated to the memory of Zaitun “Toni” Kassim (1966–2008) and Irene Fernandez (1946–2014), women human rights defenders whose words and lives continue to encourage and inspire many of us. All royalties for this book go to Protection International, who defend the right of everyone to promote and protect human rights.

Contents

Acknowledgements Acronyms Contributors 1

Introduction: Protecting human rights defenders at risk

x xii xiv 1

ALICE M. NAH

2

Dilemmas in the ethics of tanpa pamrih (selflessness): Risk and human rights activism in Indonesia

34

BUDI HERNAWAN AND ALICE M. NAH

3

Fallen heroes, terrorists, spies, or unrealistic dreamers?: Repression and the defence of human rights in Egypt

61

ALICE M. NAH AND ELLEN HUSSEINY

4

Intersections between formal protection mechanisms and informal protection practices for defenders at risk in Kenya

84

IRINA ICHIM AND PATRICK MUTAHI

5

Resisting a hostile and insecure environment for defending rights in Mexico

104

PATRICIA BARTLEY, ERICK MONTERROSAS AND PAOLA PACHECO RUIZ

6

Territory, community and the efficacy of the state: Reconceiving the protection of human rights defenders in Colombia

130

PETER COUSINS AND EMILY SCHMITZ

7

Protection into the future

158

ALICE M. NAH

Index

189

Acknowledgements

This book is based on the research project “Navigating Risk, Managing Security, and Receiving Support”, a collaborative effort by many who gave generously of their time, ideas, analysis and creativity. It would not have been possible without Catherine H. Townsend who believed in the value of such a project. The Advisory Board provided invaluable guidance at key milestones of the project: Andrew Anderson, Susi Bascon, Enrique Eguren, Ruki Fernando, Paul Gready, Anne-Sophie Schaeffer, Claudia Samayoa and Hassan Shire Sheikh. In addition, this project drew upon the insights and experiences of Jane Barry, Karen Bennett, Sanna Eriksson, Danna Ingleton, Martin Jones, Ivy Josiah, Becky Kazansky, Sandra Lyubikovic, Sarah Marland, Ginger Norwood, Anne Rimmer, James Savage, Lars Waldorf and Lynn Welchman. I am grateful to the human rights defenders on the Centre for Applied Human Rights’ Protective Fellowship Scheme for their feedback and guidance at all stages of this project, from its conception to the dissemination of its findings. I also thank the staff of Protection International who shared with me about their work, struggles, joys and reflections. At the heart of the project were Patricia Bartley and Katrina Maliamauv, whose research support, analysis and compassion drove this project forward. The research team were critical to the success of the project. I thank Sherif Azer, Peter Cousins, Indria Fernida, Budi Hernawan, Irina Ichim, Erick Monterrosas, Patrick Mutahi, Paola Pacheco Ruiz and Emily Schmitz for their dedication, perseverance and insights about their local movements. I thank Diana Camargo for her comprehensive research support, Lara Luna Bartley for her evocative illustrations and Holly Shorey for her meticulous editorial assistance. This project brought together talented artists from around the world. I thank Juliana Mensah for facilitating the production of a diverse body artistic work by Christie Barnes, Rosa Borrás, Juan Franco, Emilie Flower, Amira Hanafi, Alejandra Jimenez, Steve Kyenze, Ndungi Githuku, Ruben Ochoa, Simona Manni, Juliana Mensah, Deena Mohamed, Nancy Muigei, Ndereva Mutua, John Otieno Oduor Rapasa and Way Dwi Arifianto. I also thank the following translators for making our research findings accessible to wider audiences: Sherif Azer, Ivy Kihara, Dewi Kurniati, Patrick Mutahi, Tāriq M. Suleimān and Gemma Sunyer.

Acknowledgements xi The chapters in this book benefitted from critical feedback from Patricia Bartley, David Maughan Brown, Peter Cousins, Ali Gharavi, Paul Gready, Sylvain Lefebvre, Erick Monterrosas, Martin Jones, Damai Pakpahan, Yara Sallam and Hannah Dwyer Smith. Last but not least, I am grateful to the 407 human rights defenders – men, women and gender non-conforming – who set aside time to share with us their experiences, analysis and reflections. I consider all of you to be my teachers.

Acronyms

ASOTRACAMPO AUC BPK DAS ELN FARC FPM

GAULA Komnas HAM Komnas Perempuan KontraS KPAI LGBTIQA* LPSK MORENA

Farmland Workers Association, Colombia Autodefensas Unidas de Colombia, The United SelfDefence Forces of Colombia Badan Pemeriksa Keuangan Republik Indonesia, Indonesian National Financial Auditor Departamento Administrativo de Seguridad, Administrative Security Department, Colombia Ejército de Liberación Nacional, National Liberation Army, Colombia Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia, Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia Mecanismo Federal para la Protección de Personas Defensoras de Derechos Humanos y Periodistas, Federal Mechanism for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders and Journalists, Mexico Grupos de Acción Unificada por la Libertad Personal, Unified Action Groups for Personal Freedom, Colombia Komisi Nasional Hak Asasi Manusia, Indonesian National Commission on Human Rights Komisi Nasional Anti Kekerasan Terhadap Perempuan, The Indonesian National Commission on Anti Violence against Women Komisi Untuk Orang Hilang dan Korban Tindak Kekerasan, Commission for the Disappeared and Victims of Violence, Indonesia Komnas Perlindungan Anak Indonesia, The Indonesian National Commission for Child Protection Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, questioning or queer, intersex, asexual and other sexual and gender identities Lembaga Perlindungan Saksi dan Korban, the Institute for Protection of Witnesses and Victims, Indonesia Movimiento de Regeneración Nacional, National

Acronyms NGO PAN PKI PPDDH PRI PLHIV RED TDT

SCAF TNI UN UNP

xiii

Regeneration Movement, Mexico Non-governmental organisation Partido Acción Nacional, National Action Party, Mexico Parti Komunis Indonesia, Indonesian Communist Party Programa de Proteção aos Defensores de Direitos Humanos, Brazilian Protection Programme for Human Rights Defenders Partido Revolucionario Institucional, Institutional Revolutionary Party People living with HIV Red Nacional de Organismos Civiles de Derechos Humanos Todos los Derechos para Todas y Todos, National Human Rights Network; All Rights for All, Mexico Supreme Council of the Armed Forces, Egypt Tentera Nasional Indonesia, Indonesian National Armed Forces United Nations Unidad Nacional de Proteccion, National Protection Unit, Colombia

Contributors

Patricia Bartley works in the fields of education and human rights and holds postgraduate qualifications in Secondary Education (University of Leeds) and Applied Human Rights (University of York). Recent research fields at the Centre for Applied Human Rights (CAHR) at the University of York include temporary relocation initiatives for people at risk and the security and protection of human rights defenders. She has also supported and managed the Centre’s protective fellowship programme for human rights defenders at risk. Currently she works as an Academic Practice Adviser at the university. Patricia is a long-term Amnesty International member and activist, forms part of the Amnesty UK’s East and Horn Regional team and is a member of its Teacher Advisory Group promoting human rights education. She has worked in Ethiopia, Eritrea and the UK as an Education Advisor and prior to that was a foreign languages teacher in Spain and the UK. Peter Cousins is a PhD candidate at the Institute for Peace and Conflict Studies at the University of Granada (Spain), where he is investigating the intersection between historical peace movements and civilian diplomacy. He holds a BA in Modern Languages from the University of Oxford and an MA in Conflict Resolution from the University of Bradford. His professional career has been split between the UK, where he has worked in community and special educational needs mediation, and Colombia. There, he gained extensive experience with human rights defenders, including two spells with the Fellowship of Reconciliation’s international accompaniment project, first as an accompanier and later as Executive Director, in addition to serving as a field researcher for this project. He is a founding member of the Anglo-Colombian peacebuilding project Rodeemos el Diálogo and the Granada-based Medyart, an organisation encouraging mediation through artistic expression. Budi Hernawan is a political anthropologist with research interests in peace building, human rights and the anthropology of violence in Southeast Asia and the Pacific, especially Papua where he worked and lived for 12 years. He teaches Anthropology at Driyarkara School of Philosophy and conflict analysis at Paramadina Graduate School of Diplomacy in Jakarta. He was a visiting fellow at the Australian National University (ANU) and the University

Contributors

xv

of Melbourne as well as a postdoctoral fellow at ANU and at the Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies (KITLV). His recent publications include Torture and Peacebuilding in Indonesia: The Case of Papua (Routledge, 2018) and a book chapter “Confronting Politics of Death in Papua” (Routledge 2020). Ellen Husseiny (pseudonym) is an independent researcher based in the Middle East with a Master’s degree in international and comparative law. She has fieldwork experience in relation to the protection of human rights defenders in the region. Irina Ichim is an independent researcher who received her PhD from the Department of Politics at the University of York (United Kingdom) while affiliated to the Centre for Applied Human Rights. Her thesis explored the protection of defenders as a contemporary form of human rights practice in Kenya. J.A. Mensah is a writer and researcher. She holds a PhD in Literature and Creative Writing from Newcastle University (United Kingdom). The manuscript for her first novel won the inaugural NorthBound Book Award and will be published in 2021. Her short stories and poetry have been published in a number of magazines and edited collections. Mensah was the Leverhulme Trust Artist in Residence at the Centre for Applied Human Rights at the University of York and has written for theatre with a focus on human rights narratives. In collaboration with colleagues from the University of York, she has participated in research projects on diverse issues relating to human rights defenders and has worked with partner organisations in Egypt, Malaysia, Hong Kong, India, South Africa and Indonesia. Erick Monterrosas is an activist and applied researcher. He holds a BA in International Relations from the National Autonomous University of Mexico (Honours) and an MA in Theory and Practice of Human Rights by the University of Essex (Distinction). Mr Monterrosas has worked with academic and non-profit institutions in the UK, USA, Germany, Mexico and Central America on diverse issues regarding the protection of human rights defenders, sexual rights, femicide, freedom of expression and political participation. Patrick Mutahi is a PhD candidate at the University of Edinburgh and Research Fellow at the Centre for Human Rights in Policy Studies (CHRIPS) in Nairobi. He is a researcher and seasoned expert on issues of conflict, terrorism, policing, urban politics and security governance. He has published in scholarly and policy-oriented publications on human rights, violence and policing. Alice M. Nah is a Senior Lecturer at the Department of Politics and the Centre for Applied Human Rights at the University of York, UK. She holds a PhD in Sociology from the National University of Singapore. She co-edited two special issues on human rights defenders for the International Journal of Human Rights and the Journal of Human Rights Practice and has also published in journals such as Social Movement Studies, Journal of Ethnic and Migration

xvi

Contributors

Studies, Urban Studies and Social Identities. She is on the Board of Protection International and the International Detention Coalition. Paola Pacheco Ruiz is a human rights defender who has worked with academic and non-profit institutions in Mexico. She is a political scientist and is a candidate to an MA in Social and Political Studies from the National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM). At present, she is an advisor on integral protection for human rights defenders of migrants, providing on-site assessment and support in shelters at Mexico’s most active migrant hotspots all over the country. Emily Schmitz works with Fellowship of Reconciliation Peace Presence, an international accompaniment organisation in Colombia, where she has worked as an international accompanier in the field offering physical and political accompaniment, has organised communication strategies and political advocacy campaigns and headed fundraising initiatives. She holds a BA in Visual Arts and Global Studies from the University of Minnesota. In 2014 she attended the Fletcher Summer Institute for the Advanced Study of Nonviolent Conflict at Tufts University in Boston, MA. Her professional career has been focused around peacebuilding and human rights in Colombia.

1

Introduction Protecting human rights defenders at risk Alice M. Nah

Introduction People, rather than states, are the most critical actors in advancing human rights. All over the world, people promote and protect human rights in diverse ways. Some do so by creating, developing and shaping state institutions, policies and practices; some by challenging them and calling for their reformation. People advance human rights through ordinary practices, such as service provision, educational programmes, artistic engagement and quiet diplomacy, as well as through contentious or adversarial means, such as public denunciations, street protests and litigation. Their backgrounds and causes are diverse – they include human rights lawyers who use the courts to protect the rights of clients, journalists who publicise human rights violations, anti-corruption activists who demand accountability from public officials, government officials who enact rights-based policies, indigenous peoples who defend their rights to land, LGBTIQA*1 activists who advocate for equality and non-discrimination, families who call for justice for the disappeared and women who seek freedom from violence. The United Nations (UN) refers to these diverse actors as “human rights defenders”. While many people can engage in human rights activism without fear or want, a significant number face risks to their life, liberty, security and reputation. The threats and attacks they experience vary, depending on their identity, their sociopolitical location, where they live, the issues they advocate for, their tactics and strategies for activism, the motives and actions of perpetrators and the political, social and economic environments in which they act. As the previous UN Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders, Michel Forst, highlighted in his World Report of December 2018, the risks, threats and attacks that defenders face are varied, ranging from harassment, stigmatisation, surveillance, criminalisation, judicial investigations, arrest, unlawful detention, beatings, torture and kidnapping, to killings, murders and disappearances.2 In 2019, the international NGO Front Line Defenders documented the killing of 304 human rights defenders around the world, of whom 40 percent were defending land, environmental or indigenous peoples’ rights.3 Perpetrators of such threats and attacks against human rights defenders comprise state authorities – such as the police, security forces or the military – as well as non-state actors – such as corporations,

2 Alice M. Nah criminal gangs, paramilitaries and fundamentalist groups. In a significant number of cases, the identity of perpetrators is unknown.4 The declaration on human rights defenders In 1998, the UN General Assembly marked the 50th anniversary of the Universal Declaration on Human Rights (UDHR) by adopting the Declaration on the Right and Responsibility of Individuals, Groups and Organs of Society to Promote and Protect Universally Recognised Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms.5 Commonly referred to as the Declaration on Human Rights Defenders, this Declaration was developed through years of what Amnesty International described as “tortuous negotiations”6 beginning in 1985. The Declaration affirms the right of everyone to promote and protect human rights and fundamental freedoms, calling on states to respect, protect and fulfil these rights. The Declaration on Human Rights Defenders recalls the rights of everyone engaged in the promotion and protection of human rights, including the right to be protected, the right to freedom of assembly, the right to freedom of association, the right to access and communicate with international bodies, the rights to freedom of opinion and expression, the right to protest, the right to develop and discuss new human rights ideas, the right to an effective remedy and the right to access funding.7 The Declaration recognises that human rights defenders work individually as well as in groups (formal and informal), and that the defence of rights is not subject to geographical restrictions but occurs at multiple levels, including national and international levels. The Declaration recognises the right to defend human rights as comprising acts to promote and protect rights as well as the right to refuse to violate human rights and fundamental freedoms.8 It also calls for states to ensure that these rights are protected in domestic laws and to create conditions so that people can exercise these rights freely. Protecting human rights defenders Since the adoption of the Declaration, there has been growing momentum amongst diverse actors to build an international protection regime for human rights defenders.9 The aim of this regime is to “protect and support defenders who operate in their own contexts in the face of threats and risks”.10 Protection actors – state and non-state actors that act to protect human rights defenders at risk – have been creating, developing and sustaining norms and standards of protection around the figure of the human rights defender. They have been involved in agenda setting and resource mobilisation, calling for states and donors to prioritise and fund protection practices. They have been socialising states, institutions, civil society groups and defenders themselves to recognise and protect the right to promote and protect human rights. Over the past decade in particular, significant resources have been devoted to supporting defenders at risk in managing their security, protecting them from harm, and building a “safe and enabling environment”11 for the defence of human

Introduction 3 rights. Protection actors have developed a diverse range of responses aimed at protecting defenders at risk12 – such as the provision of emergency grants, the use of awards to strengthen the legitimacy and visibility of defenders at risk,13 the practice of international accompaniment as a peaceful deterrence tactic,14 temporary relocation,15 trial monitoring, public advocacy and quiet diplomacy.16 Paradoxically, however, as state and non-state actors invest more in building this transnational multi-level protection regime, numerous reports highlight increasing attacks and reprisals against people engaged in human rights activism.17 Building upon recent scholarly work on the security and protection of defenders at risk,18 this book assesses the construction, operation and effects of the international protection regime for human rights defenders by drawing upon the experiences of 407 human rights defenders at risk in five countries – Colombia, Mexico, Kenya, Egypt and Indonesia – examined through an international research project called “Navigating Risk, Managing Security, and Receiving Support”.19 The chapters in this book explore the ways in which human rights defenders navigate risks, and how these impact on their activism, relationships and quality of life. They assess the protection practices enacted by state actors and civil society groups locally and transnationally, highlighting ways in which these practices affected the lives of human rights defenders and intersected with their self-protection practices. In the next section of this chapter, I examine the global context for the defence of human rights, highlighting key developments that shape the risks that human rights defenders face. I discuss scholarly critiques of the effectiveness and relevance of human rights activism. I then provide an overview of the protection regime for human rights defenders, noting its actors, institutions, norms, principles and resources. I discuss key debates related to the protection of human rights defenders at risk: the meaning of protection, the definition of human rights defenders, the acceptability of risk and risk-taking in activism, and conceptualisations of (in)security. I then introduce the Navigating Risk study, before setting out the organisation of this book.20

The global context for the defence of human rights Repression on the rise Recent studies highlight worrying trends in the repression of civil society globally. CIVICUS, a global alliance of human rights organisations and activists, reported that civil society was “under serious attack” in 111 countries in 2018, with only 4 percent of the world’s population living in countries that respected civil society freedoms.21 Data used in the Political Terror Scale suggests that in 2018, almost 70 percent of people in the world lived in countries or territories where flagrant human rights abuses were being perpetrated.22 The International Center for Not-for-Profit Law highlighted that between 2015 and 2016 states introduced 64 new laws, regulations and initiatives to restrict civil society, including legislation on the registration of organisations, the right to protest and the

4 Alice M. Nah right to access resources.23 In the name of security, particularly since the terrorist attacks of 9/11, states have been introducing counterterrorism legislation that has impacted in various ways on the rights and freedoms of people, depending on the levels of repression already present.24 At the end of his term as the Special Rapporteur on the Rights to Freedom of Peaceful Assembly in 2016, Maina Kiai observed, We are in the midst of an epic global struggle, and it is not just over assembly and association rights, or any other human right in isolation. It is about our freedom writ large – a global clash between tyranny and self-determination that could shape the course of our world for generations to come.25 Reflecting on concerted attempts by governments to curtail civic freedoms since the end of the Cold War, he argued that euphemisms such as “closing space” were insufficient. For him, the struggle was “for the future of democracy and democratic values”.26 Over the past decade, human rights communities from the Philippines to Brazil and Italy to the United States of America have observed the rise of populist leaders with alarm, anxiety and disappointment. As Philip Alston observed, “[T]he populist agenda that has made such dramatic inroads recently is often avowedly nationalistic, xenophobic, misogynistic and explicitly antagonistic to all or much of the human rights agenda”.27 Human rights defenders have also noted the increase in production and circulation of influential narratives that suggest that human rights advocacy threatens “traditional values”, “honour”, and religious beliefs.28 These narratives shape the way human rights defenders are perceived, especially those working on the rights of women, LGBTIQA* persons, and minorities. As an example, in Latin America and Eastern Europe, conservative politicians and religious leaders have accused women and LGBTIQA* defenders of using gender ideology to disrupt political or social order in society.29 Political homophobia – the purposeful use of homophobia for political gain – continues to be a powerful tactic in shaping election outcomes, stifling dissent and justifying restrictions on civil society.30 The actions of women, LGBTIQA* and gender non-conforming defenders to defend their rights are often judged according to patriarchal, heteronormative or fundamentalist understandings about society that render their fight for rights unwarranted, illegitimate, deviant or just plain wrong. Non-state actors – whether legal entities such as corporations and religious institutions or illegal actors such as organised crime, gangs or drug cartels – have become increasingly powerful in determining political outcomes, influencing state authorities and institutions in visible and invisible ways.31 Their hidden or “shadow power” – their ability to exercise influence covertly – can delegitimise the concerns of groups with less power and influence.32 In many states, the drive for economic development shapes social and political change in ways that privilege private interests over the wellbeing of the public. From 2015 to 2019, the Business and Human Rights Resources Centre documented more than two thousand attacks on human rights defenders globally who raised concerns

Introduction 5 about human rights abuses related to businesses.33 In 2019 alone there were 572 attacks, mostly in Latin America, and then Asia and the Pacific, Eastern Europe and Russia. The highest level of attacks was in the mining and agribusiness sectors; followed by waste disposal; renewable energy; construction; oil, gas and coal and logging and lumber. Of these, almost half involved judicial harassment, including through strategic lawsuits against public participation (SLAPP suits). Critiques of the effectiveness and relevance of human rights A number of scholars have expressed pessimistic views about the future of human rights.34 Stephen Hopgood, Jack Snyder and Leslie Vinjamuri present four critiques of the effectiveness and relevance of human rights – what they call scope conditions, backlash, localisation and utopias and end times.35 Firstly, scope conditions – the circumstances under which human rights can be successful – pose impediments to progress. Hopgood et al. suggest that states in conflict, states where human rights mobilisation is not embedded in broader calls for political change, states which do not have the conditions to facilitate democracy and states without the resources to live up to their human rights commitments are more likely to commit human rights violations and abuses. Other scope conditions, as Thomas Risse argues, include regime type, the extent to which rule implementation is centralised and the material and social vulnerability of rulers to external pressure.36 Risse observes that states might have “areas of limited statehood”, that is, “parts of a country in which central authorities (usually governments) lack the ability to implement and/or enforce rules and decisions and/or in which the legitimate monopoly over the means of violence is lacking”.37 This lack of ability to exercise domestic sovereignty could be restricted in terms of territory, but also by sector, or in relation to segments of a population. Risse suggests that, broadly speaking, in democratic regimes, where there are areas of limited statehood, human rights violations occur because of a lack of capacity, whereas in authoritarian regimes they occur because of a lack of willingness and capacity. Secondly, Hopgood et al. highlight that human rights activists have to contend with backlash – resistance to their actions. Actors who are threatened by human rights activism can act in both overt and subtle ways to undermine resistance and to avoid accountability for violations and abuses. As Vinjamuri observes, backlash occurs in all types of regimes, including in liberal democracies, and can be deployed tactically or strategically.38 Vinjamuri identifies six different backlash strategies used by political elites against international justice and accountability: “violent entrenchment”, that is, escalating violent attacks; “non-violent entrenchment”, deepening power in non-violent ways, such as through the use of anti-imperial justice rhetoric and the restriction of humanitarian access; “forum shopping”, creating alternative institutions that enable the application of different rules, values or norms; “strategic legalism”, using legal means to avoid accountability; “regionalism”, using regional bodies and processes to legitimise actions and “containing backlash”, that is, exercising restraint.

6 Alice M. Nah Efforts to curtail civil society freedoms are a form of backlash. In their study on restrictions on civil society around the world from 1994 to 2014, Kristin Bakke, Neil Mitchell and Hannah Smidt argue that the governments that impose restrictions on civil society are the ones that make formal commitments to human rights treaties and which engage in human rights violations at the same time.39 That is, they impose restrictions in order to avoid human rights monitoring and pressure for non-compliance to their human rights obligations. These restrictions include banning specific civil society organisations, imposing restrictions on the registration of civil society organisations, curtailing movement and international travel, imposing restrictions on domestic and international funding, censoring publications and materials, subjecting civil society actors to harassment and conducting surveillance on civil society actors. Needless to say, backlash has a direct impact on the security and wellbeing of individuals and communities advocating for human rights. Thirdly, Hopgood et al. observe that the localisation of global ideas about human rights matters, but that such translation work has not necessarily furthered local attempts for social justice. Intermediaries – who Sally Engle Merry refers to as translators or knowledge brokers – play a critical role in how human rights ideas travel and vernacularise in different contexts.40 While they may wield power because of their knowledge and transnational competence, as Merry points out, they can also be distrusted by local leaders and communities for having ambiguous loyalties. Human rights defenders are often stigmatised in different ways – as being foreign agents, terrorists, anti-national, anti-Islam, anti-development, too Western, and perceived as acting against the interest of local and national communities. Such discourses, especially when mounted by political leaders and magnified through media outlets, alienate human rights defenders. State authorities also resist human rights activism by creating and supporting government-sponsored NGOs (GONGOs) to deflect attention from independent civil society groups and to counter criticisms about their human rights records in national, regional and international fora.41 Finally, Hopgood et al. suggest that scholarly reflections on utopias and end times indicate that prospects for the future of human rights are poor. This approach questions “whether the cross-cultural impact of the human rights project is too superficial to thrive in the event of American hegemonic decline and the emergence of multiple modernities, including illiberal ones”42 and whether “Western liberalism has taken a wrong turn, overinvesting in the rights approach to liberal progress and systematically sidelining both ideas (like freedom and equality) and alternative mobilizing principles (national self-determination, socialism) that promise more genuine normative progress”.43 However, such critiques tend to privilege the role of states and civil society in the West in the advancement of human rights. As Kathryn Sikkink observes, actors from the Global South have long played an integral role in demanding human rights and in building institutions for their enforcement.44 Focusing on the Asia Pacific region, I show how civil society actors from the Global South collaborate and engage in transnational activism in ways that are not dependent on state

Introduction 7 and civil society actors in the Global North.45 César Rodríguez-Garavito points out that human rights activism occurs in a “multipolar world order”, in which states and NGOs in the Global North no longer have sole control over the creation and implementation of human rights standards, as new actors (from transnational social movements to transnational corporations to Global South states and NGOs) emerge as influential voices.46 Also, human rights ideas do not travel unidirectionally from the global to the local, or from the West to the rest of the world, although this is a common perception held both by proponents and opponents of human rights discourses and practices. Ideas about human rights from different places around the world feed into and shape global discourses about human rights; they travel and change as they mingle with other ideas. The circulation and adaptation of ideas is a critical part of how new rights emerge.47 Regardless of such critiques, and in the face of overwhelming odds, human rights activists have persisted in their causes, even at serious personal cost. Recent studies show that activists often experience stress, distress and trauma, both directly, as they experience risks, threats and violence themselves, and indirectly, as they interact with victims of violence and human rights violations, for example, as they take testimonies, document incidents and witness abuses.48 Many live in insecure or unstable contexts with limited resources. The emotional labour and emotion work that activists invest in their work can contribute to feelings of hopelessness, discouragement and being overwhelmed, which can lead to burnout over time.49 Commenting on human rights activism in the Northern Caucasus, human rights lawyer, Vanessa Kogan, observes, The psychological and physical consequences of everyday work as a [human rights defender] in the [Northern Caucasus] can be insidious and debilitating. Mental health issues most commonly encountered in the field include insomnia, lack of concentration, [post-traumatic stress disorder], memory loss and depression. One leading local human rights lawyer once expressed her exasperation of “having to go to court, where you tell the judge – ‘it’s black.’ And everyone can see that it’s black. But the judge says no – its white. Sometimes I think I am the one going crazy, and I just want to give up”.50 It is through the recognition of the persistence of people engaged in human rights activism and the importance of protecting and supporting them in doing so that the protection regime for human rights defenders was born.

Mapping the protection regime for human rights defenders The human rights defender protection regime bears a number of key features.51 It derives its “principles, norms, rules, and decision-making procedures” from the broader international human rights regime.52 The dynamics and contestations that

8 Alice M. Nah affect the global international human rights regime play out within the sub-field of the protection of human rights defenders. It is goal-driven, aimed at protecting human rights defenders and enabling them to exercise their rights safely. It adopts a broad human security paradigm, identifying individuals and collectives as subjects of security. It operates at multiple levels – local, national, regional and international – and has many stakeholders, including civil society groups, states, donors, intergovernmental bodies and human rights defenders themselves. Since the UN General Assembly adopted the Declaration on Human Rights Defenders in 1998, the international community has been creating institutions for the protection of defenders. In 2000, the UN Commission on Human Rights established the mandate on the situation of human rights defenders to support the implementation of the Declaration, appointing first a Special Representative before changing this role to that of a Special Rapporteur. In 2004, the African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights established the mandate of the Special Rapporteur on Human Rights Defenders in Africa, while the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights established the Office of the Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders in 2011, building upon the Unit for Human Rights Defenders established in December 2001. Over the past two decades or so, a number of states have established laws, policies and practices for human rights defenders – including Colombia and Mexico, as examined in this book.53 The European Union has identified support to human rights defenders as a major priority in its external human rights policy. The EU Guidelines on Human Rights Defenders, an external relations policy tool adopted in 2004 (revised in 2008), urges member states to take proactive action and practical steps to protect human rights defenders in third countries.54 For the period 2014–2020, the European Union dedicated between 200 and 250 million euros to the support of human rights defenders at risk through the European Instrument for Democracy and Human Rights.55 Civil society actors have also been (re)organising themselves – forming new organisations, networks and alliances – to respond to threats and attacks against defenders. They include international NGOs such as Front Line Defenders, Protection International, Peace Brigades International, Civil Rights Defenders, Justice and Peace Netherlands, Urgent Action Fund for Women, the Association for Women’s Rights in Development, World Organization Against Torture and ProtectDefenders.eu. Similarly, regional networks such as the Mesoamerican Women Human Rights Defenders Initiative (Iniciativa Mesoamericana de Mujeres Defensoras De Derechos Humanos, IM-Defensoras), The Euro-Mediterranean Foundation of Support for Human Rights Defenders, DefendDefenders, and Forum Asia as well as national NGOs and networks such as La Unidad de Protección a Defensoras y Defensores de Derechos Humanos, Guatemala (UDEFEGUA), Somos Defensores in Colombia, Espacio OSC in Mexico and the National Coalition of Human Rights Defenders in Kenya (NCHRD-K) are dedicated to the support and protection of defenders at risk.56 There are also organisations and networks that focus on particular groups of defenders, such as Scholars at Risk for academics, the Committee to Protect Journalists for journalists, the

Introduction 9 Martin Roth-Initiative for artists and the International Cities of Refuge Network (ICORN) for writers and artists. Although structured in different ways in different contexts, they connect defenders from diverse backgrounds with protection resources. In spite of all of these developments, protection actors, human rights defenders and funders alike recognise that the resources devoted to the security and protection of human rights defenders remain limited and far short of that which is required. As an example, according to ProtectDefenders.Eu, funding for human rights defenders grew by only 1 percent from 2014 to 2016, from 97.6 million to 98.8 million US dollars, with philanthropic organisations increasing donations by 12 percent while public funding declined by 2 percent.57 They also report that in roughly the same period, from 2013 to 2016, emergency requests from defenders at risk increased year-on-year by 37 percent, 50 percent, and 54 percent, respectively.

Key issues in protecting defenders at risk Understanding protection Protection is a foundational concept in the international human rights regime. States have a duty to respect, protect and fulfil the rights of duty holders.58 The obligation to protect goes beyond the obligation to respect rights. States have a duty to protect, inter alia, the rights and security of people; people against human rights abuses by third parties (such as corporations, criminal gangs and other non-state actors); people from genocide, war crimes, ethnic cleansing and crimes against humanity; and particularly vulnerable groups such as refugees and civilians in armed conflict. One of the main paradoxes in the international human rights regime is that the very actors with the duty to protect rights – states – are often the ones that commit or are complicit in rights violations and abuses. In some cases, the state is a “failed” or “failing” state, or has “limited statehood”,59 and does not have the resources and territorial control required to protect rights. The role of other states civil society actors, and non-state actors is thus significant in the international governance of human rights. The UN Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders, Michel Forst, in his report to the Human Rights Council in 2016, defined a good protection practice as “a practice that contributes to the full respect of their rights and strengthens their security, including by mitigating the risks they face, addressing threats and building support for their work”.60 Protection practices have different objectives – some are aimed at helping defenders cope with and respond to threats and attacks; some are focused on building political, legal, economic and cultural environments that enable the defence of rights.61 In the human rights defender protection regime, there hasn’t been sufficient debate about the meaning of protection in relation to human rights defenders and how protection is enacted. As we found in this study, the kind of protection that human rights defenders want is not the kind that aims for their safety above all

10 Alice M. Nah else. They want to be protected as they are engaged in and so that they can continue in the promotion and protection of human rights. Some protection practices are designed to achieve these aims, but others are not. More broadly, protection practices should focus not just on the security of human rights defenders, but address issues and power dynamics that lead to aggressions against defenders and the repression of civil society.62 Defining “human rights defenders” Who are human rights defenders? How do we identify them? The Declaration on Human Rights Defenders does not provide a definition of a human rights defender. However, in practice, protection actors refer to Article 1 of the Declaration when conceptualising human rights defenders, which states that “everyone has the right, individually and in association with others, to promote and to strive for the protection and realisation of human rights and fundamental freedoms at the national and international levels”.63 It is thus the actions of a person that determine whether someone is a human rights defender. However, the term “human rights defender” is a contested term. Civil society protection actors tend to argue for a broad application of this term to individuals and groups in very different circumstances engaged in a wide range of human rights issues, including those who do not self-identify as a human rights defender. For them, the identification of a person or a collective as a human rights defender is a way of legitimising their actions and reiterating their right to act in particular ways in the defence of rights. Some protection actors use this term more narrowly and conservatively, only referring to a small number of individuals and groups as human rights defenders – typically prominent staff of human rights NGOs working on civil and political rights, lawyers and journalists. Sometimes, such narrow applications are deliberate and aimed at excluding specific individuals and groups from international attention and support. Sometimes they occur because of assumptions by protection actors about what constitutes human rights activism and what does not. In an effort to clarify the definition of a human rights defender, the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner of Human Rights (OHCHR) released Fact Sheet No. 29 in 2004 which defines who human rights defenders are and describes what they do.64 The Fact Sheet reiterates that it is the “human rights character of the work undertaken”65 that matters when deciding if a person constitutes a human rights defender. It clarifies that human rights defenders can work for civil society, the state or the private sector; it observes that human rights defenders might be paid or unpaid for their human rights work and that there is no particular qualification required for a person to be a human rights defender. However, problematically, it suggests that a “standard” is required of human rights defenders – specifically that human rights defenders “must accept the universality of human rights as defined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights” and that “the actions taken by human rights defenders must be peaceful”, neither of which are required in the Declaration of Human Rights Defenders.66 I will discuss these questionable propositions in turn.

Introduction 11 The requirement that human rights defenders accept the universality of human rights reflects a world view that is particularly cosmopolitan and liberal; not all people who promote and protect human rights hold these world views. A person advocating for civil and political rights might still behave in a sexist way; a person fighting for the rights of migrants and refugees might hold homophobic sentiments. Human rights defenders grow up in the sociopolitical milieu of their societies, which informs their dispositions and instincts. Whether or not these behaviours and sentiments are deemed acceptable by human rights communities, they should not interfere with the right of these persons to promote and protect human rights. The requirement that all human rights defenders embrace all human rights all the time is impossible and unnecessary. This requirement also reflects an ahistorical, apolitical conceptualisation of human rights. It fails to recognise that human rights ideas, norms and standards are borne of struggle, debate and discussion, and that ideas about human rights are constantly evolving, with “new rights” emerging from time to time.67 It assumes that the definition of universality in the UDHR is clear, uncontested and unchanging. It assumes that people know the breadth, depth and complexities of human rights and are able to embrace them fully, without question. This requirement has come under critical scrutiny by human rights defenders. Studying the application of the term “human rights defender” to two well-regarded Palestinian human rights activists, and questioning the requirement that they accept the universality of human rights, Raghad Jaraisy and Tamar Feldman observed, The term, “universality of human rights” may be quite alien for many activists: either because they are unfamiliar with the human rights discipline and the notion of universality, or because they oppose this notion, for example because they find it patronising, or simply inappropriate. Even when activists do not explicitly contest the “universality of human rights”, as is more often than not the case, how does one show a positive “acceptance” of this idea?68 The second requirement – that actions by human rights defenders must be peaceful – is also questionable. The Declaration on Human Rights Defenders refers to peaceful approaches in a number of instances but does not impose it as an allencompassing requirement before a person can be referred to as a human rights defender. For example, the Declaration recalls the right of everyone “to meet or assemble peacefully” (Article 5a) and “to participate in peaceful activities against violations of human rights …” (Article 12). It calls for the protection of those engaged in “reacting against or opposing, through peaceful means, activities and acts … that result in violations of human rights …” (Article 12(3)) and affirms the right of everyone to “solicit, receive and utilise resources for the express purpose of promoting and protecting human rights and fundamental freedoms through peaceful means” (Article 13). The Declaration does not have an exclusion clause for those who do not use peaceful means, however this is defined. Discussing this requirement in their case study of Palestinian activists, Jaraisy and Feldman observe that people seeking to protest peacefully can, inadvertently,

12 Alice M. Nah become part of an action that turns violent, or have their actions classified as being violent by a repressive regime. They highlight how in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, Palestinian activists deem the throwing of stones at moving vehicles and at the Separation Barrier as legitimate expressions of protest, while Israeli authorities consider these to be acts of violence. Enrique Eguren and Champa Patel argue that it is important to see human rights defenders as relational agents, whose actions are understood based on an analysis of human rights practice in context.69 Noting that “adopting a purely normative approach may be more limiting than empowering”,70 they propose a critical and ethical approach that is attentive to power dynamics at the local level. Protection actors continue to debate about who the definition should include and exclude. Some protection actors exclude human rights defenders advocating on certain causes, such as the right to national self-determination.71 Some exclude those who play an active role in domestic politics – for example, those who run for political office or play an active role in political parties – for fear that they will misuse protection resources to further their political aims.72 Some tend to focus on professionalised human rights defenders, excluding those who undertake activism on a voluntary basis, whether individually or through informal groups. There is still a dominant tendency amongst protection actors to conceptualise human rights defenders as individuals rather than groups or collectives.73 Protection actors who argue for a broad definition of the term “human rights defender” often stress the importance of recognising diversity amongst human rights defenders. Over the past decade, they have advocated for the recognition of non-traditional groups of people as human rights defenders – in particular, land and environmental rights defenders, women human rights defenders, LGBTIQA* defenders, children and youths and those working on economic, social and cultural rights and other rights. Such inclusion is important not only because it enables such defenders to gain access to protection resources, but because it highlights the need for nuanced approaches to risk assessment and management (often the first step in protection) that take into account the specific circumstances of defenders, their sociopolitical identities, and their struggles where they are. The failure to recognise diversity amongst human rights defenders can lead to the exclusion of individuals and groups from protection, the uncritical use of standard protection measures that don’t meet the need of defenders, discrimination against certain types of defenders, the lack of attention to local (less visible, more isolated) defenders and a lack of solidarity within human rights movements.74 The acceptability of risk and risk-taking in activism The relationship between risk, risk-taking and activism for human rights defenders is complex and multi-layered. Different forms of activism result in different levels of risk and cost in different places. Calling for scholarship that distinguishes between low and high levels of risk and cost in activism, Doug McAdam defined risk as “the anticipated dangers – whether legal, social, physical, financial and so forth – of engaging in a particular kind of activity” and cost as “the expenditures

Introduction 13 of time, money and energy that are required of a person”.75 As McAdam observed, signing a petition may be a low cost activity, but a high risk one if there might be repercussions. However, levels of risks in activism change over time – sometimes quite quickly and unexpectedly. Risks cannot always be anticipated. Defenders have, for example, been targeted for innocuous acts such tweeting or posting on Facebook. Defenders also contend not just with risk, but with uncertainty – where outcomes of actions are unknown and unpredictable – which complicates security management even further. Indeed the production of uncertainty is a tactic itself. As Ali Gharavi and Fieke Jansen observe in a paper on effective crisis response for human rights defenders, One of the primary motivations of the adversary unleashing a crisis is using the element of surprise in order to wreak havoc and uncertainty on the [human rights defender(s)], their communities and allies. The crisis is more effective (from their standpoint), if it catches the recipient off-guard and unprepared …. if it comes as a surprise, not only in timing, but also in severity …. the less anticipated the act is, the more disruptive potential it has.76 People are willing to engage in high risks and costs when they value the goals of their cause.77 Both risk and cost are subjectively defined but experienced within objective parameters, such as legal penalties, arrest, and other forms of threats and attacks.78 The social-structural location of people – such as their sex, marital status, age, family income, ethnic identity, level of education and urbanicity of residence – influences how they experience goals, risks and costs in activism.79 Sometimes, the risks that human rights defenders face arise not from their activism per se, but from their identities and actions on other issues. It is not always easy to differentiate between different causes of risk. Risk-taking is emotionally charged. Both emotions and risks are configured through social and cultural processes; understandings about them are intersubjective and influenced by social interaction.80 Risks are often associated with harm, danger and fear.81 In modern social life, strong cultural messages encourage individuals to avoid risks, act responsibly and take precautions;82 people who take unnecessary risks are often characterised as careless or irresponsible, even deviant.83 In some cases, people engaged in human rights activism have been chastised for taking too many risks and for behaving carelessly, much to their chagrin. Even when defenders recognise that they face risks and take measures to face them, the experience of an attack itself is most often shocking. In order to persist in high-risk activities, activists have to manage their fear, both individually and collectively.84 While human rights defenders face threats and attacks because of their activism, they do not always take steps to manage their own security. In our study, we found several reasons for this. Some defenders don’t expect to be targeted for what they see to be legitimate and peaceful – even ordinary – acts. Some lack knowledge and training on risk assessment, management and mitigation. Some are so engrossed

14 Alice M. Nah and overwhelmed with their activism that they lack the funds, time and resources to focus on their security. Cultures of human rights practice also tend to valorise risk-taking, fearlessness, bravery and sacrifice, prompting defenders to downplay risks. Cautiousness in the face of risks can signal fear and vulnerability, which defenders eschew. Some do not like thinking about and planning for possible threats and attacks as this increases their own fear and scares others. People also assess risk and responsible risk-taking in different ways. In some cases, protection actors have discouraged defenders from taking risks, considering such actions to be unnecessary – even irresponsible – to the chagrin of human rights defenders. Conceptualising (in)security One of the highest concerns amongst protection actors is the security – or safety – of human rights defenders.85 In some cases, this concern is so paramount that it eclipses the goals of human rights defenders. This can produce tension, as the objective of being safe can contradict the imperative of achieving human rights outcomes. That is, while human rights defenders do not want to experience threats or attacks, their commitment to human rights causes are so significant that they are willing to take risks and to live with insecurity, if staying safe means leaving injustice to prevail. Considerations about the security of defenders often begin with physical security – that is, the bodily integrity and liberty of defenders and the security of physical spaces where they live and work. Protection actors who support defenders in their physical security often help them to analyse risks and threats, create security plans and help them to secure their work and home environments.86 However, this approach is insufficient. Over the past decade, there has been greater attention to the digital security needs of defenders, in recognition of problems, such as digital surveillance; the hacking and tracking of devices; breaches of confidentiality and security of data; doxxing and the use of social networking sites to attack defenders. There is also a clear link between physical and digital security – breaches in digital security have led to the arrest, interrogation, torture and criminalisation of human rights defenders. A third area of concern is the psycho-social wellbeing of defenders. Over the past decade, there has been greater recognition of the high levels of burnout, fatigue, anxiety, depression, anger and post-traumatic stress disorder amongst human rights defenders, and of the need to address these in security measures. In 2016, the international NGO Tactical Tech Collective led an initiative to encourage human rights defenders and protection actors to adopt a “holistic security” approach to protection that integrated digital security, psychosocial wellbeing, and organisational security. This approach emphasised “wellbeing in action” and “being physically and emotionally healthy”.87 Inspired by Audre Lorde, it emphasises the importance of self-care “not as a selfish act, but rather as a subversive and political act of self-preservation”.88 While recognising the significance of mental health issues amongst defenders and the impact of burnout on the sustainability and resilience of movements, there

Introduction 15 are concerns that this approach, when pushed upon individuals and groups in isolation, can inadvertently place heavy burdens on defenders. That is, it signals to defenders that not only do they need to adopt practices that keep them safe both physically and in the digital world, they are also expected to be psychologically healthy in the face of overwhelming odds and against cultures of human rights practice. To complement this call, scholars and practitioners have called for broader reforms to the way that human rights work is understood, organised and imagined – a matter I return to in the last chapter of this book.89 Feminist scholars and practitioners have long observed that experiences of security are gendered and intersectional, because social structures and political assemblages are gendered and intersectional.90 Women and girls experience inequalities in levels of exposure to violence; the exercise of power, agency and participation in decision-making; as well as control over resources and the enjoyment of rights.91 Women human rights defenders have highlighted that militaristic approaches to security are insufficient, and that a multidimensional understanding of security would enable the broader recognition of the various ways in which risky forms of activism impact on people, in particular, women. As Jane Barry and Vahida Nainar highlight, women human rights defenders have called for a definition of security that is integrated – rooted in the realities of their lives, and not just for individuals alone but also for communities.92 Such a definition includes: Freedom from constant threats – the absence of war, living without fear and violence, freedom of movement, stability, security, smiling children, homes, going for a walk at night unimpeded, etc. Economic security – employment, food, social justice, the absence of oppression, etc. Political security – democracy, freedom of thought, freedom of choice, legitimacy, the rule of law, solidarity, the United Nations, etc. Environmental security – eco-friendliness, environmentalism, unpolluted air and water, etc. Health security – health protection, accessible medical treatment, etc.93 Barry and Nainar observe that such a multidimensional conceptualisation of security “breaks down artificial boundaries between the public (open, real, important, hard, serious) and the private (closed, hidden, soft, less significant) sides of security”.94 Addressing insecurity thus means addressing community relations, gender hierarchies, political participation, the economic organisation of society and the environmental impacts of human activity, along with bodily integrity. In summary, the ways in which state and non-state actors understand protection, define human rights defenders, consider the acceptability of risk and risktaking in activism and conceptualise (in)security matters. These are not just intellectual considerations, they reflect political dynamics, power relations and assumptions about human rights activism; they translate into practices, interactions and relationships that affect the security and protection of defenders.

16 Alice M. Nah

The “Navigating Risk” research project This study was designed to explore how human rights defenders have experienced and navigated risk, security and protection in different contexts. We studied five states where human rights defenders have experienced moderate to high levels of risk and repression, and where domestic civil society actors have developed repertoires, tactics and relationships in response to such risks.95 Each state has different domestic infrastructure for – and levels of state commitment to – the protection of human rights defenders. Egypt has weak state commitment to the protection of human rights defenders. Kenya and Indonesia have state-created human rights institutions that have been used sporadically for the protection of human rights defenders as well as vibrant civil society advocacy in this issue area. Colombia and Mexico have the most advanced infrastructure, with state-created national protection mechanisms dedicated specifically to the protection of human rights defenders, but which have been subject to intense criticism. This study adopted a mixed-methods approach with most participants completing an interview and/or a focus group along with a survey. There were five research teams, one for each country, comprised of a man and woman, selected on the basis of their knowledge of the human rights scene in each country, their research skills and experience, their relationships with local human rights defenders and their knowledge about the sensitivities of data collection on this topic. The choice of researchers was paramount, as trust was crucial for defenders to feel comfortable enough to speak about their experiences of risk, threats and attacks (further elaborated below). After ethics approval was granted from the University of York, researchers were trained on the research protocols for this study and data collection took place between July 2015 and November 2016. The researchers travelled across the length and breadth of each country to conduct interviews and focus groups in English, Spanish, Kiswahili, Arabic and Bahasa Indonesia. They were careful in their choice of communication methods and the locations of interviews with potential participants, recognising the possibilities of surveillance. They observed strict protocols in relation to data management. This study focused on defenders who had experienced risk, threats or attacks within the past five years. We adopted a broad definition of the term “human rights defender”, including anyone who engaged in the promotion and protection of human rights, whether or not they used this term to refer to themselves. We sought out defenders from a wide range of backgrounds and who focused on a wide range of rights, aiming for gender balance while ensuring that we included people with gender non-conforming identities. We deliberately recruited women defenders and defenders focusing on LGBTIQA* rights, as well as defenders who have been criminalised for their human rights practice. During the interviews and focus groups, we asked participants to share details about their human rights activism, and what they thought about their safety or security (using these terms interchangeably). We asked them to describe the highest risks they faced, defining this as “exposure to danger, harm or loss”. We asked about the actions they took to stay safe and about who supported them as

Introduction 17 they navigated these risks. We asked them about the extent to which people who undertook human rights activism focused on their mental and emotional wellbeing and how the term “human rights defender” was perceived in their contexts. In the survey, we asked if they received training on how to manage their security, the levels of support they received for their human rights work, the barriers they faced in managing their security and the level of frequency with which they practised common behaviours associated with the assessment and management of risk. We asked them about their levels of concern about their physical security, digital security and their mental and emotional wellbeing. Across all five countries, the research teams raised several reflections about the data collection process. The first was the critical importance of trust. The researchers in this project were already embedded in local human rights communities, and as such, were known to some of the participants in this study, whether personally or by reputation. As a researcher from Indonesia observed, “Our existing friendship helped to ensure a comfortable atmosphere during the interviews. One of the indicators of their comfort was the fact that all participants shared their personal stories with me, which I had never heard … they willingly shared about some of their private life with me without much hesitation”. However, we could not rely on personal contacts alone as we aimed to have wide and diverse coverage of human rights defenders for this project. As such, the researchers needed the help of gatekeepers to introduce them to potential participants. It was important to share the objectives of the research with the gatekeepers and to gain their trust and confidence, which took some time. We also adopted “snowball sampling”, asking participants to refer us to others who might be willing to take part in this study. In Colombia, our researchers found that some Afro-Colombian and indigenous groups had communal processes for consent. That is, they had to gain wider consent of a group before individuals would participate. Some defenders from these communities preferred focus groups over one-to-one interviews. As one of the researchers observed, “Everything is seen through the eyes of the collective, not just themselves”. In other cases, however, some did not want to share their personal experiences in groups, preferring individual interviews. Being able to determine their level of anonymity was important to participants, particularly for LGBTIQA* defenders in Egypt and Indonesia. Some wanted some of the details they shared to be off the record, which we honoured. Most participants were actively engaged in the interviews, felt comfortable with the researchers and shared their experiences candidly. Some were particularly keen to participate in this study as they felt that perspectives from their communities were missing from mainstream analyses of human rights movements in their country. However, a minority of participants expressed scepticism about the study. In Egypt, for example, a woman did not answer questions in detail, explaining that “international organisations take advantage of human rights defenders on the ground”. Another key observation was that the participants in the study were not accustomed to being interviewed about their personal experiences of insecurity, risk and wellbeing. Some had been interviewed repeatedly about their work, but not

18 Alice M. Nah about their thoughts and feelings about risk and activism in this way. The interview process itself prompted self-reflection and contemplation about the rhythms, characteristics – even dysfunctions – of human rights movements experiencing repression. As a researcher from Indonesia observed, “Most human rights defenders don’t have the luxury to reflect … the research process was useful as a sounding board, a space to think about their work and lives”. Recalling the response of a woman defender in particular, the researcher observed, “[She] expressed surprise and gratitude that someone paid attention to her wellbeing and security as normally, [the research] that she has been involved in has been more related to the people that she works with, not herself.” The defenders in this study shared intimate details about their experiences. One participant in Colombia said that it was the second time in her life she had shared specific experiences of violence. When asked if she wanted to stop the interview, she said she preferred to continue, as she found it comforting to share what she went through. Across the study, we found varying levels of reflection amongst participants about their own security. Some demonstrated technical expertise on the topics of security and protection, while others recognised that they faced threats and needed to be careful but did not know what to do. Some participants questioned the need for security measures as they had not done anything wrong – after all, they had nothing to hide and were not criminals. A researcher in Indonesia observed how some defenders “said they didn’t have protection, but they realised [through the interview] that they have their own protection ‘naturally’”, that is the form of self-protection measures and ‘informal’ protection initiatives from family, friends and neighbours. The interviews and focus groups were emotional processes. In Egypt, in particular, the period of study coincided with a time when human rights defenders had fallen from grace – having been celebrated as the heroes of the 2011 Revolution and buoyed by public support, they were now being stigmatised, criminalised and subjected to intense state repression. As one of the researchers observed, “There was a strong sense of sadness during the interviews; they wanted to continue their work, but they had not healed from that … [their sentiment was] ‘fighting the regime is not the hardest part … we’ve done it, we could keep bringing down these regimes … that’s not the biggest challenge, the biggest challenge is how we deal with our brokenness, our trauma’”. Across the five countries, the researchers observed the importance of empathic interviewing; of creating a safe space for participants (physically and psychologically); of listening, rephrasing and adapting interview questions; and enabling participants to direct the flow of the interviews and to choose their levels of disclosure. As a researcher in Mexico observed, “Some participants with the worst episodes of repression told me that they did not feel ready to talk about them”. In such cases, the researchers did not press for details. A researcher in Kenya observed, “Some of the interviews were very painful to conduct, and emotionally quite exhausting. And it’s always very difficult to know what would be the appropriate way to show compassion, or really, just more generally how to act, during such situations …”.

Introduction 19 Finally, the research process itself highlighted some of the dynamics of human rights movements that we uncovered in this study. Firstly, some participants did not use human rights language to frame their activism. Some entered activism by accident of circumstance – they spoke up when they saw something wrong. Some did not consider themselves to be human rights defenders or chose not to use this term to refer to themselves because they had reservations about its meaning. Secondly, some defenders were too busy to participate in the study. As a researcher from Mexico observed, “For me the principal problem is time; human rights defenders are so busy here, they are not even taking two hours to go to the physician, or spending time with their kids; they are in the midst of important work, cases, and repression – so even if they consider these kind of studies to be important, of course, this is not their priority”. In the interviews and focus groups, participants spoke about having high workloads, long hours and not having enough time for their work, much less to think about, plan for or implement security measures. In some cases participants didn’t feel that they were at risk, even though they were subject to threats and attacks. They recognised that they and other defenders normalised risk, insecurity, threats and attacks, which they found worrying upon reflection. During the interviews, the defenders tended to focus on the risks that others faced – in particular, victims of human rights violations and their colleagues and communities – seeing these as being more significant and intense than those they experienced themselves. Across all five countries, the topic that was the hardest to discuss was their mental and emotional wellbeing. As a researcher in Kenya observed, “Many did not at first understand the question – a finding in itself”. The topic had to be approached carefully and in different ways. A researcher observed that sometimes participants “did not have the language to talk about harm”. When this topic was explored, it opened up complex, multifaceted and gendered discussions about fatigue, guilt, trauma, anxiety, depression, burnout and the desperate need for, but the impossibilities of, self-care in the face of human suffering. A key aim of this project was to engage protection actors, policymakers and human rights defenders on research findings in ways that would strengthen the security and protection of human rights defenders. We shared and discussed research findings directly with some of the defenders who participated in this study and with local protection actors through workshops in Jakarta, Mexico City, Bogota and Nairobi.96 The aim of these workshops was to prompt reflections and conversations about the risks that defenders faced, how local human rights movements could respond collectively and how state actors in their contexts could be engaged to strengthen the protection of defenders at risk. We also produced a series of policy briefs on key issues and recommendations for practice, which were translated into Spanish, Kiswahili, Arabic and Bahasa Indonesia.97 We worked with artists from these five countries and the United Kingdom to produce a body of work – poems, songs, films, drawings, paintings, murals, illustrations, cartoons, textile art, digital art – aimed at communicating research findings from this project to wider audiences, all of which are available on a

20 Alice M. Nah multilingual website.98 These artistic works were inspired by a selection of anonymised interview transcripts, as well as by verbatim poems created by J.A. Mensah from these transcripts, some of which are included in this book.

Organization of the book The next five chapters focus on each of the countries in the “Navigating Risk” project. In Chapter Two, Budi Hernawan and I examine the situation of human rights defenders in Indonesia. We highlight how power configurations between state authorities, proxies and corporations shape the risks that defenders face, particularly in the wake of Islamic populism. We highlight the specific threats and attacks that defenders experience, noting that these affected families and loved ones. We observe that in spite of the popularity of human rights discourses in the post-Suharto era and Indonesia’s formal commitments to international human rights instruments, the term “human rights defender” is not commonly used amongst activists and is often seen as coming from “outside” or “the West”. We examine the dilemmas that defenders face as they practise the ethics of tanpa pamrih (selflessness), noting that while they are deeply committed to their causes, they also experience the costs of activism. We note significant gaps in the way the Indonesian state approaches the protection of human rights defenders. As a result, defenders rely significantly on self-protection and support from informal networks to continue in the face of risks. In Chapter Three, Ellen Husseiny and I focus on the impacts of repression on human rights defenders in Egypt since the 2011 Revolution.99 We analyse the power of state authorities and the media in stigmatising human rights defenders, producing feelings of misspent hope, disappointment, fear and anxiety. We examine the ways in which repression affects the relationships between defenders and their families, communities, fellow defenders and the public, with particular attention to women human rights defenders and LGBTIQA* defenders. We highlight the importance of attending to the emotional dynamics of human rights activism. In Chapter Four, Irina Ichim and Patrick Mutahi focus on the protection of defenders in Kenya, examining the ways in which formal protection mechanisms organised by state and civil society actors intersect with informal protection practices provided by friends, family and community members. They focus on the socio-geographies of security, noting how the illegibility of certain spaces and places to outsiders become incorporated into self-protection. They highlight the limitations of formal protection mechanisms, including impediments such as bureaucracy, resource constraints and geographical distance. They call for protection mechanisms that are more decentralised, accessible and integrated with informal protection measures. In Chapter Five, Patricia Bartley, Erick Monterrosas and Paola Pacheco Ruiz analyse the ways in which defenders in Mexico mount resistance in a hostile and insecure political environment. They provide a critical assessment of the Federal Mechanism for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders and Journalists

Introduction 21 (Mecanismo Federal para la Protección de Personas Defensoras de Derechos Humanos y Periodistas). They examine civil society strategies for building the legitimacy and political visibility of defenders, aimed at creating safer environments and defusing threats in the complex territorial environment of diverse perpetrators in Mexico. They also highlight the issue of gender discrimination within human rights movements, and the importance of self and collective care as strategies for sustainable activism. In Chapter Six, Peter Cousins and Emily Schmitz examine the situation of human rights defenders in Colombia, including the specific challenges faced by communities of defenders such as campesino (small farmers), indigenous, and Afro-Colombian defenders. They note the ways in which such collectives protect themselves, such as through the formation of neutral zones, institutions such as the indigenous guard, and the use of international accompaniment. They analyse the operations of the National Protection Unit (Unidad Nacional de Proteccion, UNP), the Colombian state’s protection mechanism for human rights defenders at risk, highlighting criticisms raised by defenders. They draw attention to the significance of impunity in compromising protection efforts and in destroying trust between defenders at risk and state authorities. In the final chapter, drawing on data collected across all five states, I analyse key factors that shape the risks that defenders face and put forward proposals for how the protection of defenders should be reimagined and practised.

22 Alice M. Nah Greater than love Pain

absence,

greater than love

some people do not know

what it is to see a chair or a bed

that will never be occupied

by your daughter.

I have seen a lot of anonymous deaths

of women.

Sometimes a mother comes to me

in desperation,

and I can only deliver to her

a skull.

This is not in the news.

My organisation has suffered

been ostracized.

I believe in the work,

this is not for celebrity

this is not paid.

I protest

I propose

structural change.

Even if I am not here,

I left something,

we left something.

Today I came

to see you,

don’t you think I am tired?

We need energy to help.

I want to continue.

I have security measures,

I need health measures.

I take medicines, I have diabetes,

pressure problems.

Almost in a coma,

I took pills

Introduction 23 I could not move

I do not want to become an addict.

I have security measures,

I need health measures,

I cannot do that alone.

Pain

absence,

greater than love

some people do not know.

Composed by J.A. Mensah

This verbatim poem was created from the interview transcript of a woman human rights defender in Mexico working on women’s rights and enforced disappearances.

Notes 1 This acronym refers to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, intersex, queer and asexual, with * denoting what letters and words don’t yet describe concerning gender and sexuality. 2 Michel Forst, World Report on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders, December 2018, accessed 25 May 2020, https://www.protecting-defenders.org/sites/protecting-d efenders.org/files/UNSR%20HRDs-%20World%20report%202018.pdf. 3 Front Line Defenders, Front Line Defenders Global Analysis 2019, Blackrock: Front Line Defenders, 2020, 7, accessed 25 May 2020, https://www.frontlinedefenders.org/ sites/default/files/global_analysis_2019_web.pdf. 4 Todd Landman. “Holding the Line: Human Rights Defenders in the Age of Terror”. The British Journal of Politics and International Relations 8, 2 (2006): 129, 131. 5 General Assembly resolution 53/144, Declaration on the Right and Responsibility of Individuals, Groups and Organs of Society to Promote and Protect Universally Recognized Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms, A/RES/53/144 (8 March 1999), accessed 25 May 2020, https://undocs.org/en/A/RES/53/144. 6 Amnesty International, Breaching the Walls of Silence, AI Index: IOR 40/07/95 (August 1995), 5, accessed 25 May 2020, https://www.amnesty.org/download/Documents/17 2000/ior400071995en.pdf. 7 General Assembly resolution 53/144; United Nations, General Assembly, Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders, A/66/203 (28 July 2011), accessed 25 May 2020, https://undocs.org/A/66/203. 8 General Assembly resolution 53/144, Article 10. 9 Karen Bennett, Danna Ingleton, Alice M. Nah and James Savage. “Critical Perspectives on the Security and Protection of Human Rights Defenders”. The International Journal of Human Rights 19, no. 7 (2015): 883; Nah, Alice M., Karen Bennett, Danna Ingleton and James Savage. “A Research Agenda for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders”. Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (2013): 401. 10 Bennett, Ingleton, Nah and Savage. “Critical Perspectives on the Security and Protection of Human Rights Defenders”, 884. 11 United Nations, General Assembly, Human Rights Council, “Report of the Special Rapporteur on the situation of human rights defenders, Margaret Sekaggya”, A/

24 Alice M. Nah 12 13 14 15 16 17

18

19 20

21

22

23 24

HRC/25/55 (23 December 2013), accessed 25 May 2020, https://undocs.org/en/A/ HRC/25/55. United Nations, General Assembly, Human Rights Council, “Report of the Special Rapporteur on the situation of human rights defenders”, A/HRC/31/55 (1 February 2016), accessed 25 May 2020, https://undocs.org/en/A/HRC/31/55. Hans Thoolen, “Human Rights Awards for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders”, Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (November 2013): 548. Liam Mahony & L.E, Eguren, Unarmed Bodyguards: International Accompaniment for the Protection of Human Rights (West Hartford, CT: Kumarian Press, 1997). Maik Müller, Temporary Shelter and Relocation Initiatives: Perspectives of Managers and Participants (Stuttgart: ifa, 2019). “Ensuring Protection – European Union Guidelines on Human Rights Defenders”, European Union, accessed 25 May 2020, https://eeas.europa.eu/sites/eeas/files/eu_gu idelines_hrd_en.pdf. This is likely due in part to the ‘information paradox’ identified by Margaret Keck and Kathryn Sikkink – that is, human rights violations and abuses may appear to be worse than before because activists are better at producing and circulating information. See Margaret Keck and Kathryn Sikkink, Activists Beyond Borders: Advocacy Networks in International Politics (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998), 194; Anne Marie Clark and Kathryn Sikkink, Information Effects and Human Rights Data: Is the Good News about Increased Human Rights Information Bad News for Human Rights Measures?, Human Rights Quarterly, 35, no. 3 (August 2013): 542. A rich body of work is captured in four Special Issues on human rights defenders: Journal of Human Rights Practice, 5, 3 (2013); International Journal of Human Rights 19, no. 7 (2015) and SUR: International Journal on Human Rights, 14, no. 26 (December 2017) and 15, no. 30 (August 2020). See https://securityofdefendersproject.org/, accessed 25 May 2020. I thank Patricia Bartley, Peter Cousins, Sylvain Lefebvre, Ali Gharavi, Martin Jones and Erick Monterrosas for their comments on earlier versions of this chapter. I also thank Katrina Maliamauv and Patricia Bartley for their assistance with data analysis. All mistakes remain my own. CIVICUS, State of Civil Society Report 2019: The Year in Review (Johannesburg: CIVICUS, March 2019), 6, accessed 25 May 2020, https://www.civicus.org/docume nts/reports-and-publications/SOCS/2019/state-of-civil-society-report-2019_executive -summary.pdf. The Political Terror Scale, 2019 PTS Release, accessed on 25 May 2020, http://www .politicalterrorscale.org/archive/Release2019/. Researchers using the Political Terror Scale reported that in 2018, 38 of 197 countries or territories (19.3 percent) were rated at level four (defined as “Civil and political rights violations have expanded to large numbers of the population. Murders, disappearances and torture are a common part of life. In spite of its generality, on this level terror affects those who interest themselves in politics or ideas”), and five (defined as “Terror has expanded to the whole population. The leaders of these societies place no limits on the means or thoroughness with which they pursue personal or ideological goals”). See The Political Terror Scale, Documentation: Coding Rules, accessed 25 May 2020, http://www.politicalterrorscale .org/Data/Documentation.html. International Center for Not-for-Profit Law, “Survey of Trends Affecting Civic Space: 2015–16”, Global Trends in NGO Law 7, no. 4 (September 2016), 2. Eran Shore argues that such legislation has a negative impact on civil liberties in countries with moderate levels of repression but that this diminishes or disappears in non-repressive countries and reverses in highly repressive countries. Eran Shore, “Counterterrorist Legislation Effects on Human Rights and Civil Liberties: A Global Perspective”, in Shor, E., and Hoadley, S. (eds) International Human Rights and Counter-Terrorism (Singapore: Springer, 2019). See also Landman, “Holding the

Introduction 25 25

26 27 28

29

30

31

32 33 34

35 36 37 38 39 40

Line”, 124, and Hicks, N. and McClintock, M., eds, Defending Security: The Rights to Defend Rights in an Age of Terrorism (New York: Human Rights First, 2004), ii. Maina Kiai. 2016: The Year in Assembly and Association Rights (UN Special Rapporteur on the Rights to Freedom of Peaceful Assembly and of Association, 2017), 2, accessed 25 May 2020, http://freeassembly.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/UNSR -FOAA-annual-report-2016-online.pdf. Ibid, 2. Philip Alston, “The Populist Challenge to Human Rights”, Journal of Human Rights Practice 9, 1 (February 2017): 1. Women Human Rights Defenders International Coalition, Gendering Documentation: A Manual for and about Women Human Rights Defenders (Women Human Rights Defenders International Coalition, 2015), accessed 25 May 2020, https://defendi ngwomen-defendingrights.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/GENDERING-DOCUM ENTATION-FINAL-3-min.pdf. Kováts E and Põim M, eds. Gender as Symbolic Glue: The Position and Role of Conservative and Far Right Parties in the Anti-Gender Mobilizations in Europe (Foundation for European Progressive Studies und Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung, 2015), 20, accessed 25 May 2020, https://library.fes.de/pdf-files/bueros/budapest/11382.pdf; Kováts E, ed. Solidarity in Struggle – Feminist Perspectives on Neoliberalism in EastCentral Europe (Budapest: Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung, 2016), 8, accessed 25 May 2020, http://library.fes.de/pdf-files/bueros/budapest/12796.pdf. Kuhar R and Paternotte D, Anti-Gender Campaigns in Europe. Mobilizing against Equality (London; New York: Rowman & Littlefield, 2017), 31. Currier, Ashley. Out in Africa: LGBT organizing in Namibia and South Africa. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2012, 49-50; Weiss, Meredith L. and Bosia, Michael J. Global Homophobia: States, Movements, and the Politics of Oppression (Chicago, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2013), 15. Just Associates, Rethinking Protection, Power and Movements: Lessons from Women Human Rights Defenders in Mesoamerica, Making Change Happen Edition 6 (Just Associates, 2017), 5. Accessed 25 May 2020, https://justassociates.org/sites/justass ociates.org/files/jass_mch6._rethinking_protection_power_movements_4.pdf. Ibid, 5. Business and Human Rights Resource Centre, “Human Rights Defenders and Business: January 2020 Snapshot”, accessed 25 May 2020m https://dispatches.business-humanri ghts.org/hrd-january-2020/index.html. Samuel Moyn, The Last Utopia: Human Rights in History (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2010); Stephen Hopgood, The Endtimes of Human Rights (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2013); Eric A. Posner, The Twilight of Human Rights Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014). Stephen Hopgood, Jack Snyder and Leslie Vinjamuri, “Introduction: Human Rights Past, Present, and Future”, in Human Rights Futures, eds. Stephen Hopgood, Jack Snyder, and Leslie Vinjamuri (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 2. Thomas Risse, “Human Rights in Areas of Limited Statehood: From the Spiral Model to Localisation and Translation”, in Human Rights Futures, eds. Stephen Hopgood, Jack Snyder and Leslie Vinjamuri (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 138–139. Ibid, 141. Leslie Vinjamuri, “Human Rights Backlash”, in Human Rights Futures, eds. Stephen Hopgood, Jack Snyder and Leslie Vinjamuri (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 122. Kristin M. Bakke, Neil J. Mitchell, and Hannah M. Smidt, When States Crack Down on Human Rights Defenders, International Studies Quarterly, 64, No. 1 (2020): 85. Sally Engle Merry, “Transnational Human Rights and Local Activism: Mapping the Middle”, American Anthropologist, 108, No. 1 (2006): 40.

26 Alice M. Nah 41 Moisés Naím, “What is a Gongo? How Government-sponsored Groups Masquerade as Civil Society”, Foreign Policy, 160 (May / Jun 2007): 96; Laura K. Landolt, “Rival Transnational Advocacy Networks and Middle East Politics at the UN Human Rights Council”, in Routledge Handbook on Human Rights and the Middle East and North Africa, ed. Anthony Tirado Chase (London: Taylor and Francis, 2016), 162. 42 Hopgood, Snyder, Vinjamuri, “Introduction”, 21–22. 43 Ibid, 22. 44 Kathryn Sikkink. Evidence for Hope: Making Human Rights Work in the 21st Century. (Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2017), 25. 45 Alice M. Nah, “Networks and norm entrepreneurship amongst local civil society actors: advancing refugee protection in the Asia Pacific region”, The International Journal of Human Rights, 20, no. 2 (2016): 223–240. 46 César Rodríguez-Garavito, “The Future of Human Rights: From Gatekeeping to Symbiosis”, Sur - International Journal on Human Rights, 20 (2014): 499. 47 Clifford Bob, The International Struggle for New Human Rights (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009), 3. The importance of the space to develop ‘new human rights ideas’ is recognised in the Declaration on Human Rights Defenders, which affirms that “Everyone has the right, individually and in association with others, to develop and discuss new human rights ideas and principles and to advocate their acceptance” (Article 7). 48 Sam Dubberley, Elizabeth Griffin and Haluk Mert Bal. Making Secondary Trauma a Primary Issue: A Study of Eyewitness Media and Vicarious Trauma on the Digital Frontline. Istanbul: Eyewitness Media Hub, 2015, 21; Amy Joscelyne, Sarah Knuckey, Margaret L. Satterthwaite, Richard A. Bryant, Meng Li, Meng Qian, Adam D. Brown. “Mental health functioning in the human rights field: Findings from an international Internet-based survey.” PloS One 10, 12 (2015): 1; Satterthwaite, Margaret, Sarah Knuckey, Ria Singh Sawhney, Katie Wightman, Rohini Bagrodia, and Adam Brown. “From a “Culture of Unwellness” to Sustainable Advocacy: Organisational Responses to Mental Health Risks in the Human Rights Field”. Southern California Review of Law and Social Justice 28, no. 3 (2019): 443. 49 For a detailed examination of “activist burnout” see Gorski, Paul C. “Fighting Racism, Battling Burnout: Causes of Activist Burnout in Us Racial Justice Activists”. Ethnic and Racial Studies 42, no. 5 (2019): 668. Arlie Hochschild describes “emotional labour” as “the management of feeling to create a publicly observable facial and bodily display” for commercial purposes, differentiating it from “emotion work” which is done privately and is unpaid. Arlie Hochschild, The Managed Heart: Commercialization of Human Feeling (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), 7. 50 Kogan, Vanessa, “Protecting Human Rights Defenders in the North Caucasus: Reflections on Developments from 2009 to the Present”, Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (2013): 505. 51 Bennett, Ingleton, Nah and Savage, “Critical Perspectives on the Security and Protection of Human Rights Defenders”, 884. 52 Stephen D. Krasner, “Structural Causes and Regime Consequences: Regimes as Intervening Variables”, International Organization 36, 2 (1982): 185. 53 For a critical analysis of public policies for the protection of human rights defenders, see Luis Enrique Eguren, The Time in Now for Effective Public Policies to Protect the Right to Defend Human Rights (Brussels: Protection International and Centre for Justice and International Law, 2017). 54 “Ensuring Protection – European Union Guidelines on Human Rights Defenders”, European Union, accessed 25 May 2020, available on: https://eeas.europa.eu/sites/e eas/files/eu_guidelines_hrd_en.pdf. For an assessment of the implementation of the EU Guidelines, see Bennett, Karen. “European Union Guidelines on Human Rights Defenders: A Review of Policy and Practice Towards Effective Implementation”. The International Journal of Human Rights 19, no. 7 (2015): 908–34.

Introduction 27 55 European Commission, “EU Launches Innovative New Mechanism to Help Human Rights Defenders”, accessed 25 May 2020, available on https://ec.europa.eu/comm ission/presscorner/detail/en/IP_15_6278. 56 See also the Directory of Emergency / Rapid Response Grants compiled by the International Human Rights Funders Group in 2015 for a list of funding-oriented protection actors, accessed 25 May 2020. available on https://www.hrfn.org/wp-content/ uploads/2017/05/Directory_EmergencyResponseGrants_2015_0.pdf. 57 ProtectDefenders.eu, “Funding Available for Human Rights Defenders”, Brussels, ProtectDefenders.eu, 2017, accessed 25 May 2020, available on https://www.hrfn.org/ wp-content/uploads/2018/01/hrd-funding-study_final.pdf. 58 Henry Shue, Basic Rights: Subsistence, Affluence and U.S. Foreign Policy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980). 59 Risse, “Human Rights in Areas of Limited Statehood”, 141. 60 A/HRC/31/55, 7. 61 A/HRC/25/55, 20. 62 Sylvain Lefebvre, in discussion with the author, email, May 2020. 63 General Assembly resolution 53/144, Article 1. 64 Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, Human Rights Defenders: Protecting the Right to Defend Human Rights, Fact Sheet No. 29, (Geneva: OHCHR, April 2004), 2. 65 Ibid, 6. 66 The Fact Sheet discusses a third point – that the human rights defender does not have to be “correct in his or her arguments to be a genuine defender” and that the definition of a human rights defender depends on the rights they defend and their rights to do so (p. 9). 67 Clifford Bob, The International Struggle for New Human Rights, 3. 68 Raghad Jaraisy and Tamar Feldman. “Protesting for Human Rights in the Occupied Palestinian Territory: Assessing the Challenges and Revisiting the Human Rights Defender Framework”. Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (2013): 427. 69 Luis Enrique Eguren Fernández and Champa Patel, “Towards Developing a Critical and Ethical Approach for Better Recognising and Protecting Human Rights Defenders”, The International Journal of Human Rights, 19, no. 7 (2015): 896. 70 Ibid, 904. 71 Sylvain Lefebvre. Rethinking the Protection of Human Rights Defenders: International Roundtable. (Brussels: Protection International, 2017), 6. 72 This approach assumes that human rights can be practised with neutrality, similar to humanitarianism, underplaying political dimensions in the struggle for human rights and that politics is often the most powerful way of advancing human rights. 73 A notable exception is Protection International, who emphasises the importance of protecting collectives, see: Alonso, Sarah Pastor. Collective Protection of Human Rights Defenders: A Collective Approach to the Right to Defend Human Rights (Brussels: Protection International, 2018). 74 Lefebvre, Sylvain. “Rethinking the Protection of Human Rights Defenders”, 7; Malkova, Polina. “Exploring the Term ‘Human Rights Defender’ through the Lens of Professionalisation in Human Rights Practice: A Case-Study of Russia.”, Working Paper 3, Human Rights Defender Hub Working Paper Series (York: Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York, 2018). 75 Doug McAdam, “Recruitment into High-Risk Activism: The Case of Freedom Summer”, American Journal of Sociology, 92 (1986): 67. 76 Ali Gharavi and Fieke Jansen, “Crisis Response: Creating Support Structures for a Healthy and Efficient Security and Response Ecosystem”, unpublished white paper, May 2020, 5–6. 77 Almanzar, N. A. P. & Herring, C. “Sacrificing for the Cause: Another Look at HighRisk/ Cost Activism”, Race and Society, 7 (2004): 127.

28 Alice M. Nah 78 Wiltfang, G. L. & McAdam, D. “The Costs and Risks of Social Activism: A Study of Sanctuary Movement Activism”, Social Forces 69, no. 4 (1991): 989. 79 Almanzar and Herring, “Sacrificing for the Cause”, 127; Wiltfang and McAdam, “The Costs and Risks of Social Activism”, 1005. 80 Deborah Lupton, “Risk and Emotion: Towards an Alternative Theoretical Perspective.” Health, Risk and Society, 15, no. 8 (2013): 638. 81 Mary Douglas, Risk and Blame: Essays in Cultural Theory (London: Routledge, 1992), 29; Deborah Lupton, Risk, 2nd edition (London: Routledge, 2013), 45. 82 Pat O’Malley and Stephen Mugford, “Crime, Excitement and Modernity.” In Varieties of Criminology: Readings from a Dynamic Discipline, edited by G. Barak (Westport, CT: Praeger Publishers, 1994), 189. 83 Deborah Lupton, Risk, 2nd edition (London: Routledge, 2013), 152. 84 Jeff Goodwin and Steven Pfaff, “Emotion Work in High-rRsk Social Movements: Managing Fear in the US and East German Civil Rights Movements” In Jeff Goodwin, James M. Jasper, & Francesca Polletta (Eds.), Passionate Politics: Emotions and Social Movements, 284, Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2001. 85 While academics differentiate carefully between security and safety, in practice, for many human rights defenders and protection actors, these concepts are synonymous. For discussions about the multiple and shifting definitions of security, see David J Brooks. “What Is Security: Definition through Knowledge Categorization.” Security Journal 23, 3 (2010): 225–39; Ranasinghe, Prashan. 2013. “Discourse, Practice and the Production of the Polysemy of Security”. Theoretical Criminology 17, no. 1: 89–107. 86 Enrique Eguren and Marie Caraj. New Protection Manual for Human Rights Defenders. 3rd Edition (Brussels: Protection International, 2008); Front Line. Workbook on Security: Practical Steps for Human Rights Defenders at Risk (Blackrock: Front Line, 2011). 87 “What is Holistic Security?”, Holistic Security, Tactical Tech, accessed 25 May 2020, https://holistic-security.tacticaltech.org/chapters/prepare/chapter-1-1-what-is-holistic -security.html. 88 “What is Holistic Security?”, Holistic Security, Tactical Tech, accessed 25 May 2020, https://holistic-security.tacticaltech.org/chapters/prepare/chapter-1-1-what-is-holistic -security.html. Audra Lorde’s note “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is selfpreservation, and that is an act of political warfare” has become a feminist touchstone. Audra Lorde, A Burst of Light and Other Essays (Ithaca, New York: Firebrand Books, 1988), 131. 89 Alice M. Nah, “Navigating Mental and Emotional Wellbeing in Risky Forms of Human Rights Activism”, Social Movement Studies, DOI: 10.1080/14742837.2019.1709432 90 Feminist scholar Kimberle Crenshaw introduced the concept of intersectionality to explain how different axes of identity – such as gender and race – interact in the lived experiences of Black women. See: Kimberle Crenshaw, “Demarginalizing the Intersection of Race and Sex: A Black Feminist Critique of Antidiscrimination Doctrine, Feminist Theory and Antiracist Politics”, University of Chicago Legal Forum 1, 8 (1989): 139. See also Susan McKay, “Women, Human Security, and Peace-building: A Feminist Analysis”, in Conflict and Human Security: A Search for New Approaches of Peace-Building, ed. H. Shinoda and H. Jeong (Hiroshima: Institute for Peace Science, Hiroshima University, 2004): 158-163. 91 Beth Woroniuk, “Women’s Empowerment in the Context of Human Security: A Discussion Paper”, Joint Workshop of the UN Inter-Agency Committee on Women and Gender Equality and the OECD/DAC Working Party on Gender Equality on Women’s Empowerment in the Context of Human Security, 7–8 December 1999, Bangkok, Thailand, accessed 25 May 2020, https://www.un.org/womenwatch/ianwge/collabor ation/Rep1999_WE.PDF. 92 Jane Barry and Vahida Nainar, Women Human Rights Defenders’ Security Strategies: Insiste, Resiste, Persiste, Existe (Ottawa: Urgent Action Fund for Women’s Human Rights, Kvinna Till Kvinna, Front Line Defenders, 2008), 87.

Introduction 29 93 Ibid, 87–88. 94 Ibid, 88. 95 This study focused on countries in the Global South where discourses and practices on human rights defenders have taken root, in some contexts more than others. However, human rights defenders in the Global North also face risks, and it is critical for scholars and protection actors to analyse the dynamics that underpin their experiences. See for example: Freek van der Vet & Laura Lyytikäinen, “Violence and Human Rights in Russia: How Human Rights Defenders Develop their Tactics in the Face of Danger, 2005–2013”, The International Journal of Human Rights 19, 7 (2015), 979–998; Cynthia Soohoo & Diana Hortsch, “Who is a Human Rights Defender – An Essay on Sexual and Reproductive Rights Defenders”, University of Miami Law Review 65, no. 3 (Spring 2011): 981–998. 96 We had intended to do the same in Cairo, but judged that that the security risks of bringing defenders and protection actors together were too high. We organised these workshops in collaboration with Protection International in Indonesia, Peace Bridges International in Mexico, Fellowship of Reconciliation Peace Presence (FORPP) in Colombia, and the National Coalition of Human Rights Defenders (NCHRD-K) in Kenya. 97 Nah, A.M. Wellbeing, Risk, and Human Rights Practice, Human Rights Defender Hub Policy Brief 1, Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York: York, 2017; Nah, A.M. Indonesia: Develop Formal Mechanisms to Protect Human Rights Defenders at Risk, Human Rights Defender Hub Policy Brief 2, Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York: York, 2017; Nah, A.M. Strengthening Security Training for Defenders at Risk, Human Rights Defender Hub Policy Brief 3, Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York: York, 2017; Katrina Maliamauv and Alice M. Nah, Families and Loved Ones in the Security and Protection of Defenders at Risk, Human Rights Defender Hub Policy Brief 4, Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York: York, 2018; Nah, A.M., Katrina Maliamauv and Patricia Bartley, Countering the Stigmatization of Human Rights Defenders, Human Rights Defender Hub Policy Brief 5, Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York: York, 2018; Nah, A.M. and Hannah Dwyer Smith, Gender, Intersectionality, and Security, Human Rights, Defender Hub Policy Brief 6, Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York: York, 2018. 98 See https://securityofdefendersproject.org/, accessed 25 May 2020. 99 Ellen Husseiny is a pseudonym.

References Alonso, Sarah. Pastor. Collective Protection of Human Rights Defenders: A Collective Approach to the Right to Defend Human Rights. Brussels: Protection International, 2018. Alston, Philip. “The Populist Challenge to Human Rights.” Journal of Human Rights Practice 9, no. 1 (February 2017): 1–15. Amnesty International. Breaching the Walls of Silence. AI Index: IOR 40/07/95 (August 1995): 5. Accessed May 25, 2020. www.amnesty.org/download/Documents/172000/ ior400071995en.pdf. Bakke, Kristin M, Neil J Mitchell, and Hannah M Smidt. “When States Crack Down on Human Rights Defenders.” International Studies Quarterly 64, no. 1 (2020): 85–96. Bennett, Karen. “European Union Guidelines on Human Rights Defenders: A Review of Policy and Practice Towards Effective Implementation.” The International Journal of Human Rights 19, no. 7 (2015): 908–34. Bennett, Karen, Danna Ingleton, Alice M Nah, and James Savage. “Critical Perspectives on the Security and Protection of Human Rights Defenders.” The International Journal of Human Rights 19, no. 7 (2015): 883–95.

30 Alice M. Nah Bob, Clifford. The International Struggle for New Human Rights. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009. Brooks, David J. “What Is Security: Definition Through Knowledge Categorization.” Security Journal 23, no. 3 (2010): 225–39. CIVICUS. State of Civil Society Report 2019: The Year in Review. Johannesburg: CIVICUS, March 2019. Clark, Anne Marie, and Kathryn Sikkink. “Information Effects and Human Rights Data: Is the Good News About Increased Human Rights Information Bad News for Human Rights Measures?” Human Rights Quarterly 35 (2013): 539–68. Crenshaw, Kimberle. “Demarginalizing the Intersection of Race and Sex: A Black Feminist Critique of Antidiscrimination Doctrine, Feminist Theory and Antiracist Politics.” University of Chicago Legal Forum 1, no. 8 (1989): 139–67. Currier, Ashley. Out: LGBT Organizing in Namibia and South Africa. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2012. Douglas, Mary. Risk and Blame: Essays in Cultural Theory. London: Routledge, 1992. Dubberley, Sam, Elizabeth Griffin, and Haluk Mert Bal. Making Secondary Trauma a Primary Issue: A Study of Eyewitness Media and Vicarious Trauma on the Digital Frontline. Istanbul: Eyewitness Media Hub, 2015. Eguren, Enrique, and Marie Caraj. New Protection Manual for Human Rights Defenders, 3rd ed. Brussels: Protection International, 2008. Eguren, Fernández, Luis Enrique, and Champa Patel. “Towards Developing a Critical and Ethical Approach for Better Recognising and Protecting Human Rights Defenders.” The International Journal of Human Rights 19, no. 7 (2015): 896–907. Eguren, Luis Enrique. The Time in Now for Effective Public Policies to Protect the Right to Defend Human Rights. Brussels: Protection International and Centre for Justice and International Law, 2017. Front Line Defenders. Front Line Defenders Global Analysis 2019. Blackrock: Front Line Defenders, 2020. Gharavi, Ali, and Fieke Jansen, “Crisis Response: Creating Support Structures for a Healthy and Efficient Security and Response Ecosystem.” Unpublished white paper, May 2020. Gorski, Paul C. “Fighting Racism, Battling Burnout: Causes of Activist Burnout in Us Racial Justice Activists.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 42, no. 5 (2019): 667–87. Hicks, N, and M McClintock, eds. Defending Security: The Rights to Defend Rights in an Age of Terrorism. New York: Human Rights First, 2004. Hochschild, Arlie. The Managed Heart: Commercialization of Human Feeling. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983. Hopgood, Stephen. The Endtimes of Human Rights. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2013. Hopgood, Stephen, Jack Snyder, and Leslie Vinjamuri. “Introduction: Human Rights Past, Present, and Future.” In Human Rights Futures, edited by Stephen Hopgood, Jack Snyder, and Leslie Vinjamuri, 1–23. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017. International Center for Not-for-Profit Law. “Survey of Trends Affecting Civic Space: 2015–16.” Global Trends in NGO Law 7, no. 4 (September 2016): 1–21. Joscelyne, Amy, Sarah Knuckey, Margaret L Satterthwaite, Richard A Bryant, Meng Li, Meng Qian, and Adam D Brown. “Mental Health Functioning in the Human Rights Field: Findings from an International Internet-Based Survey.” PloS One 10, no. 12 (2015): 1–12. Just Associates. Rethinking Protection, Power and Movements: Lessons from Women Human Rights Defenders in Mesoamerica, Making Change Happen Edition 6. Just

Introduction 31 Associates, 2017. https://justassociates.org/sites/justassociates.org/files/jass_mch6._r ethinking_protection_power_movements_4.pdf Keck, Margaret, and Kathryn Sikkink. Activists Beyond Borders: Advocacy Networks in International Politics. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998. Kogan, Vanessa. “Protecting Human Rights Defenders in the North Caucasus: Reflections on Developments from 2009 to the Present.” Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (2013): 500–11. Kováts, Eszter, ed. Solidarity in Struggle – Feminist Perspectives on Neoliberalism in East-Central Europe. Budapest: Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung, 2016. Accessed May 25, 2020. http://library.fes.de/pdf-files/bueros/budapest/12796.pdf. Kováts, Eszter, and Maari Põim, eds. Gender as Symbolic Glue: The Position and Role of Conservative and Far Right Parties in the Anti-Gender Mobilizations in Europe. Foundation for European Progressive Studies und Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung, 2015. Accessed May 25, 2020. https://library.fes.de/pdf-files/bueros/budapest/11382.pdf. Krasner, Stephen D. “Structural Causes and Regime Consequences: Regimes as Intervening Variables.” International Organization 36, no. 2 (1982): 185–205. Kuhar, Roman, and David Paternotte. Anti-Gender Campaigns in Europe. Mobilizing Against Equality. London and New York: Rowman & Littlefield, 2017. Landman, Todd. “Holding the Line: Human Rights Defenders in the Age of Terror.” The British Journal of Politics and International Relations 8, no. 2 (2006): 123–47. Landolt, Laura K. “Rival Transnational Advocacy Networks and Middle East Politics at the UN Human Rights Council.” In Routledge Handbook on Human Rights and the Middle East and North Africa, edited by Anthony Tirado Chase, 156–69. London: Taylor and Francis, 2016. Lefebvre, Sylvain. Rethinking the Protection of Human Rights Defenders: International Roundtable. Brussels: Protection International, 2017. Lorde, Audra. A Burst of Light and Other Essays. Ithaca: Firebrand Books, 1988. Lupton, Deborah. Risk, 2nd ed. London: Routledge, 2013. Lupton, Deborah. “Risk and Emotion: Towards an Alternative Theoretical Perspective.” Health, Risk and Society 15, no. 8 (2013): 634–47. Mahony, Liam, and Luis Enrique Eguren. Unarmed Bodyguards: International Accompaniment for the Protection of Human Rights. West Hartford, CT: Kumarian Press, 1997. Maliamauv, Katrina, and Alice M Nah. Families and Loved Ones in the Security and Protection of Defenders at Risk. Human Rights Defender Hub Policy Brief 4. Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York, York, 2018. Malkova, Polina. “Exploring the Term ‘Human Rights Defender’ Through the Lens of Professionalisation in Human Rights Practice: A Case-Study of Russia.” Working Paper No. 3. Human Rights Defender Hub Working Paper Series. Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York, York, 2018. McAdam, Doug. “Recruitment into High-Risk Activism: The Case of Freedom Summer.” American Journal of Sociology 92 (1986): 64–90. McKay, Susan. “Women, Human Security, and Peace-building: A Feminist Analysis.” In Conflict and Human Security: A Search for New Approaches of Peace-Building, edited by H Shinoda and H Jeong, 158–63. Hiroshima: Institute for Peace Science, Hiroshima University, 2004. Merry, Sally Engle. “Transnational Human Rights and Local Activism: Mapping the Middle.” American Anthropologist 108, no. 1 (2006): 38–51.

32 Alice M. Nah Moyn, Samuel. The Last Utopia: Human Rights in History. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2010. Müller, Maik. Temporary Shelter and Relocation Initiatives: Perspectives of Managers and Participants. Stuttgart: IFA, 2019. Nah, AM. “Networks and Norm Entrepreneurship Amongst Local Civil Society Actors: Advancing Refugee Protection in the Asia Pacific Region.” The International Journal of Human Rights 20, no. 2 (2016): 223–40. Nah, AM. Indonesia: Develop Formal Mechanisms to Protect Human Rights Defenders at Risk. Human Rights Defender Hub Policy Brief 2. Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York, York, 2017. Nah, AM. Strengthening Security Training for Defenders at Risk. Human Rights Defender Hub Policy Brief 3. Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York, York, 2017. Nah, AM. Wellbeing, Risk, and Human Rights Practice. Human Rights Defender Hub Policy Brief 1. Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York, York, 2017. Nah, AM, Karen Bennett, Danna Ingleton, and James Savage. “A Research Agenda for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders.” Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (2013): 401–20. Nah, AM, Katrina Maliamauv, and Patricia Bartley. Countering the Stigmatization of Human Rights Defenders. Human Rights Defender Hub Policy Brief 5. Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York, York, 2018. Nah, AM, and Hannah Dwyer Smith. Gender, Intersectionality, and Security, Human Rights. Defender Hub Policy Brief 6. Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York, York, 2018. Naím, Moisés. “What is a Gongo? How Government-sponsored Groups Masquerade as Civil Society.” Foreign Policy 160 (May/June 2007): 96–98. O’Malley, Pat, and Stephen Mugford. “Crime, Excitement, and Modernity.” In Varieties of Criminology: Readings from a Dynamic Discipline, edited by G Barak. Westport, CT: Praeger Publishers, 1994. Posner, Eric A. The Twilight of Human Rights Law. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Ranasinghe, Prashan. 2013. “Discourse, Practice and the Production of the Polysemy of Security.” Theoretical Criminology 17, no. 1 (2013): 89–107. Risse, Thomas. “Human Rights in Areas of Limited Statehood: From the Spiral Model to Localisation and Translation.” In Human Rights Futures, edited by Stephen Hopgood, Jack Snyder, and Leslie Vinjamuri, 135–58. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017. Rodgers, Kathleen. “‘Anger is Why We’re All Here’: Mobilizing and Managing Emotions in a Professional Activist Organization.” Social Movement Studies: Journal of Social, Cultural and Political Protest 9, no. 3 (2010): 273–91. Rodríguez-Garavito, César. “The Future of Human Rights: From Gatekeeping to Symbiosis.” Sur – International Journal of Human Rights 20 (2014): 499–509. Satterthwaite, Margaret, Sarah Knuckey, Ria Singh Sawhney, Katie Wightman, Rohini Bagrodia, and Adam Brown. “From a ‘Culture of Unwellness’ to Sustainable Advocacy: Organisational Responses to Mental Health Risks in the Human Rights Field.” Southern California Review of Law and Social Justice 28, no. 3 (2019): 443–554. Shor, Eran. “Counterterrorist Legislation Effects on Human Rights and Civil Liberties: A Global Perspective.” In International Human Rights and Counter-Terrorism, edited by Eran Shor and Stephen Hoadley, 203–18. Singapore: Springer, 2019.

Introduction 33 Shue, Henry. Basic Rights: Subsistence, Affluence and U.S. Foreign Policy. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980. Sikkink, Kathryn. Evidence for Hope: Making Human Rights Work in the 21st Century. Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2017. Soohoo, Cynthia, and Diana Hortsch. “Who is a Human Rights Defender – An Essay on Sexual and Reproductive Rights Defenders. ” University of Miami Law Review 65, no. 3 (Spring 2011): 981–98. Thoolen, Hans. “Human Rights Awards for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders.” Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (2013): 548. United Nations, General Assembly, Human Rights Council. “Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders, Margaret Sekaggya.” A/ HRC/25/55 (23 December 2013). https://undocs.org/en/A/HRC/25/55. United Nations, General Assembly, Human Rights Council. “Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders.” A/HRC/31/55 (1 February 2016). https://undocs.org/en/A/HRC/31/55. van der Vet, Freek, and Laura Lyytikäinen. “Violence and Human Rights in Russia: How Human Rights Defenders Develop Their Tactics in the Face of Danger, 2005–2013.” The International Journal of Human Rights 19, no. 7 (2015): 979–98. Vinjamuri, Leslie. “Human Rights Backlash.” In Human Rights Futures, edited by Stephen Hopgood, Jack Snyder, and Leslie Vinjamuri, 114–34. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017. Weiss, Meredith L, and Michael J Bosia. Global Homophobia: States, Movements, and the Politics of Oppression. Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2013. Wiltfang, Gregory L, and Doug McAdam. “The Costs and Risks of Social Activism: A Study of Sanctuary Movement Activism.” Social Forces 69, no. 4 (1991): 987–1010.

2

Dilemmas in the ethics of tanpa pamrih (selflessness) Risk and human rights activism in Indonesia Budi Hernawan and Alice M. Nah

Introduction1 On 20 September 2019, the East Java Regional Police named Veronica Koman, a woman human rights lawyer of the Alliance of Papuan Students (Aliansi Mahasiswa Papua), a “fugitive”, putting her on its most wanted list and issuing a red notice to Interpol for her arrest.2 Koman stood charged with incitement under the Electronic Information and Transactions Law, accused of spreading false information and provoking unrest by distributing through social media footage of a raid on a Papuan student dormitory in Surabaya on Indonesia’s Independence Day, 17 August 2019. The raid was carried out by police while the dormitory was surrounded by nationalist community organisations3 including the military-backed Islamist political organisation Islamic Defenders Front (FPI, Front Pembela Islam), the right-wing paramilitary group Pancasila Youth (Pemuda Pancasila) and the Communication Forum of Indonesian Veterans’ Children (Forum Komunikasi Putra-Putri Purnawirawan dan Putra Putri TNIPolri, FKPPI).4 The nationalist groups had assembled outside the dormitory the previous day in protest, following an unsubstantiated claim circulated on social media that the Papuan students had destroyed an Indonesian flag and thrown it in the sewer. During the raid the police and protesters used racial slurs against the Papuan students, calling them “monkeys”. It was this racist labelling and abuse of Papuan students studying in Java that inspired the large-scale demonstrations across Papua, not the distribution of footage through social media. The police eventually arrested the coordinator of the FKPPI and punished five police officers who were involved in the raid. The Governor of East Java, Kofifah Indar Parawangsa, also apologised publicly to Papuans for the racist language used against them.5 However, the charges against Koman have not been dropped. Both Koman and her parents have been harassed continually since, receiving death threats from anonymous sources, and Koman, currently exiled in Australia at the time of writing, has been unable to return home for fear of criminalisation. The actions of the police against Koman are emblematic of the pattern of treatment that human rights defenders receive from state authorities in Indonesia today. In this chapter, we first outline the changing political landscape in Indonesia. We then discuss the existing legal and formal institutional support available for

Dilemmas in the ethics of tanpa pamrih 35 the protection of human rights defenders. We identify different types of defenders, the perpetrators they contend with, and their experiences of dealing with risks and threats. We then examine how the risks that defenders face depend on their intersectional identities. We highlight that the term “human rights defenders” is not commonly used and tends to be reserved for a small minority of high profile activists. We explore the dilemmas that defenders face as they practise the ethics of tanpa pamrih (selflessness), including managing the impact of threats and attacks on their families, their struggles with mental and emotional wellbeing and the challenges associated with financial insecurity. We examine how defenders receive protection support from families, friends, neighbours and local communities, and the range of measures they take to protect themselves. We end with some recommendations for how the Indonesian state can develop institutional measures for the protection of human rights defenders at risk. This chapter draws upon interviews, focus groups and survey responses from 87 participants – 47 men, 39 women and one trans person – who promote and protect human rights in Ambon, Banda Aceh, Jakarta, Jayapura, Lhokseumawe, Malang, Manokwari, Morowali, Palu, Poso and Surabaya, and in surrounding areas. Data was collected between September 2015 and April 2016. The participants worked on a range of issues, including anti-corruption, freedom of religion, land rights, women’s rights, LGBTIQA* rights and the rights of people in conflict situations. The participants were between 23 and 70 years old, with a mean age of 39.8 years. They described themselves as having conducted human rights work between 1 and 50 years, with an average of around 10 years. Most (65 percent) described themselves as leading others in human rights work most of the time (rather than following others most of the time).

The changing political landscape for human rights activism Indonesia is one of the largest archipelago countries in the world, with 633 ethnic groups spread over 17,508 islands.6 Home to over 267 million people, of which over 87 percent are Muslims, it strives to be one of largest democracies in the world.7 The President is the head of state and the head of the government. The current President, Joko Widodo (popularly known as “Jokowi”) assumed office on 20 October 2014. Indonesia assumes prominent roles internationally. It is a nonpermanent member of the UN Security Council, a member of the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, and a member of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations. Indonesia was also recently re-elected as a member of the UN Human Rights Council, suggesting its willingness to be subject to international scrutiny for its human rights obligations. In the late 1990s, during President Suharto’s military dictatorship and as a response to violations and atrocities during that period, the language of human rights was popular among the public in Indonesia. Activists who promoted human rights were highly respected by communities across Indonesia who relied on their help. In May 1998, when the public forced Suharto to step down, Indonesia entered a new era of democratic transition, referred to now as Reformasi (reformation).

36

Budi Hernawan and Alice M. Nah

Indonesia formally adopted the language and framework of human rights in amendments to the 1945 Indonesian Constitution and its derivative legal systems. However, human rights protection has remained uneven and problematic over the past two decades, with critics highlighting that these institutional reforms have not translated into tangible impacts for individuals and communities who have suffered rights violations across the archipelago.8 Today, ideas about human rights – and thus about human rights defenders – are influenced significantly by Islamic populism, which Vedi Hadiz defines as “a variant of populism where the concept of the ummah (community of believers) substitutes for the concept of ‘the people’”.9 As Hadiz highlights, “While the ummah is traditionally understood in supranational terms, it has come to develop an increasingly national outlook as Islamic movements evolved through a concrete struggle against national authoritarian states”.10 The ulama (Muslim scholars) and their Islamic teachings have become more influential than human right defenders in shaping public opinion. The significance of Islamic populism was particularly visible during the 2017 mass mobilisations against and public denunciations of the Christian, ethnic Chinese governor of Jakarta, Basuki Tjahaja Purnama, known as “Ahok”, for allegedly insulting Islam during a speech in September 2016. Despite consistently high approval ratings leading up to the gubernatorial run-off election, Ahok eventually lost and was subsequently sentenced to two years of imprisonment for blasphemy. As Setijadi argues, Ahok’s defeat in Jakarta shows that the grounds of Islamic politics in the Indonesian capital are shifting rapidly. The hardliners’ successful politicisation of the blasphemy case showed that the core of conservative Islamist factions has become better organised, funded and politically connected, thus increasing their capacity to mobilise at key elections.11 Indonesia has become fertile ground for the propagation (dakwah) of conservative Islam, particularly over the past decade. The conservative turn in Islam12 has affected civic space, putting formidable challenges to human rights defenders. The SETARA Institute, a Jakarta-based NGO focusing on the issues of freedom of religion and beliefs, highlights a rise in the targeting of religious minorities over the past 12 years.13 According to them, five provinces – West Java, Jakarta, East Java, Central Java and Aceh – have the highest number of incidents of violations of the right to freedom of religion and beliefs. Outside of religious freedoms, there are specific groups that face significant societal intolerance. A survey by the Wahid Foundation in 2017 on levels of tolerance among of Indonesian Muslims found that the top two groups identified as being the most disliked group (kelompok yang tidak disukai) were communists (21.9 percent of 1,500 respondents) and LGBT persons (17.8 percent), echoing results from a similar survey conducted the previous year.14 A study by the Indonesian Institute of Sciences (Lembaga Ilmu Pengetahuan Indonesia, LIPI) conducted in 2019 found that respondents identified the LGBT issue and the

Dilemmas in the ethics of tanpa pamrih 37 Indonesian Communist Party (Parti Komunis Indonesia, PKI) as the third and fifth most serious threat to national integrity. While the ideology of communism might be considered anachronistic internationally, these findings indicate that part of the Indonesian public still believes that the remnants of the PKI – eradicated in 1965 through massacres – might be able to reconsolidate and launch an attack on the state. Indeed, in the presidential election of 2019, public fears related to communism were stoked in order to secure votes. Such public perceptions, fuelled in some cases by strong religious propagation through mainstream and social media, have fostered physical and verbal attacks on LGBTIQA* persons and those working with victims of the 1965 massacres, as well as impunity for perpetrators. Indonesia’s drive for economic development has impacted significantly on land and environmental rights. The large-scale acquisition of land (“land grabbing”) by states and corporations, in particular, has triggered conflicts with communities residing in those lands.15 Although legal reforms have been introduced since the fall of the New Order regime that recognise the claims of indigenous peoples to their lands in particular, the recognition of these rights lie in the hands of local state authorities who have discretionary power in deciding whether specific communities are recognised as indigenous.16 The Institute for Policy Research and Advocacy (Lembaga Studi dan Advokasi Masyarakat, ELSAM) found that over a nine-month period in 2017–2018, 254 environmental rights defenders were subject to threats and attacks by state actors and corporations, with 28 percent losing their homes.17

The institutionalisation of human rights in Indonesia Indonesia is party to almost all the core international human rights treaties.18 While compliance and the harmonisation of law remain outstanding challenges, the formal adoption of the international human rights framework provides basic legal protection for Indonesians. Furthermore, Indonesia’s commitment to international mechanisms allows both domestic and international actors to assess Indonesia’s compliance with its obligations under international human rights law. The Constitution of Indonesia (Undang-Undang Dasar) of 1945 has a chapter specifically dedicated to human rights (Chapter XA). Further, the Law on Human Rights (Law No. 39 of 1999) includes recognition of the right of people to “participate in protecting, upholding and promoting human rights” (Article 100). The Law on the Protection and Management of the Environment (Law No. 32 of 2009) states that “Everybody struggling for a right to proper and healthy environment may not be charged with criminal or civil offence” (Article 66), thus providing some legal protection to environmental rights defenders. However, a number of regulations and laws restrict the rights of human rights defenders. The freedom of association, for example, is restricted by laws such as the Regulation in Lieu of Law (Perppu) No. 2 of 2017 amending the Law on Mass Organisations (Ormas), which enables the government to ban organisations without judicial procedures, and which provides penalties for those in violation of the law including the death penalty for blasphemy.

38

Budi Hernawan and Alice M. Nah

Human rights defenders are often charged under various articles in the Criminal Code for rebellion or treason (makar), blasphemy, incitement, property damage, violence, “crimes against state security”, and defamation. The 2008 Electronic Information and Transaction Law, mentioned above, has also been used to charge human rights defenders for defamation and blasphemy. In addition, reforms to antiterrorism legislation have provided the military and police with wide-ranging powers that impact the rights of human rights defenders. Domestically, Indonesia has built national human rights institutions that promote and protect human rights, notably, the National Commission on Human Rights (Komisi Nasional Hak Asasi Manusia, Komnas HAM) in 1993, the National Commission on Anti-Violence against Women (Komisi Nasional Anti Kekerasan terhadap Perempuan, Komnas Perempuan) in 1998, the National Commission for Child Protection (Komnas Perlindungan Anak Indonesia (KPAI) in 2002 and the Institute for Protection of Witnesses and Victims (Lembaga Perlindungan Saksi dan Korban, LPSK) in 2008. The Ombudsman (Ombudsman Repubik Indonesia), which has overseen the implementation of public services since 2000, also plays a relevant role in the protection of human rights, in particular economic, social and cultural rights. Law No. 39 of 1999 on human rights provides Komnas HAM19 with the authority to investigate allegations of gross human rights violations, which could lead to prosecution by the Indonesian Attorney General. This law equips Komnas HAM with the authority to break the cycle of impunity embedded in state power, especially in Indonesia’s state security apparatus, a legacy of the authoritarian regime of Suharto’s New Order. Komnas Perempuan20 and KPAI21 on the other hand, were established through and operate under presidential decrees, a level below the status of law within Indonesia’s legal hierarchy. Unlike Komnas HAM, which has subpoena powers, Komnas Perempuan and KPAI have limited legal authority; they are only authorised to receive complaints, not to launch criminal investigations. Thus, whenever they find sufficient evidence to substantiate allegations of breaches of human rights law, they can only refer these to law enforcers. LPSK covers another side of protection. Similar to Komnas HAM, LPSK is mandated by Law No. 13 of 2004 to protect witnesses and/or victims of human rights violations who feel insecure or face threats. LPSK provides psychosocial and logistical support for victims to help them deal with the traumatic impacts of threat in a more systematic way. In order to be formally identified as a victim of human rights violations, individuals must be assessed and endorsed by Komnas HAM. In summary, at least theoretically, the Indonesian legal and institutional framework provides formal complaint mechanisms and protection for those who experience threats due to their legal status as witnesses or victims. However, implementation remains a significant problem. As the defenders in this study highlighted, their complaints to formal channels did not necessarily yield useful results. Indeed as critics have highlighted over the past quarter of a century, Komnas HAM has become dysfunctional and unable to fulfil its mandate.22 For example, Komnas HAM has failed to address the legacy of gross human rights violations in Aceh and Papua23 and to resolve cases pending from the Reformasi era. Komnas HAM has

Dilemmas in the ethics of tanpa pamrih 39 also suffered from poor financial accountability. The Indonesian National Financial Auditor (Badan Pemeriksa Keuangan Republik Indonesia, BPK) identified one of its commissioners as a suspect of financial fraud24 and the 2015 Komnas HAM financial report was marked with a disclaimer status – denoting that the BPK was unable to issue a legal opinion on the status of the report due to eight elements of fraud25 – for which the Commission recognised and apologised to the public.26 More broadly, as the Jakarta-based NGO KontraS (Komisi Untuk Orang Hilang dan Korban Tindak Kekerasan, Commission for the Disappeared and Victims of Violence) observes, the situation of human rights defenders is not high on the agenda of the Indonesian National Parliament and the government.27 A draft bill on human rights defenders proposed by the NGO Imparsial appeared in the 2010–2014 National Legislative Programme (Prolegnas), but is not currently listed as an agenda item for the House of Representatives (Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat Republic Indonesia) in 2019.

Challenges in defending human rights Despite the ethnic, cultural and religious diversity of the places in which the defenders operated, we found similar configurations of power between state authorities, proxies and corporations across the provinces in this study. The most common type of perpetrator mentioned by the defenders in this study were state actors, in particular, the police, military (Tentera Nasional Indonesia, TNI) and their auxiliary forces (Bantuan Kendali Operasi); the national intelligence agency (Badan Inteligen Negara); as well as members of parliament, regents (bupati), village heads and civil servants. State authorities, in particular the military, also often operate through proxies to diffuse their direct responsibilities.28 Defenders who lived through times of conflict and sectarian violence – in Aceh, Maluku, Central Sulawesi and Papua – spoke about grave dangers and insecurities that arose from the actions of non-state actors as well as the military and police during those times. The second most commonly mentioned type of perpetrator were corporations. They were particularly significant for those working on labour rights, land rights, environmental rights and issues related to natural resources. A number of defenders highlighted how corporations resorted to the use of force against those who scrutinised their unethical, and sometimes illegal, behaviour. Defenders in Ambon, Banda Aceh, Manokwari and Palu shared how corporations engaged in land grabbing. Defenders working with communities that resisted these corporations – for example, by providing legal aid, organising communities or conducting social impact analysis – were subject to threats and attacks from both state and non-state actors, often working in complicity. In some cases, the communities affected by the work of such corporations became fractured. As a labour rights activist supporting workers engaged in an industrial relations dispute with their company described, Workers are sacked and as a retaliation, the workers hijack company cars. In the meantime the company mobilises the workers’ neighbours with bribes to fight for the company’s interests. Therefore the workers are made to go headto-head with their neighbours, not the company.29

40

Budi Hernawan and Alice M. Nah

As such, community factions in favour of the actions of the corporations were also a source of threat to the defenders. Non-state actors such as vigilante groups, fundamentalist groups, religion-based mass organisations, militias,30 thugs, military or police-affiliated movements and armed separatist groups were also identified as perpetrators, particularly for defenders active on women’s rights, LGBTIQA* rights, religious freedom and the rights of minorities. Participants working on sensitive or taboo topics – such as the 1965 massacre of suspected communist party members and the rights of survivors,31 the rights of people living with HIV and sex worker rights – faced stigmatisation and risks. Participants in this study expressed worries about being unable to identify their perpetrators as it made it difficult for them to anticipate and prevent threats. Types of threats and attacks The type of threats and attacks most frequently mentioned by participants were being harassed and receiving threatening calls and messages as a consequence of their activism. The defenders in this study also described violent attacks. An anticorruption activist highlighted how his life was threatened when he investigated an allegation of corruption in Central Sulawesi: They ran over me in Tolitoli when we were investigating the [name redacted] corruption case. It was about 4.30am when I was driving my bike. All of a sudden, my friend and I saw three cars switching on their rear lights. I passed the first car and then the second car. Not long after, the second car hit me, so I was thrown into a ditch and dumped with my motorbike. Half-conscious, I saw two men approaching me carrying a paving block; they hit my head and I passed out.32 A human rights lawyer shared her experience of being attacked by an unknown group because she provided legal aid for clients in Papua: The most threatening situation occurred in December 2015 … [my colleague] and I were walking along the street in the town near the airport. He walked first and I was coming after him when somebody ran over to me. I later understood that he was trying to identify me for his mate. After walking about three metres, someone attacked me with a knife. My bag was genuine leather but it was cut off instantly and he ran away! So you can imagine how sharp the knife was. It was just within seconds. I didn’t feel anything until [my colleague] told me that I was bleeding and I found my left hand was cut.33 Physical threats are not limited to those who work for civil society organisations; they also extend to government officials who had a clear mandate from the state to serve the public interest. As a civil servant in Jayapura, a man, highlighted, my car [was hit] from the back. I was a bit injured but it was nothing serious … This is all about the corruption allegation that I discovered and put in my

Dilemmas in the ethics of tanpa pamrih 41 report. Nine officials were removed from their jobs and placed somewhere else. [The perpetrator] was summoned and told that he did not comply with the procedures.34 The defenders in this study described being subject to surveillance, as well as being investigated and charged with civil and criminal offences. There were also stigmatised publicly, sometimes through the mainstream media and social media outlets – for example, labelled as anti-development, anti-government, supporters of communists, anti-Islam, liberal or secular – which multiplied the threats against them. They highlighted how they were subject to digital security incidents, such as having their telephones tapped, websites hacked and social media profiles bombarded with threats. They also described how their colleagues had been killed or disappeared and how they feared that this might happen to them. Some expressed worries about being poisoned.35 Risks can arise suddenly, as a result of rumours or misinformation. As a defender working on the right to religious freedom in Aceh, a man, observed, The perpetrators are individuals who are fanatical about their belief, that their religion is right and other religions are wrong. They do not organise themselves, but they can be easily used by others who have interest … . As a human rights defender working on the freedom of religion, the highest risk is being killed and involuntary disappeared. We are facing the situation in Aceh where the perpetrators are fanatics who want to defend their religion. We can easily and uselessly die.36 Family members and other loved ones have also been affected by these threats, whether directly or indirectly. Such incidents had a deep psychological impact on the defenders we interviewed. A defender in Manokwari working on land rights and anticorruption, for example, highlighted the significant tensions he faced while investigating corruption by a prominent police officer, which also affected his family life. Every time, I got a phone call, “Sir, don’t you love your kids?” Oh, they targeted my kids. So I assigned someone to get my kids from school every day. I installed CCTV in my house. My wife was nervous and got cranky. But we learnt quickly to recover. We divided the work at home. If we have guests that we didn’t know, we never received them inside the house but directed them to sit under the big tree in my front yard. My kids would prepare coffee or snacks for the guests.37 A Christian priest in Banda Aceh persecuted for conducting religious services expressed how he prepared himself to face risks, but regretted the impact of attacks on his child, saying, I am concerned about the mental readiness of my family, particularly my children. Since [the attack on the church], my son, six years old at that time,

42

Budi Hernawan and Alice M. Nah has been very traumatised. He always feels anxious and fearful. If he hears something loud, he suddenly hugs his mother … I do not have any special treatment. There is no trauma healing.38

Similarly, a community organiser in Lhoksuemawe, North Aceh, who documented human rights violations, described the impact of her work on her parents, The threat also came to my house. My landline phone in my house often rang, and when we picked it up, there was no response from the caller. A few times, my mother picked up and heard threats warning her that her daughter should not come to the village if she wanted me alive. My mother was very worried, and I decided to move to Banda Aceh.39 Some defenders – in particular academics, journalists, medical professionals and civil servants – suffered professional consequences, for example, being demoted, transferred or fired. A university lecturer who became an expert witness in a court case against a company was put under pressure by senior levels of management for his involvement, and a fellow academic, a witness for the other side, called for his dismissal. Reflecting on his profession, he observed, “Not many lecturers are my allies in defending people’s rights. So, I feel scorned and humiliated on campus. They accuse me of having ‘NGO thinking’”.40 The defenders in this study contended with legacies of structural and communal conflict, which remain unresolved.41 In places with histories of sectarian violence, tensions persisted, affecting the way the actions of defenders were interpreted by local communities. Both the nation and the state of Indonesia have been resistant to the idea of establishing the truth of the past and more importantly, to learn lessons from past atrocities in order to prevent future recurrence. Although President Jokowi promised to resolve cases of past human rights violations in his presidential election campaigns in 2014 and 2019, a poll conducted in 2019 for Komnas HAM highlighted that 82.2 percent of 1,200 respondents from 34 provinces felt that past cases of human rights violations should be resolved but did not believe that the Jokowi government would be able to do it.42 In contrast to defenders operating under Suharto’s authoritarian regime, defenders today have to confront more diverse actors who are able to exert economic, social and political power to achieve their goals, including through proxies. Corruption and impunity prevail due to established networks of patronage and clientelism,43 which negatively impact the security of defenders.

Risk and the intersections of identity In this study, we found that the risks that defenders faced were linked to their intersectional identities and how these identities were interpreted in their localities. Women defenders, LGBTIQA* defenders and HIV+ defenders in particular, described the difficulties of living with discriminatory laws, practices and cultures. In Aceh – a province with special autonomous status and the sole province

Dilemmas in the ethics of tanpa pamrih 43 in Indonesia that has enacted some of the provisions of Islamic criminal law in the form of the Aceh Islamic Criminal Code (Qanun Jinayat), where 98 percent of the population are Muslim – actions by human rights defenders deemed contrary to Islam incur high risks.44 The Aceh Islamic Criminal Code criminalises gambling, alcohol consumption, khalwat (being in close proximity), apostasy, extramarital sex, adultery and same-sex relations, and permits caning as a form of punishment.45 A trans man working on the rights of LGBTIQA* people in Aceh said, Security related to my work does not exist, since being an LGBT person is a crime under the Islamic Criminal Code in Aceh. After the enactment of this local law … I cannot be focused on my work, because I have to be concerned about my personal safety. It is the main issue for LGBT persons in Aceh.46 A human rights lawyer also spoke about the dangers of working on religious freedom: In advocating for freedom of religion in Aceh, we are facing a big challenge. Human rights defenders are not secure when they work on this issue, because the issue is very sensitive and can easily be misdirected by someone as being actions against the majority Muslim community in Aceh … . many human rights defenders do not work on the protection of the freedom of religion because they think it is against their own principles and beliefs as well.47 LGBTIQA* defenders faced risks in other provinces as well. A defender working on the rights of people living with HIV (PLHIV) in Palu said, The issue of LGBT here has been categorically rejected on religious and cultural grounds. People think it is acceptable when we are bullied .... They call me banci [sissy]. They said, “God never teaches us about that”…. “[HIV/AIDS] is a curse”…. I was bullied on [our organisation’s] Facebook page as they said, “What a Sodom crowd! Infidels! God will condemn you; Armageddon is near”. These are all religious people.48 The example is typical but concerning. Both defenders and people living with HIV in Palu have been victimised and stigmatised. As an example, the tsunami in 2018 that destroyed many lives and many parts of the city and its surroundings was construed by some religious communities as having been caused by God’s wrath because of the “sinful” behaviour of people there.49 However, it must be noted that such sentiments have also been categorically rejected, for example, by the former leader of Muhammadiyah, the second largest Islamic organisation in Indonesia, Ahmad Syafii Maarif,50 as well as by government officials such as the Mayor of Palu, Hidayat, who said, “This is a disaster for us. If it is associated with the existence of the LGBT community, it is far from common sense”. 51

44

Budi Hernawan and Alice M. Nah

A journalist in Ambon described how the visibility of her Muslim identity posed a risk to her as she sought to reach out to Christian communities in peacebuilding and reconciliation efforts during past periods of segregation: As I was wearing a hijab, I didn’t have access to the Christian community. So I exchanged my hijab with a ranger hat in order to enter the Christian community. It’s all about trust … [only later did] Christians and Muslims work together in the same workspace … . After that, I joined [different organisations] and had to go to the field. It was a risk if people saw me as a “double agent” because I didn’t wear hijab before and now I wear a hijab. It was peaceful then, so I put my hijab back on. Sometimes I still receive messages saying, “Hey hijab, where are you going?” But they didn’t do any physical harm on me. I stayed on because as a TV journalist, I had to collect footage.52

Who are human rights defenders? Most Indonesians are unfamiliar with the term “human rights defender” and tend to refer to defenders either as activists or by their professional identities, such as nurse, lawyer, teacher, journalist, academic, pastor, doctor and civil servant.53 Perceptions about human rights defenders and their roles in society vary from province to province, shaped by local civil society histories. As a woman defender working on the rights of indigenous communities over natural resources in Maluku explained, “The public is not yet familiar with the term ‘human rights defenders’. Perhaps they think that we are some kind of group that is able to help them with information and action if needed. The term ‘NGO activist’ is known a lot here”.54 She explained that in Ambon, NGOs played a significant role in the 2000s, from humanitarian assistance, to peace-building, conflict monitoring and reconstruction, which was appreciated by the public. Similarly, a woman defender working for the Komnas HAM branch in Maluku concluded, “People tend to appreciate NGOs more than us. They hardly appreciate government institutions, including Komnas HAM. They also trust NGOs more than the police”.55 Similar sentiments were echoed in Papua. A journalist working in Jayapura, a man, observed, If you ask people about the term “human rights defender”, they have no idea. But they know about human rights activists. They respect NGOs that have advocated for their rights. They know what these organisations are doing for them. Like my neighbours here. They know what I am doing and they protect me and my family. They will tell me if anything suspicious happens around this place.56 In Aceh, the terms “human rights” and “human rights defender” were viewed with scepticism, sometimes with suspicion. A human rights lawyer working on civil and political rights, a man, said, In Aceh, [the term] “human rights defenders” does not have a special meaning … They choose to be ready in facing risks. During the conflict, people

Dilemmas in the ethics of tanpa pamrih 45 needed human rights activists to defend their rights. However, now, after relative peace, people do not recognise human rights activists anymore.57 Similarly, an activist working on women’s rights and indigenous peoples’ rights, a woman, highlighted, [In Aceh] the terminology of human rights is problematic. People see human rights as part of western ideology ... People also think the human rights activists are useless for society ... People are more accepting of the term “humanitarian aid workers”.58 The assertion that human rights come “from outside” or “the West” is not unique to Aceh,59 rather it resonates with the broader pattern of rising Islamic populism and the marginalisation of a rights-based approach in favour of Islamic teachings across the Indonesian political landscape. Not every person engaged in the promotion and protection of human rights is comfortable referring to him or herself as a human right defender. Similar to the work of Chris Bobel,60 who observed that the people she studied preferred not to refer to themselves an activist because they felt that they did not live up to a perfect standard of deep commitment, humility, rigor and self-sacrifice associated with this identity, we found that there were high expectations associated with the identity of a human rights defender among activist circles. A prominent woman human rights defender involved in human rights for over two decades observed, The term “human rights defender” in Indonesia is used very exclusively. People think that human rights defenders are supermen, superwomen or people who dare to die from high risk work. However, people don’t understand that all human beings – as long as they are doing something in defending various rights and speaking about truth and justice – can be called as human rights defenders. The problem is that people don’t understand the real terminology of human rights defenders.61

Dilemmas in the ethics of practising tanpa pamrih The defenders in this study recognised that their work was risky and uncertain but felt compelled to continue nevertheless. The prominent woman defender mentioned earlier noted, “People who work in human rights realise that they will face risks, but mostly they recognise that this is their choice in life. They have to be strong”.62 This cannot be separated from broader perceptions of heroes and heroines within Indonesian culture, in which selflessness and sacrifice are valued and celebrated.63 Defenders are perceived and constructed as those who were – and should be – prepared to sacrifice their private lives and wellbeing for others; defenders also held these as standards of behaviour for both themselves and other defenders.

46

Budi Hernawan and Alice M. Nah

Some defenders derived their commitment to activism from personal experiences of human rights violations. As a woman defender working on victims’ rights in Central Sulawesi said, My involvement with this work began with a workshop [by two NGOs] to organise survivors of human rights abuses in 2014. I am a victim of the Poso conflict in 2001. I lost my husband and my younger brother. [The Muslim fighters] killed them. My brother remains missing whereas my husband’s body was found three days later, floating inside a sack. Because of this wound as a victim, I became involved in human rights activism and regained meaning in my life … I am not the only one with experiences like this, there are many people, and I have to do something for the victims.64 Another important source of motivation for the defenders in this study were their interactions with people affected by human rights violations. A human rights lecturer said, “For me, visiting people in the villages, or attending the meetings of victims makes me healthy in a spiritual sense. It is beyond my belief in the hajj (pilgrimage)”.65 Defenders also gained psychological strength from the knowledge that what they were doing was right. This sense of rightness in their work enabled them to persist in the face of challenges. However, defenders also struggled with disappointment when their toil did not produce the results they wanted. A defender who worked with a local NGO for a long time reflected, “I got extremely tired”.66 A defender working with PLHIV expressed, My disappointment reached a climax when the peer support group for PLHIV did not want to share their stories publicly, that they survived because of our collaboration. I was terribly disappointed as they seemed not to acknowledge our hard work … I decided to stop working with them.67 Defenders also had to manage expectations from victims frustrated by the lack of progress on their cases. A women’s rights defender in Jayapura said, It’s often that victims asked me, “There have been so many people doing research but nothing has changed”. There have been so many organisations that have come in to do interviews – so they refused to give any information to us.68 The defenders in this study spoke about the mental and emotional impact of the threats faced, such as mental exhaustion, trauma, and feeling numb.69 Referring to defenders working with high risks, a woman defender said, “They need space for themselves where they don’t have to talk about work all the time and can just enjoy their life. I am afraid that they will get frustrated, and one day choose another way which contradicts their values”.70 They also noted feeling isolated

Dilemmas in the ethics of tanpa pamrih 47 and stigmatised for their work. A participant from a leading human rights organisation in Jayapura stated: My extended family sometimes say cynically, “Do you eat human rights?” I don’t have anywhere to escape. All ways out have been blocked. I feel like [I am] living inside the cage. I immerse [myself] in the internet as I find freedom there. I am not paranoid. I feel OK. But I don’t go to church anymore. People don’t want to shake hands with me, particularly the non-Papuans.71 The defenders in this study suffered financially from the threats experienced, not only as a result of the impact of threats on their lifestyles and livelihoods (such as the loss of a job or demotion) but also because of the costs involved in engaging in security practices, such as the cost of safe transport, the use of security-related equipment and tools, relocation, legal fees, fines and bail. Participants also described the difficulties related to working for low wages and facing funding-related job insecurity. A common problem among defenders was that they did not receive sufficient remuneration for their work. Those who worked for NGOs described challenges related to the reliance on donors who supported their work on a contract or project basis. Defenders reported that donor agencies did not seem to be aware of the challenges and risks that they faced; they tended to impose their own agenda and procedures on defenders, often restricting expenses to programme implementation without sufficient provision for staff salaries and wellbeing. As a result, many defenders were paid insufficiently and worked with tight budget constraints and heavy workloads. This was cited as one of the causes of exhaustion and burnout among the defenders in our study.

The significance of social support and self-protection In this study, we found that defenders received significant protection support from their partners, parents, close friends and neighbours – much more so than from international NGOs. A woman defender from Maluku, working for a local NGO, described the significance of kinship ties and alliances as a source of protection. She benefited from having a well-respected family name and the fact that her extended family were from the main clans on her island. She explained, In Maluku, gandong is the key. This is [a] brotherhood system in which you must protect your gandong, your brothers and sisters. So if I say I’m from this gandong then they will know through which bloodlines I am connected to them. So they not only won’t do any harm to me but they have an obligation to protect me.72 The Christian priest in Banda Aceh mentioned earlier, who received threats for conducting religious services, described how he felt secure because of the support

48

Budi Hernawan and Alice M. Nah

of his neighbourhood who were also religious and ethnic minorities. To stay safe, he said, I always build my relationship with the neighbourhood, including the head of the village. They are the ones who can help me if there is something difficult or urgent. I always update them about my situation, so they can understand that we are not doing anything illegal. 73 Similarly, a labour rights activist in Palu highlighted how his security depended on his good relations with neighbours as well as with the workers whose rights he advocated for. He said, “I feel safe as I work with people, so I build support not only among workers but also among neighbours. I also have relatives living around the industrial compound so it is unlikely that the gangsters will attack me”.74 A woman lawyer in Papua highlighted, My little sister would have been kidnapped if our neighbour had not saved her. He saw some guys forced my little sister to get into a car but she resisted. When he saw her, he yelled at her and the guys immediately dashed off. It was scary. Luckily, she was safe.75 However, it must be noted that not all family members are supportive of the work of defenders. A trans man living in Aceh highlighted, “I do not feel secure with my family and friends. My mother and father seem to know my sexual orientation... this makes me insecure. I still have to pretend to be a woman in front of my parents”.76 The participants in this study engaged in a wide range of practices for their personal security. Some groups, supported by security specialists, had elaborate security protocols and systems; however, most defenders relied on their own instincts. They noted the importance of alliance building as a key strategy for their security, including with other human rights defenders, grassroots communities, government representatives (including the police and state security), the media, local leaders, academics, lawyers, local and international NGOs and religious groups. This helped them to strengthen their work, minimise risks, gain access to resources and to assess their security situation more effectively. In some cases, participants had to relocate themselves or their families, either temporarily or permanently. Some had to do so multiple times. While relocation helped them (and their families) to stay safe, it also resulted in their isolation and separation from loved ones. Some also relied on accompaniment, sometimes provided formally through an organisation but more typically organised informally with the help of friends and family. Some participants mentioned trying to decrease their visibility for their own security, for example, by staying at home, reducing their activities on social media and with the mainstream media, masking their appearance in public and avoiding certain people and places. On the other hand, some tried to increase the visibility of their work and the risks they faced, for example, publicising them through

Dilemmas in the ethics of tanpa pamrih 49 social media, press statements and documentaries, and engaging in other forms of media-related actions.

Wellbeing as an aspect of protection Of the participants who discussed wellbeing in their interviews, a third of them stated that human rights defenders generally did not prioritise their own wellbeing. About half of them said that the wellbeing and protection of survivors took priority over their own. As a woman human rights defender working on land and minority rights in Aceh stated, “Usually we deal only with the protection of our clients or the victims that we assist. We forget about our own rights. We realise it [is important], but we are not prioritising it”.77 A woman rights defender also stated that while she understood that her own needs mattered, it felt “egoistical” to prioritise them over the needs of others.78 The idea that one needed to be strong, and also to appear strong, came across in some of the interviews with defenders. Some believed that to talk about their fears and their worries would in some way perpetuate the risk. Some even expressed concern that speaking openly about their risks and fears would discourage others from entering human rights work. About half of those who spoke about wellbeing engaged in activities that focused on their mental and emotional wellbeing, but they tended to be personal or private in nature, such as spending time with family, engaging with hobbies and praying. To this end, personal relationships were an important part of how the defenders in this study spoke about their wellbeing and their protection and security strategies. Very few defenders received wellbeing support from their organisations. Only one spoke about seeking mental health services through their organisation to address their experiences of trauma. Another participant noted that wellbeing was not taken seriously in organisations and explained how colleagues laughed it off when concerns were raised. He said, We also do not get support from our colleagues when we face problems. They make the problem as a “simple matter”. For example, when my friend received a letter from the police to be interrogated, other friends made it as a joke, such as, “relax, we will accompany you. We will bring you food everyday if you are arrested”. We laugh together. Based on my experience, I believe they also felt worried. It seems as if we do not receive moral support.79 Additionally, a small number of participants mentioned the importance of having insurance coverage. A defender working with PLHIV, in particular, mentioned that health insurance was a critical part of their security in human rights work. Financial insecurity was also an aspect of wellbeing that some participants discussed. Some participants expressed concerns about their lack of social security and social insurance; some had no savings or financial provision for old age. Several also mentioned the importance of knowing that their family would be taken cared of if anything happen to them.

50

Budi Hernawan and Alice M. Nah

For some defenders engaging in the work itself was key to their own wellbeing. Participants frequently said that their principles and values were the reason they did human rights activities, and that these were a source of strength. Their wellbeing came from knowing that they were doing work that was their calling. They also learned how to cope with difficulties from survivors of human rights violations and abuses and gained strength and support from their community of activists. Defending human rights was not just a job or profession but a way of viewing the world and responding with an ethics of tanpa pamrih.

Conclusion Indonesian human rights defenders operate in a dynamic social and political landscape shaped by Islamic populism, the drive for economic development, the privileging of corporate interests over rights claims, corruption, clientelism and reverberations of past traumatic human rights violations that remain unresolved. The term “human rights defender” remains relatively unknown among the Indonesian public. People who promote and protect human rights also tend not to use this term, associating it with a perfect standard of behaviour. They refer to themselves instead as activists or by their professions. The lack of understanding of this term is not only limited to the general public but also to the Indonesian authorities even though the Indonesian state formally recognises the right to promote and protect human rights in its legal framework. The defenders in this study committed themselves to the promotion and protection of human rights with an ethics of tanpa pamrih. They recognised that their work was risky, and were prepared to sacrifice their time, energy and privacy to advocate for rights, often for the sake of others. The risks they faced depended on their intersectional identities, the cultural and religious norms of their communities and histories of violence and civil society activism in their localities. Nevertheless, defenders also faced stress, anxiety, trauma and exhaustion from their work. They struggled financially, and faced stigmatisation, criminalisation and threats to their lives, which also impacted on their family members and loved ones. When faced with risks, the defenders in this study mostly relied on their personal networks as well as connections with human rights civil society groups within and outside of Indonesia for help. Kinship ties and cultural expectations shaped the protection they received from their own communities. Much is needed to strengthen state protection of human rights defenders in Indonesia. Institutions such as Komnas HAM, Komnas Perempuan and LPSK should have more explicit mandates and resources to undertake such protection. Laws, policies and practices to protect human rights defenders at risk should be established in consultation with human rights defenders across the provinces of Indonesia, following the principles set out by the previous UN Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders, Michel Forst – that is, they should be rights-based, inclusive, gender-sensitive, based on a holistic understanding of security, oriented to individuals and collectives, involve the participation of defenders in the choice of protection measures and flexible in order to meet the

Dilemmas in the ethics of tanpa pamrih 51 specific needs of defenders.80 Local and provincial authorities should be included in the identification and protection of human rights defenders at risk. Such measures can reduce the threats and attacks associated with the defence of human rights and enable defenders to continue in their practice of an ethics of selflessness.

52

Budi Hernawan and Alice M. Nah A temporary place of worship I worked as a priest

and gave the religious service

in a temporary place.

We’d already registered.

The government had not given us the permit

to build a church.

The temporary place

was on the first floor of my house. I had reported this

explained the situation.

One day, between two services,

I saw people approaching,

I told church members to close the door.

We started to conduct the mass, singing.

We heard a window break,

our door was broken

people yelling, they brought wooden sticks

and destroyed many things.

Our members were frightened and ran.

My wife and others went to the second floor and I followed. I heard the people but they did not find us. From the window, I saw

police cooling down the mob.

I received a call, a police officer saying he wanted to protect me and the church.

The police interrogated me for hours

made me a suspect

for gathering a large crowd without a permit.

I refused to be named a suspect,

we were not an illegal organisation.

After the incident,

we had to wear a motorcycle helmet

to go outside.

Every afternoon, people watching our house.

I received texts

saying my house would be burned down

Dilemmas in the ethics of tanpa pamrih 53 and I was to be killed.

Threats came for months.

The mastermind of the attack

did not come from my neighbourhood.

I’ve never had conflict with my neighbours and they did not reject my place

as a place of worship.

After the first incident,

I was accused of conducting ‘Christianization’.

I joined other religious minority groups

leaders and journalists.

I told them the legal problem we faced.

We decided to change our place

to a hotel, restaurant, military barrack.

As a priest, and now a human rights defender,

I have a call to disseminate the truth.

I met human rights activists,

and I realised that I am part of that.

Composed by J.A. Mensah

This verbatim poem was created from the interview transcript of a human rights defender in Indonesia, a man, working on freedom of religion.

Notes 1 We are thankful to Indria Fernida, Katrina Maliamauv and Patricia Bartley who contributed to data collection and analysis for this chapter. We also thank Hannah Dwyer Smith and Damai Pakpahan for constructive comments on this chapter. All mistakes remain our own. 2 Nur Hadi, “Veronica Koman Fugitive, Police Issue Red Notice for Interpol”, Tempo, 20 September 2019, https://en.tempo.co/read/1250173/veronica-koman-fugitive-pol ice-issue-red-notice-for-interpol. 3 Tasha Wibawa, “West Papuan Student Barricaded, Detained and Tear-gassed by Police on Indonesian ‘Freedom’ Day”, ABC News, 19 August 2019, https://www.abc.net.au /news/2019-08-19/west-papuans-barricaded-arrested-teargassed-by-indonesian-pol ice/11424990; Human Rights and Peace for Papua, “Nationalist Mass Organisations Attack Papuan Student Dormitory in Surabaya to force Raising of Indonesian Flag”, Human Rights and Peace for Papua, 17 August 2018, http://humanrightspapua.org/ne ws/28-2018/344-nationalist-mass-organisations-attack-papuan-student-dormitory-in -surabaya-to-force-raising-to-indonesian-flag. 4 Telly Nathalia, “Alleged Instigator Apologizes for Racist Actions Against Papuan Students in Surabaya”, Jakarta Globe, 20 August 2019, https://jakartaglobe.id/c

54 5 6 7 8

9 10 11 12 13 14

15 16 17

18 19 20 21 22

Budi Hernawan and Alice M. Nah ontext/alleged-instigator-apologizes-for-racist-actions-against-papuan-students-in -surabaya/. The Jakarta Post, “Governor Apologizes on Behalf of East Java after Racial Abuse Hurts Papuans”, 20 August 2019, https://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2019/08/20/ governor-apologizes-on-behalf-of-east-java-after-racial-abuse-hurts-papuans.html. “Mengulik Data Suku di Indonesia”, Statistics Indonesia, accessed 10 May 2020, https ://www.bps.go.id/news/2015/11/18/127/mengulik-data-suku-di-indonesia.html. “Population, Total – Indonesia”, World Bank, accessed 10 May 2020, https://data.wo rldbank.org/indicator/SP.POP.TOTL?locations=ID. Haris Azhar, The Human Rights Struggle in Indonesia, SUR: International Journal on Human Rights, no. 20 (2014): 227–34. Irene Istiningsih Hadiprayitno, “Defensive Enforcement: Human Rights in Indonesia”, Human Rights Review, 11 (2010): 373– 399; Juwana, Hikmahanto, “Assessing Indonesia’s Human Rights Practice in the Post Soeharto Era: 1999–2003”, Singapore Journal of International and Comparative Law, 7 (2003): 644–77. Vedi Hadiz, Islamic Populism in Indonesia, in Routledge Handbook of Contemporary Indonesia, ed. Robert W. Hefner (London: Routledge, 2018), 296–306. Vedi Hadiz, Islamic Populism in Indonesia and The Middle East (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 5. Charlotte Setijadi, “Ahok’s Downfall and the Rise of Islamist Populism in Indonesia”, Perspective, 38 (2017), 1–9. Leonard C. Sebastian and Andar Nubowo, The “Conservative Turn” in Indonesian Islam: Implications for the 2019 Presidential Elections, Asie. Visions, No. 106 (Paris: Ifri, March 2019). SETARA, 2019, Potret 12 Tahun Kebebasan Beragama/ Berkeyakinan, Tantangan dalam Merawat Kemajemukan dan Memperkuat Negara Pancasila, SETARA Institute for Democracy and Peace, Jakarta. Wahid Foundation. Laporan Survei Nasional Tren Toleransi Sosial-Keagamaan di Kalangan Perempuan Muslim Indonesia. (Jakarta: Wahid Foundation, Lembaga Survei Indonesia, UN Women, 2018); Wahid Foundation. Potensi Intoleransi dan Radikalisme Sosial-Keagamaan di Kalangan Muslim Indonesia (Jakarta: Wahid Foundation & Lembaga Survei Indonesia, Jakarta, 2016). John F. McCarthy, “Certifying in Contested Spaces: Private Regulation in Indonesian Forestry and Palm Oil”. Third World Quarterly 33, no. 10 (2012/11/01 2012): 1871– 88. van der Muur, Willem. “Forest Conflicts and the Informal Nature of Realizing Indigenous Land Rights in Indonesia”. Citizenship Studies 22, no. 2 (2018/02/17 2018): 160–74. ELSAM, “Di Bawah Bayang-Bayang Kekerasan Negara dan Perusahaan: Laporan Situasi Pembela Hak Asasi Manusia atas Lingkungan Periode November 2017-Juli 2018 (Jakarta: ELSAM, 2018), https://referensi.elsam.or.id/wp-content/uploads/2018 /09/Revisi-Oke-1-min.pdf. For a full list, see “Ratification Status for Indonesia”, OHCHR, accessed 10 May 2020, https://www.ohchr.org/EN/Countries/AsiaRegion/Pages/IDIndex.aspx. Komnas HAM was established by President Suharto through Presidential Decree No. 50 of 1993. The legal basis for Komnas Perempuan is Keppres No. 181 of 1998, strengthened by Presidential Decree (Perpres) no 65 and 66 of 2005. The legal basis for KPAI is Presidential Decree No. 77 of 2003 to fulfil the mandate of Law No. 23 of 2002 on Child Protection. Nukila Evanty, “Komnas HAM: Discrepancies Between Its Mandate and the Indonesian Constitutional Framework”, in National Human Rights Institutions in Southeast Asia, edited by James Gomez and Robin Ramcharan (Palgrave Macmillan, Singapore, 2020), 141–162.

Dilemmas in the ethics of tanpa pamrih 55 23 Budi Hernawan, Torture and Peacebuilding in Indonesia: the Case of Papua (London: Routledge, 2018). 24 Harry Siswoyo, “Korupsi Internal Terbongkar, Komnas HAM Minta Bantuan KPK”, Viva.co.id, 31 October 2016, https://www.viva.co.id/berita/nasional/841773-korupsi-i nternal-terbongkar-komnas-ham-minta-bantuan-kpk. 25 Indonesia Corruption Watch, “In Depth Analysis: Audit BOK Temukan 8 Masalah Pengelolaan Keuangan di Komnas HAM, 1 November 2016, https://antikorupsi.org/id/ news/depth-analysis-audit-bpk-temukan-8-masalah-pengelolaan-keuangan-di-komnas -ham; Gloria Safira Taylor, “Diduga Korup, Pegawai Komnas HAM Minta Penjelasan Komisioner, CNN Indonesia, 8 August 2016, https://www.cnnindonesia.com/nasional /20160808140243-20-149893/diduga-korup-pegawai-komnas-ham-minta-penjelasan -komisioner. 26 Komnas HAM, “Komnas HAM Sampaikan Permohonan Maaf”, 1 November 2016, https://www.komnasham.go.id/index.php/news/2016/11/01/7/komnas-ham-sampaikan -permohonan-maaf.html. 27 Kontras, The Absence of Human Rights Protection of Human Rights Defenders in Indonesia (Jakarta: KontraS, undated). 28 See also Edward Aspinall & Gerry van Klinken. The State and Illegality in Indonesia (Leiden: KITLV Press, 2011). 29 Participant working on labour rights, man, interviewed in Palu in January 2016. 30 Examples include the Laskar Jihad, an Islamist militia led by Jafar Umar Talib who mobilised jihadist fighters from across Indonesia to fight against the Christian fighters in Ambon. 31 In 1965–66, between 500,000 to more than a million people were killed for being affiliated with or sympathetic to the Communist Party of Indonesia (PKI). See: Robert Cribb, “Genocide in Indonesia, 1965–1966”, Journal of Genocide Research, 3, no. 2 (2001): 219–239; Olle Tornquist, Dilemmas of Third World Communism: The Destruction of the PKI in Indonesia, Zed Books: London, 1984; Geoffrey B. Robinson, The Killing Season: A History of the Indonesian Massacres (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 2019). 32 Participant working on anti-corruption, man, interviewed in Palu in January 2016. 33 Participant working on civil and political rights, woman, interviewed in Jayapura in December 2015. 34 Participant working on civil and political rights, man, interviewed in Jayapura in December 2015. 35 The most prominent human rights defender in Indonesia, Munir Said Thalib, founder of the NGO KontraS, was assassinated through arsenic poisoning on a flight from Jakarta to Amsterdam on 7 September 2004. 36 Participant working on freedom of religion, man, interviewed in Banda Aceh in March 2016. 37 Participant working on economic, social and cultural rights, man, interviewed in Manokwari in September 2015. 38 Participant working on freedom of religion, man, interviewed in Banda Aceh in March 2016. 39 Participant working on civil and political rights, woman, interviewed in Banda Aceh in March 2016. 40 Participant working on peasant rights and media freedom, man, interviewed in Bali in February 2016. 41 John Braithwaite, Valerie Braithwaite, Michael Cookson, and Leah Dunn. Anomie and Violence: Non-Truth and Reconciliation in Indonesian Peacebuilding (Canberra: ANU Press, 2010); van Klinken, Gerry. Communal Violence and Democratization in Indonesia: Small Town Wars (New York: Routledge, 2007). 42 The Jakarta Post, “Public Lack Faith in Jokowi’s Ability to Solve Past Human Rights Abuses: Survey”, 5 December 2019, https://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2019/12

56

Budi Hernawan and Alice M. Nah

/05/public-lack-faith-in-jokowis-ability-to-solve-past-human-rights-abuses-survey. html. 43 Aspinall, Edward & Ward Berenschot. Democracy For Sale: Elections, Clientelism, and the State in Indonesia (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2019). 44 The Aceh Islamic Criminal Code was first enacted in 2009 and then revised in 2014 to remove the punishment of stoning. 45 The Guardian, “Indonesian Men Caned for Consensual Gay Sex in Aceh”, 23 May 2017, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2017/may/23/indonesian-men-caned-for -consensual-gay-sex-in-aceh. 46 Participant working on LGBTIQA* rights, trans man, interviewed in Jakarta in November 2015. 47 Participant working on freedom of religion, man, interviewed in Banda Aceh in March 2016. 48 Participant working on the rights of PLHIV, man, interviewed in Palu in January 2016. 49 This interpretation was not limited to Palu. Datuk Seri Dr Ahmad Zahid Hamidi, the president of UMNO political party of Malaysia even publicly identified activities by LGBT persons as the cause of the disaster. See Martin Carvalho and Rahimy Rahim, “Zahid Warns LGBT Activities Risk Incurring God’s Wrath”, 23 October 2018, https://www.thestar.com .my/news/nation/2018/10/23/zahid-warns-lgbt-activities-risk-incurring-gods-wrath. 50 New Straits Times, “Ring of Fire Caused Palu Quake, Not LGBT Activities”, 24 October 2018, https://www.nst.com.my/news/nation/2018/10/424288/ring-fire caused-palu-quake-not-lgbt-activities. 51 See Keisyah Aprilia, “Indonesians Slam LGBT Comments by Top Malaysian Politician”, Benar News, 24 October 2018, https://www.benarnews.org/english/news /indonesian/indonesia-politics-10242018161548.html. 52 Participant working on the freedom of press and peace journalism, woman, interviewed in Ambon in January 2016. 53 This is not uncommon. See for example, Malkova who observes the same in Russia. Polina Malkova, “Exploring the Term ‘Human Rights Defender’ through the Lens of Professionalisation in Human Rights Practice: A Case-Study of Russia”. In Human Rights Defender Hub Working Paper Series (York: Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York, 2018). 54 Participant working on economic, social and cultural rights, woman, interviewed in Ambon in January 2016. 55 Participant working on civil and political rights and economic, social, and cultural rights, woman, interviewed in Ambon in January 2016. 56 Participant working on freedom of expression, man, interviewed in Jayapura in January 2016. 57 Participant working on civil and political rights, man, interviewed in Banda Aceh in March 2016. 58 Participant working on women’s rights, woman, interviewed in Banda Aceh in March 2016. 59 See also the chapter on human rights defenders in Egypt and Sally Engle Merry, Human Rights and Gender Violence: Translating International Law into Local Justice (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2006). 60 Chris Bobel, “‘I’m not an activist, though I’ve done a lot of it’: Doing activism, being activist and the ‘perfect standard’ in a contemporary movement”, Social Movement Studies, 6, no. 2 (2007): 147–159. 61 Participant working on civil and political rights, woman, interviewed in Malang in November 2015. 62 Ibid. 63 See Alice M. Nah (2020) Navigating mental and emotional wellbeing in risky forms of human rights activism, Social Movement Studies, DOI: 10.1080/14742837.2019. 1709432.

Dilemmas in the ethics of tanpa pamrih 57 64 Participant working on civil and political rights, woman, interviewed in Palu in January 2016. 65 Participant working on peasant rights and media freedom, man, interviewed in Bali in March 2016. 66 Participant working on civil and political rights, man, interviewed in Jayapura in December 2015. 67 Participant working on the rights of PLHIV, man, interviewed in Ambon in January 2016. 68 Participant working on the rights of women and children, woman, interviewed in Jayapura in December 2015. 69 Participant working on land rights and anti-corruption, man, interviewed in Manokwari in September 2015. 70 Participant working on civil and political rights, woman, interviewed in Malang in November 2015. 71 Participant working on civil and political rights, man, interviewed in Jayapura in December 2015. 72 Participant working on peacebuilding, woman, interviewed in Ambon in January 2016. For more information on protection through gandong, see Sumanto Al Qurtuby, Religious Violence and Conciliation in Indonesia: Christians and Muslims in the Moluccas (Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 2016). 73 Participant working on freedom of religion, man, interviewed in Banda Aceh in March 2016. 74 Participant working on labour rights, man, interviewed in Palu in January 2016. 75 Participant working on civil and political rights, woman, interviewed in Jayapura in December 2015. 76 Participant working on LGBTIQA* rights, trans man, interviewed in Jakarta in November 2015. 77 Participant working on land rights and minority rights, woman, interviewed in Banda Aceh in April 2016. 78 Participant working on migrant and women’s rights, woman, interviewed in Jakarta in January 2016. 79 Participant working on anti-corruption, man, interviewed in Jakarta in January 2016. 80 UN General Assembly, Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders, 1 February 2016, A/HRC/31/55.

References Al Qurtuby, Sumanto. Religious Violence and Conciliation in Indonesia: Christians and Muslims in the Moluccas. Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 2016. Aprilia, Keisyah. “Indonesians Slam LGBT Comments by Top Malaysian Politician.” Benar News, October 24, 2018. www.benarnews.org/english/news/indonesian/indonesi a-politics-10242018161548.html. Aspinall, Edward, and Ward Berenschot. Democracy for Sale: Elections, Clientelism, and the State in Indonesia. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2019. Aspinall, Edward, and Gerry van Klinken. The State and Illegality in Indonesia. Leiden: KITLV Press, 2011. Azhar, Haris. “The Human Rights Struggle in Indonesia.” SUR – International Journal of Human Rights 11, no. 20 (2014): 227–34. Bennett, Karen, Danna Ingleton, Alice M Nah, and James Savage. “Critical Perspectives on the Security and Protection of Human Rights Defenders.” The International Journal of Human Rights 19, no. 7 (2015): 883–95.

58

Budi Hernawan and Alice M. Nah

Bobel, Chris. “‘I'm Not an Activist, Though I've Done a Lot of It’: Doing Activism, Being Activist and the ‘Perfect Standard’ in a Contemporary Movement.” Social Movement Studies 6, no. 2 (2007): 147–59. Braithwaite, John, Valerie Braithwaite, Michael Cookson, and Leah Dunn. Anomie and Violence: Non-Truth and Reconciliation in Indonesian Peacebuilding. Canberra: ANU Press, 2010. Carvalho, Martin, and Rahimy Rahim. “Zahid Warns LGBT Activities Risk Incurring God’s Wrath.” October 23, 2018. www.thestar.com.my/news/nation/2018/10/23/zahid -warns-lgbt-activities-risk-incurring-gods-wrath. Cribb, Robert. “Genocide in Indonesia, 1965‐1966.” Journal of Genocide Research 3, no. 2 (2001): 219–39. Eguren, Fernández, Luis Enrique, and Champa Patel. “Towards Developing a Critical and Ethical Approach for Better Recognising and Protecting Human Rights Defenders.” The International Journal of Human Rights 19, no. 7 (2015): 896–907. ELSAM. Di Bawah Bayang-Bayang Kekerasan Negara dan Perusahaan: Laporan Situasi Pembela Hak Asasi Manusia Atas Lingkungan Periode November 2017-Juli 2018. Jakarta: ELSAM, 2018. https://referensi.elsam.or.id/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/Rev isi-Oke-1-min.pdf. Evanty, Nukila. “Komnas HAM: Discrepancies Between its Mandate and the Indonesian Constitutional Framework.” In National Human Rights Institutions in Southeast Asia, edited by James Gomez and Robin Ramcharan, 141–62. Singapore: Palgrave Macmillan, 2020. Hadi, Nur. “Veronica Koman Fugitive, Police Issue Red Notice for Interpol.” Tempo, September 20, 2019. https://en.tempo.co/read/1250173/veronica-koman-fugitive-pol ice-issue-red-notice-for-interpol. Hadiprayitno, Irene Istiningsih. “Defensive Enforcement: Human Rights in Indonesia.” Human Rights Review 11 (2010): 373–99. Hadiz, Vedi. Islamic Populism in Indonesia and The Middle East. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016. Hadiz, Vedi. “Islamic Populism in Indonesia.” In Routledge Handbook of Contemporary Indonesia, edited by Robert W Hefner, 296–306. London: Routledge, 2018. Hernawan, Budi. Torture and Peacebuilding in Indonesia: the Case of Papua. London: Routledge, 2018. Hikmahanto, Juwana. “Assessing Indonesia's Human Rights Practice in the Post Soeharto Era: 1999–2003.” Singapore Journal of International and Comparative Law 7 (2003): 644–77. Human Rights and Peace for Papua. “Nationalist Mass Organisations Attack Papuan Student Dormitory in Surabaya to Force Raising of Indonesian Flag.” Human Rights and Peace for Papua, August 17, 2018. http://humanrightspapua.org/news/28-2018 /344-nationalist-mass-organisations-attack-papuan-student-dormitory-in-surabaya-to -force-raising-to-indonesian-flag. Indonesia Corruption Watch. “In Depth Analysis: Audit BOK Temukan 8 Masalah Pengelolaan Keuangan di Komnas HAM.” November 1, 2016. https://antikorupsi.org /id/news/depth-analysis-audit-bpk-temukan-8-masalah-pengelolaan-keuangan-di-k omnas-ham. The Jakarta Post. “Governor Apologizes on Behalf of East Java After Racial Abuse Hurts Papuans.” August 20, 2019. www.thejakartapost.com/news/2019/08/20/governor-ap ologizes-on-behalf-of-east-java-after-racial-abuse-hurts-papuans.html.

Dilemmas in the ethics of tanpa pamrih 59 The Jakarta Post. “Public Lack Faith in Jokowi’s Ability to Solve Past Human Rights Abuses: Survey.” December 5, 2019. www.thejakartapost.com/news/2019/12/05/p ublic-lack-faith-in-jokowis-ability-to-solve-past-human-rights-abuses-survey.html. Komnas, HAM. “Komnas HAM Sampaikan Permohonan Maaf.” November 1, 2016. www .komnasham.go.id/index.php/news/2016/11/01/7/komnas-ham-sampaikan-permoh onan-maaf.html. Kontras. The Absence of Human Rights Protection of Human Rights Defenders in Indonesia. Jakarta: KontraS, undated. Lembaga Ilmu Pengetahuan Indonesia. Survei Pasca-Pemilu 2019, Pemilu Serentak dan Konsolidasi Demokrasi di Indonesia. Jakarta: Pusat Penelitian Politik Lembaga Ilmu Pengetahuan Indonesia, 2019. Malkova, Polina. “Exploring the Term ‘Human Rights Defender’ Through the Lens of Professionalisation in Human Rights Practice: A Case-Study of Russia.” Working Paper No. 3. Human Rights Defender Hub Working Paper Series. York: Centre for Applied Human Rights: University of York, 2018. McCarthy, John F. “Certifying in Contested Spaces: Private Regulation in Indonesian Forestry and Palm Oil.” Third World Quarterly 33, no. 10 (2012): 1871–88. Merry, Sally Engle. Human Rights and Gender Violence: Translating International Law into Local Justice. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006. Nah, Alice M. “Navigating Mental and Emotional Wellbeing in Risky Forms of Human Rights Activism.” Social Movement Studies (2020). doi:10.1080/14742837.2019.170 9432. Nathalia, Telly. “Alleged Instigator Apologizes for Racist Actions Against Papuan Students in Surabaya.” Jakarta Globe, August 20, 2019. https://jakartaglobe.id/context /alleged-instigator-apologizes-for-racist-actions-against-papuan-students-in-surabaya/. OHCHR. “Ratification Status for Indonesia.” Accessed May 10, 2020. www.ohchr.org/EN /Countries/AsiaRegion/Pages/IDIndex.aspx. Robinson, Geoffrey B. The Killing Season: A History of the Indonesian Massacres. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2019. Sebastian, Leonard C, and Andar Nubowo. “The ‘Conservative Turn’ in Indonesian Islam: Implications for the 2019 Presidential Elections.” Asie Visions, No. 106. Paris: Ifri, March 2019. SETARA. Potret 12 Tahun Kebebasan Beragama/ Berkeyakinan, Tantangan Dalam Merawat Kemajemukan dan Memperkuat Negara Pancasila. Jakarta: SETARA Institute for Democracy and Peace, 2019. Setijadi, Charlotte. “Ahok’s Downfall and the Rise of Islamist Populism in Indonesia.” Perspective 38 (2017): 1–9. Siswoyo, Harry. “Korupsi Internal Terbongkar, Komnas HAM Minta Bantuan KPK.” Viva .co.id, October 31, 2016. www.viva.co.id/berita/nasional/841773-korupsi-internalterbongkar-komnas-ham-minta-bantuan-kpk. Statistics Indonesia. “Mengulik Data Suku di Indonesia.” Accessed May 10, 2020. www.b ps.go.id/news/2015/11/18/127/mengulik-data-suku-di-indonesia.html. Taylor, Gloria Safira. “Diduga Korup, Pegawai Komnas HAM Minta Penjelasan Komisioner.” CNN Indonesia, August 8, 2016. www.cnnindonesia.com/nasional/ 20160808140243-20-149893/diduga-korup-pegawai-komnas-ham-minta-penjelasan-k omisioner. Tornquist, Olle. Dilemmas of Third World Communism: The Destruction of the PKI in Indonesia. London: Zed Books, 1984.

60

Budi Hernawan and Alice M. Nah

UN General Assembly. “Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders.” A/HRC/31/55. February 1, 2016. van der Muur, Willem. “Forest Conflicts and the Informal Nature of Realizing Indigenous Land Rights in Indonesia.” Citizenship Studies 22, no. 2 (2018): 160–74. van Klinken, Gerry. Communal Violence and Democratization in Indonesia: Small Town Wars. New York: Routledge, 2007. Wahid Foundation. Potensi Intoleransi dan Radikalisme Sosial-Keagamaan di Kalangan Muslim Indonesia. Jakarta: Wahid Foundation & Lembaga Survei Indonesia, 2016. Wahid Foundation. Laporan Survei Nasional Tren Toleransi Sosial-Keagamaan di Kalangan Perempuan Muslim Indonesia. Jakarta: Wahid Foundation, Lembaga Survei Indonesia, UN Women, 2018. Wibawa, Tasha. “West Papuan Student Barricaded, Detained and Tear-Gassed by Police on Indonesian ‘Freedom’ Day.” ABC News, August 19, 2019. www.abc.net.au/news/ 2019-08-19/west-papuans-barricaded-arrested-teargassed-by-indonesian-police/1142 4990. World Bank. “Population, Total – Indonesia.” Accessed May 10, 2020. https://data.wo rldbank.org/indicator/SP.POP.TOTL?locations=ID.

3

Fallen heroes, terrorists, spies,

or unrealistic dreamers?

Repression and the defence of human rights in Egypt Alice M. Nah and Ellen Husseiny

Introduction1 In the weeks from 25 January 2011 onwards, in what is popularly known as the Revolution, hundreds of thousands of Egyptians mounted an uprising against (then) President Hosni Mubarak with demonstrations, public protests, the occupation of public squares and strikes in Cairo and other cities. Their grievances included years of political repression, pervasive police brutality, widespread systematic torture, corruption, poverty and unemployment. Security forces clamped down on these protests with increasingly violent tactics, resulting in thousands of protesters injured and hundreds killed.2 After three weeks of sustained protests, Mubarak resigned, to widespread jubilation. The Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF) – a body of 20 members representing the four branches of the Egyptian military – assumed power, dissolved parliament and promised free parliamentary and presidential elections.3 During this time, the Front of Defence for Egyptian Protesters, an independent group of human rights lawyers and organisations, established itself, providing pro bono legal support and representation to thousands of protesters across Egypt. As part of this group, human rights lawyer Mohamed El-Baker gave legal and rights counselling to political and human rights activists and defended political prisoners when they were subject to arbitrary arrest, violations in prisons, enforced disappearances and torture. A turning moment for El-Baker was when he witnessed grim conditions in a detention facility in January 2014, after he was arbitrarily arrested and subjected to illegal interrogation by security services in a police station. As a result of these experiences, drawing on his own savings, El-Baker founded a legal aid centre, the Adalah Centre for Rights and Freedoms. The Adalah Centre defended hundreds of students facing prosecutions and violations of their rights in universities. Over time, their work expanded to include legal aid to victims of human rights violations and research and advocacy on issues such as arbitrary arrests, enforced disappearances, extrajudicial killings, torture, the referrals of civilians to military tribunals, the lack of effective legal representation for people arrested and inhuman and degrading conditions of detention for prisoners. On 29 September 2019, El-Baker was arrested when attending an investigation session concerning his client Alaa Abdel Fattah, a prominent blogger, software

62 Alice M. Nah and Ellen Husseiny engineer and activist who played a leading role in the Revolution. Abdel Fattah had been released in March that year, after serving a five-year sentence for allegedly organising a protest without permission. As part of his probation, Abdel Fattah was required to spend 12 hours every day (from 6pm to 6am) in a police cell for five years. Both El-Baker and Abdel Fattah were arbitrarily arrested and subject to pre-trial detention. They were subsequently charged for belonging to a terrorist group, funding a terrorist group, spreading false news undermining national security and using social media to commit publishing offenses under Criminal Case 1356 of 2019.4 While in prison, Abdel Fattah was subject to torture and El-Baker to ill treatment and humiliation.5 The treatment of Abdel Fattah and El-Baker, who remain detained at the point of writing, highlight the continued repressive treatment of Egyptian human rights defenders since the Revolution. This chapter draws on the experiences of human rights defenders in 2015–16, examining the stigmatisation of human rights defenders by state authorities and the media. These negative narratives have had a direct effect on their security, relationships and the legitimacy of their human rights work. This chapter also examines the ways in which gender shapes the risks that women defenders in Egypt face and how they conduct their activism. We found that threats against women defenders often centred on their sexuality and their standing in society, and impacted on their relationships with friends, families and communities. Overwhelmingly, we found that defenders in Egypt struggled with their mental and emotional wellbeing, in the face of threats, attacks and the traumatic work they engaged it. This was an area they felt ill-prepared to handle, both individually and collectively. Last but not least, we focus on reflections by defenders of the steps needed to protect and sustain them in the face of high risks. In this chapter, we draw upon interviews, focus groups and survey responses from 79 participants from Egypt, comprising 33 women, 45 men and one trans person. Data was collected between July 2015 and May 2016. The participants were engaged in a broad range of human rights activities in Cairo, Assiout, Alexandria, Ismailia, Aswan, Areesh, Sohag, Upper Egypt and North Sinai working on issues such as civil and political rights; economic, social and cultural rights; freedom of expression; enforced disappearances; the rights of political prisoners and detainees; women’s rights; LGBTIQA* rights and the rights of migrants and refugees. The participants were between 18 and 62 years old, with a mean age of 32 years. They described themselves as having conducted human rights work for between 2 and 24 years, with an average of around six years. Most (78.2 percent) described themselves as leading others in human rights work most of the time (rather than following others most of the time).

The aftermath of the Revolution: 2011 to the present Upon taking control in February 2011, the SCAF suspended the constitution, dissolved the two legislative bodies, the House of Representatives and the Consultative Assembly (Shura Council), and swore in an interim cabinet. Protests continued as people expressed concerns about the continuation of authoritarian

The defence of human rights in Egypt 63 practices under the interim government, including the censorship of the media, the use of military courts to try civilians and the lack of accountability for human rights violations. Protests were met with violence by the police and military. The first post-Mubarak parliamentary elections took place between November 2011 and January 2012, and the Muslim Brotherhood’s Freedom and Justice Party won the majority of seats.6 However, on 14 June 2012, the Supreme Constitutional Court of Egypt ordered the dissolution of parliament on the basis that the law governing the elections was unconstitutional. This was perceived as an attempt to undermine the influence of Islamist groups.7 On 24 June 2012, the Muslim Brotherhood’s presidential candidate, Mohamed Morsi, won the presidential elections by a narrow margin. Later that year, the Islamist majority government passed a controversial draft constitution that was approved through a national referendum in December 2012. In June 2013, hundreds of thousands of Egyptians took to the streets again, protesting Morsi’s attempt to give himself wide-ranging executive powers, as well as his failure to restore security or to improve the economy.8 On 3 July 2013, the military took charge. Army chief Abdel Fatah el-Sisi ordered the suspension of the constitution, removed Morsi from power, and appointed the Chief Judge of the Supreme Constitutional Court, Adly Mansour, as the interim President.9 Pro-Morsi supporters who organised public sit-ins over several weeks, including at the Rabaa al-Adawiya and al-Nahda Squares, were subject to unprecedented brutal crackdowns. Security forces used unnecessary excessive lethal force to disperse the protests, leading to hundreds dead and thousands injured.10 Human Rights Watch described the events at Rabaa on 14 August 2013 as “one of the world’s largest killings of demonstrators in a single day in recent history”.11 In what Amnesty described as a “disgraceful mass trial”, 739 protestors were charged with 75 given the death penalty, 47 given life sentences and 612 given heavy prison sentences.12 That year, the Muslim Brotherhood was banned and declared a terrorist group.13 In 2014, a new constitution was passed in a referendum, amid selective and weak public consultations.14 That same year, Sisi was elected President by a landslide, a position he retained in the 2018 elections with 97 percent of the vote.15 In 2019, Egypt’s parliament approved constitutional amendments to the 2014 constitution, changing the presidential term from four to six years and incorporating an additional third “transitional” term for President Sisi.16 Although the amendments include positive developments concerning the representation of women, youth, Christians and people with disabilities in Egypt’s lower house of parliament, it expanded the role of military courts in prosecuting civilians, established a body presided over by the president to oversee the judiciary and limited the judicial review of draft legislation.17

The restrictive context for human rights activism Since the Revolution of 2011, thousands of protesters have been prosecuted in the military courts, with hundreds sentenced to death, including those tortured and forcibly disappeared.18 Anti-terrorism laws have been used to shut down public

64 Alice M. Nah and Ellen Husseiny discussion with greater intensity than during the Mubarak period.19 State authorities continue to subject media outlets to heavy monitoring; numerous websites and publications have been banned.20 State authorities have imprisoned key leaders of the political opposition, restricted workers’ movements and raided NGO offices.21 The authorities continue to tighten security, using legislative, executive and judicial powers to repress any potential mobilisation or opposition.22 The Sisi government introduced laws that further curtailed the freedom of association. Under Law 84 of 2002, government agencies already had vast discretionary powers over the formation, internal affairs and dissolution of NGOs. Although that law was already considered one of the most restrictive civil society laws worldwide23, on 24 May 2017, President Sisi ratified an even more restrictive law regulating the work of associations and other institutions in the field of civil work, Law 70 of 2017, despite heavy criticism. This law prohibited activities carried out by NGOs defined in vague and broad terms that included “harm [to] national security, public order, public morality or public health” and granted wide powers to security bodies to interfere in all aspects of NGOs administration from their licensing to their operation.24 The law was never fully enforced, but was instead replaced by Law 149 of 2019 Regulating the Exercise of Civil Work, which retained most of the restrictions of Law 70.25 One of the most prominent cases of the criminalisation of human rights defenders during this period was Case 173 of 2011, in which 43 NGO workers were charged and sentenced for between 1 and 5 years of imprisonment for receiving foreign funding, allegedly “with the aim of pursuing acts harmful to national interests or destabilising general peace or the country’s independence and its unity”.26 Over the course of the case, the court issued at least 30 travel bans and 17 asset freezes against these human rights defenders; NGO offices were closed.27 Only on 20 December 2018, after years of harassment and struggle, were the defendants finally acquitted;28 nevertheless, asset freezes and travel bans remain in place. In this study, when asked about the type of threats and attacks they experienced, defenders spoke most often about investigations and criminalisation, arrests and detention, restrictions on foreign funding for NGOs, as well as raids on offices and travel restrictions. The most commonly identified perpetrators were the security apparatuses: the police and the judiciary were mentioned repeatedly. Defenders also highlighted how they faced threats and attacks from members of the public, religious leaders and corporations. Defenders spoke about the direct personal harm and physical threats experienced during protests – being shot at, hit, attacked with tear gas and water cannons and being subject to sexual harassment and threats of sexual violence. Others spoke about being beaten while in police custody, shot at during police checks and also subject to threats of violence by mobs. Some shared experiences of surveillance, highlighting how their communications and activities – both online and offline – were monitored. They expressed feelings of uncertainty about their security and the need to be hypervigilant. Amongst defenders, there was also a sense that they were not able to “outrun the state”, and that the use of security

The defence of human rights in Egypt 65 management measures was often to buy them more time or reduce their risks rather than eliminate them altogether. As a defender, a man, said, I think activists know that once they are in the custody of the police, they have very limited measures to take that would help. Also, I believe that the authorities – if they decided to get specific data – will get it sooner or later. All the measures we take are mainly to delay them... So, for me, I feel that once they want to get you, it is game over, and there is not much you can do from your side.29 In the 2011–2013 period, sexual and gender-based violence was used specifically to deter women defenders who expressed their views publicly, including sexualitybaiting, sexual assault and rape.30 As Masa Amir observed in relation to women’s activism in 2012, “[A]t the heart of the violations faced by [women human rights defenders] … is a deep-rooted belief that their presence in the public sphere defies cultural norms of what the ‘acceptable’ societal roles for women are”.31 Women defenders have also faced judicial harassment and defamatory campaigns for engaging in human rights activism. Independent women’s rights NGOs such as Nazra for Feminist Studies, Centre for Egyptian Women Legal Assistance (CEWLA), Woman and Memory Forum and The New Woman Foundation have been affected by the tightening of security, the targeting of NGOs and restrictions on funding. The growth of government-backed NGOs and infiltration into movements has also heightened the sense of insecurity amongst defenders, making it difficult for them to trust others easily. This contributes to fractures in solidarity and cooperation among human rights activists. As an example, a point of division is the characterisation of the military takeover in 2013 – some saw it as a coup while others considered it a second revolution. As a woman defender opined, “In general, I fear other organisations that are close to the regime and who report my work to security bodies…. Now, you don’t know who is with you and who is against you, even in civil society. I am sure there are people among us who are reporting us to security”.32 There are no formal protection mechanisms for human rights defenders in Egypt. The Egyptian legal framework does not provide for special regulations or mechanisms concerning their protection.33 The absence of impartial judicial oversight has resulted in failures to hold state entities and other individuals responsible for acts of aggression against defenders. The courts, in many instances, have instead served as a tool of repression against defenders and granted impunity to perpetrators in violation of international human rights standards.34 As we found in this study, only a few local civil society organisations are involved in the protection of Egyptian defenders. In the survey we administered, only 42 percent of participants from Egypt said that they had received formal training on how to manage their own security – the lowest number across all five countries in this study.35 Of those who had received security training, the average number of trainings received was one per person, again the lowest number across all countries. We found that some defenders, especially those advocating for civil

66 Alice M. Nah and Ellen Husseiny and political rights, felt that they were not doing anything wrong, did not have anything to hide and thus did not think they needed extra precautions. Defenders working on LGBTIQA* rights came across as being more informed on security measures and protection mechanisms, perhaps due to the longer histories of criminalisation and stigmatisation related to their work. In the absence of state protection, a large number of defenders report that they depended on informal support networks comprised of family members and friends, as well as the support of local and international civil society organisations. However, positive perceptions about human rights defenders happen in relatively niche circles – amongst victims of human rights violations, fellow human rights defenders and those who understand and sympathise with the issues they fight for.

Changing public perceptions of human rights defenders The Revolution marked a turning point in the visibility of human rights activism in Egypt. During the Revolution, human rights organisations became prominent and enjoyed unprecedented support from the public. As a woman defender expressed, this period was when “we felt proud to be a human rights defender”.36 Human rights defenders were invited to speak in the mainstream media and to participate in public debates. There “was a great interaction between the public and NGOs … People went to file complaints at human rights organisations …”.37 Another defender, a woman, observed, “Right after the Revolution, society was more open to our [human rights] community; I could very easily tell my neighbours that I worked in human rights, which gave us more space to express our culture, choices and thoughts more freely and safely, and to build a discourse”.38 During Morsi’s time in power, human rights defenders also enjoyed some level of public support, as there was broad recognition that the government led by the Muslim Brotherhood posed a risk to human rights. However, during these times, human rights defenders also contended with state-sponsored campaigns to stigmatise them, campaigns that intensified under Sisi’s rule. As a prominent human rights lawyer, a man, stated, “After 2011, the vilification of human rights defenders increased, and during the last couple of years it has reached new terrifying heights. Some of our colleagues are personally targeted and attacked by name in TV shows”.39 Stigmatisation tactics played upon the public’s nationalist sentiments, religious beliefs and cultural values. A woman defender, a journalist, highlighted, “For most people, human rights defenders are considered spies and traitors receiving money from abroad – or at least they think of them as unrealistic dreamers. All this confidence that was built after the Revolution between people and human rights defenders is now destroyed.40 A defender working on the rights of communities in Upper Egypt, a man, observed how they were viewed pejoratively: In the eyes of people, we are funded agents, traitors and conspire with foreign agencies; [we are] gays; we defend LGBTI people; we distort Egypt’s image abroad; we hinder the production wheel; and we prevent Egypt from

The defence of human rights in Egypt 67 progressing because we defame Egypt abroad – this is our general image in the eyes of the masses – let’s acknowledge that.41 Some defenders identified political polarisation as a threat to their security, as political neutrality amongst defenders was viewed with suspicion. As a defender working for a prominent independent human rights NGO, a man, observed, Among other problems that human rights defenders face is the polarisation that has happened in society; polarisation between the current administration and the political opposition, including the Muslim Brotherhood. This polarised state means one of two options – you are either with us or with them; the idea to be in the middle is non-existent…. if we work on civilians referred to the military trials for example, most of them are Muslim Brotherhood, but they are subject to violations related to their right to a fair trial. By merely defending these people, it exposes you to many parties in the state, media and regular people in the streets; it exposes you as defending a group labelled by the country as terrorists, so you are a “defender of terrorists”. This affects your message, your impact and your safety, all the time. So this severe polarisation is a huge problem...42 Another defender working on political rights and development, a man, explained, If we issue a report about torture in prison of political opposition leaders from the Muslim Brotherhood, the state will consider you a supporter of the opposition. If we talk about the churches burnt in July 2013, the Muslim Brotherhood will consider us as supporting the state. So, as long as you are dragged in this political struggle, you will always be in danger.43 Similarly, a Bedouin defender from the Sinai, a man, said, “If you don’t side with the state’s military regime, then you are [seen as being] with the Muslim Brotherhood, Salafis, Al Qaeda, or ISIS. On the other hand, the Islamists would consider you their enemy if you don’t side with them”.44 A complex history exists between human rights and political activism in Egypt,45 and it can be difficult to distinguish between those who are active in either field. As a defender, a man, highlighted, “In today’s Egypt, it is difficult to separate the pure form of defending human rights from politics. We are human rights and political activists at the same time. There is a history linking political parties and human rights organisations”.46 Regardless, the greatest danger to human rights defenders still came from state authorities. As a defender working on freedom of opinion and expression, a man, opined, “Anyone who critiques the regime in any way is accused of treason, even if it’s constructive criticism”.47 The significance of the media In this study, human rights defenders frequently identified the state-sponsored media as a significant influence in shaping negative perceptions amongst the

68 Alice M. Nah and Ellen Husseiny public about human rights and civil society activism. As a defender working on economic rights, a man, highlighted: “Now we have a very bad reputation mainly because of the negative propaganda in the media by the regime that connects human rights to conspiracy and instability”.48 These negative portrayals affect the security of defenders. A human rights lawyer, a man, noted, The increasing propaganda against our work in the media puts us in danger, even when we deal with ordinary citizens. The public now has the impression that anyone working in human rights are serving foreign interests – that we must be traitors and foreign agents, etc. This has created unease and sometimes hatred towards us, which in some cases becomes threatening.49 A distinct approach to the stigmatisation of defenders are insinuations about the funding they receive. A woman leader in an independent NGO observed, “The first thing people ask when you deal with them is about the funds from abroad you get – despite [the fact] that we know that even the army receives foreign funds, and the TV administration too …”.50 Defenders noted a lack of understanding about human rights activism amongst the broader public. As a defender working on freedom of expression, a man, observed, “I think the public do not understand why we do what we do. From where [do] we get money? Are we Egyptians or not? Is it legal or not? There is always suspicion...”.51 A defender working on religious freedoms, a man, noted, “Most people have a distorted idea about human rights because they do not really know what exactly the work of human rights is”.52 This void in understanding is filled by narratives by state actors and the state-controlled media who turn the public against human rights defenders. As such, as a woman human rights lawyer observed, “The common people hate us in general”.53 However, defenders also noted contradictions in behaviour and attitudes amongst those who sought their help in times of trouble. As a defender, a man, observed, The media – which is under the state’s control – presents us to people as foreign-funded agents and as if we are the reason for the lack of national security since 2011, so people start to hate us. However, we are the first people they come to when they are in a problem. The poor marginalised woman, who cannot afford a lawyer, comes to us – so society is confused. Those same journalists who slander our names… those journalists come to us when they have a problem, because we, as human rights defenders, we do not discriminate against anyone.54 Similarly, another defender, a man, said, “Those who have never dealt with NGOs, they have this idea that human rights organisations in Egypt are spies and traitors, but when any one of them faces a personal violation, then they start asking about NGOs, asking for their help. So, I think there are contradicting feelings towards NGOs”.55

The defence of human rights in Egypt 69 Public vilification by media personalities result in defenders experiencing psychological distress, strained familial relationships and social isolation. As a human rights lawyer, a man, expressed, We are one of the permissible and authorised targets to attack for the state media apparatus in Egypt. The current offensive they are launching against us can take very severe forms starting from psychological trauma and to the point of incitement to murder. When a TV presenter like [name redacted] publicly accuses me of receiving foreign funds and training youth to topple the regime, my father calls me and this causes personal stress for me.56 Another human rights lawyer, also a man, noted: “Some TV shows are dedicated to the practice of negatively portraying the human rights field. Even our own families when they see the image the media presents of our field, they become suspicious of our work and activities”.57 He goes on to say, “If you conducted a survey on a random sample of ten Egyptians, regardless of political views, I believe you will find that at least seven or eight of them view human rights negatively”. A defender working on the rights of human rights defenders, a man, opined, “Social isolation for human rights defenders is not a good thing. Being condemned by people around you and your family is not a pleasant feeling. I personally feel that this is the most dangerous part – social stigmatisation”.58

Gendered and intersectional experiences of risk and security The dynamics of political and economic transformation in Egypt have affected the women’s rights movement in general and the work of women defenders in particular. These dynamics have forced women defenders to operate in restricted ways, often highly influenced by their immediate social, religious and cultural contexts. Women defenders have participated in the public sphere since the 1980s.59 Over the past two decades, the women’s movement has been increasingly “governmentalised”, with the establishment of the National Council of Women in 2000 and the infiltration of government NGOs, which contributed to the redefinition of women rights.60 The historic division of the Egyptian legal system between Islam and secularism has led to the current compromise in which family law follows Islamic law while the rest of the legal system is secularised. As Lama Abu-Odeh argues, the character of the Egyptian legal system itself has hindered the development of “an elaborate cultural critique of the institution of patriarchy in the family”.61 As such, she argues that even feminist reforms of family law tend to be moderate, accepting of gendered roles proscribed by religion and tradition. Indeed, the women defenders in our study repeatedly highlighted how religion, patriarchy and expectations about their “appropriate” roles in families shaped the way their activism was understood – narratives that were absent in our interviews with men. Women defenders in our study observed that that the threats and attacks against them were gendered. They were often subject to sexuality-baiting62 and labelled in different ways – as promiscuous, immoral, gay and defenders of LGBTIQA*

70 Alice M. Nah and Ellen Husseiny rights – regardless of their sexual orientation or gender identity. As a woman defender expressed, Personally and socially, we are seen as permissive in our personal choices, even the conservatives among us in their life choices are seen as permissive. We are seen as irreligious, immoral, angry at everything from God to society to the state. We are seen as belonging to Western culture. And there is always a debate about what is more important – morality and religion or human rights. They see us as Egyptians with a Western spirit, sex and no religion, and politics is only in opposition to everything.63 Women defenders shared their fears about sexual violence. A woman defender shared, My deepest fear is not being killed, but I fear more sexual assaults. So during my work on the sexual harassment force [during protests] I was in much fear as we put ourselves in a situation that we can be assaulted while defending the victims. So I was avoiding street work and tried to take tasks like the operation room, social media, data management, etc. However, I had sometimes to join the intervention groups in the streets when they needed backup.64 The pervasive culture of sexual harassment, gendered expectations of the “proper” role of women in society and the stigmatisation of those who behave out of these expectations also impacted on women defenders’ personal and familial relationships. State actors and other perpetrators exploited patriarchal, gendered and misogynistic attitudes as they sought to impede the work of women defenders. As a woman defender shared: The main challenge I face is being a girl, and the social consequences … such as the constant worry of my family regarding my involvement in politics and that if I get arrested, it will not be the same as if I were a boy …. security agencies … know that this was a point of weakness, so they used to send me security calls at my home address, while my male colleagues would face different harassments. [They] knew that the security call could cause a serious problem at home, and may cause me to back down … This is a social burden and a fear you live with 24/7; it is not only regarding my image, but also the harm that my family can face one way or another … I am ready to pay the price of my choices, but there are other people who pay the price too, this is what sometimes makes you feel more restricted in what you do.65 The mental burden of having to address additional threats because of their gender was also clearly expressed by women defenders. Speaking about what made her feel insecure, a woman defender said: Once you walk in the streets without any protection, and I am not veiled, it is tremendously exhausting; you don’t know whether the person following you

The defence of human rights in Egypt 71 is on drugs or are security personnel. And I reached a stage where I felt that I was already fighting a lot, so I also didn’t want to keep on fighting, because there is harassment in the street.66 A woman defender expressed frustration about how she was forced by wellmeaning colleagues to conform to conservative expectations about the appropriate presentation of self for the sake of her security. As she expressed, The men who were with us kept telling us “If the Muslim Brotherhood saw you without a veil on your head, they would shoot you or take you and beat you”, so we had to put a veil on our heads. Out of all the risks that I have, this was the one that I was hanging on to, like I would not put anything on my head. I think it was an internal fight for identity … [I was thinking] I am not a coward, and I did not do anything wrong; I am not hiding, and I am not begging for mercy, although I was terrified … .67 An LGBTIQA* defender, a man, also expressed facing harassment on the street because of his sexuality, and the lack of protection afforded by the state: [I faced] street harassment, because if we are a group of different-looking people walking in the street, we are harassed, whether sexually or otherwise. People make me feel insecure, because I felt like if I take an action, like taking him to a police station, I would be the one who got assaulted, because I have no rights according to the police, which is different than the sexual harassment from a male to a female which the state kind of opposes.68

“We cannot afford to despair”: the necessary but insufficient focus on wellbeing When asked about their mental and emotional wellbeing, most of the defenders in our study stated that this was not a priority in human rights circles in Egypt. However, they also spoke about their feelings of depression, anguish, stress, anxiety and hopelessness, and how they struggled to cope with this as they persisted in their activism in the face of heavy workloads and high exposure to trauma and risks with no apparent outcomes. A defender working on freedom of expression, a man, said, “It took me some time to realise the mental damage I am getting until I reached a deteriorated level … I got really bad, with sessions of crying, nightmares, ulcers. I realised that working in this field, dealing with victims and sad stories, traumatises you”.69 A human rights lawyer based in Alexandria, a woman, shared, In our work we get overloaded all the time. When you talk to victims they expect you to be a lawyer, a psychiatrist and a supporter. And at the end of the day the help you are offering is limited, just few steps and procedures limited by the law, so most of [the] time I feel my hands [are] tied and that’s

72 Alice M. Nah and Ellen Husseiny very painful for me. I wish I can take a break and disconnect but this is not available. Sometimes I reach very severe levels of depression that lasts for months which also affects my physical health. I believe it’s a priority to deal with it, but I don’t know the mechanism to do so.70 A woman defender working on reproductive health and gender rights highlighted, As I told you, I do not have this feeling of being at risk or threatened, but my biggest enemy is the depression feeling. I mentally dropped the year 2014 totally from my memory … you might think that 2013 was the worst, but I think that 2014 was much worse, as it became clear how bad the situation was. This mental feeling prevents us from doing our basic work. I recently started to come back to fieldwork and research, however, in every interview I conducted, I felt like I was hit by a truck.71 Nevertheless, defenders also expressed how they felt guilty about experiencing these feelings, and how there was little mental and emotional space, time or resources for dealing with them. They also felt privileged compared to others, and this posed a barrier to them addressing their wellbeing. As a woman leader in Aswan working on women’s rights expressed, Most of us do not prioritise [our wellbeing] … because there is no time. Or because we feel privileged in comparison. Because people need me, just like the Revolution times when we used to say we cannot afford to despair. We are moved by duty and internal rules. Many times we neglect our needs, even nutrition-wise, not even emotional-wise – some people had ulcers because they had no time to eat for three days.72 A woman leader in Cairo working on domestic violence and torture in detention centres said, We always feel guilty that we cannot do everything; even when someone gets depressed or burned out, we say we will make programmes but we never do…. We have no time and not many staff…. You are always under pressure, especially as the cases are painful.73 Barriers to defenders addressing wellbeing included lack of knowledge about mental health, as well as cultural attitudes and stigma related to this topic. A leader of a prominent human rights organisation in Cairo, a man, said, NGOs in Egypt don’t offer psychological support for their employees, as opposed to other international NGOs that offer counselling to those who embark on field missions, or enter war or conflict zones. NGOs in Egypt are less experienced in that area. But it also has to do with certain cultural imperatives prevalent within Egyptian society. For instance, if you work in

The defence of human rights in Egypt 73 an NGO and the director offers you [to] see a psychiatrist, your immediate reaction is that you’ll poke fun at him, when in another culture, that would be considered normal.74 Some defenders observed that it was important to know their own limits, and to adjust their human rights accordingly. A woman human rights lawyer observed, Some defenders have different levels of tolerance. I try to focus on working at the court and not police stations to avoid stress. Others have the ability to go to the streets and deal with people more to organise demos and sit-ins, I don’t have such ability and endurance. My work focuses on legal procedures only, others can do more.75 However, it can be very difficult to recognise the impact of human rights activism on one’s wellbeing. As a woman defender in Cairo working on women’s rights shared, We underestimate what it does to us. It takes a very long time to recover even if next day we start our day with coffee and work. I do not think we have actually organised groups or organised processes to help us recover, it is all random efforts, you go to your friends or you crawl in bed or you go party until you forget what happened, nothing out there to tell you where to go … there was so many cases that I reached depression because of what I have experienced.76 A psychiatrist observed, soberly, that the high levels of stress and vicarious trauma led to many human rights defenders quitting their work or leaving Egypt.77 As Vivienne Matthies-Boon argues, drawing upon interviews with forty young activists from Cairo in 2013–14, the “experience of overwhelming violence ripped apart their assumptive world – it shattered their conceptions of themselves, others and the world”, resulting in their depoliticisation as they “largely withdrew from the political sphere and focused on their personal lives in an effort to mend their broken worlds”.78

“The risk is always there”: sustaining human rights defenders Without exception, all the defenders in this study had suffered because of their activism – and yet, they persisted in their causes. For them, solidarity and connection with like-minded people both locally and internationally mattered. Defenders spoke about the importance of learning from others, developing their skills, and gaining broader perspectives about democracy and human rights with people outside of Egypt, of connecting with others so as not to feel alone. As a defender, a man, opined, Under harsh security threats, it’s difficult to create and to come up with innovative ideas, especially when one is always on the run. The only way to better our local work is through global connections and workshops. We need to see how the rest of the world functions.79

74 Alice M. Nah and Ellen Husseiny However, connections with international groups abroad can also increase the risks that defenders face. In this study, defenders were concerned that their affiliations with civil society groups and foundations (based in the United States of America, in particular) would be misconstrued and used against them. Defenders also observed that while in the past, having international connections and working for a high-profile NGO provided some level of protection, the repression they were experiencing was so high that such factors had negligible impacts on their security. The defenders in our study discussed the importance of employing a range of self-protection measures, including risk analysis and development of security protocols amongst friends, family and colleagues. They welcomed workshops and training sessions that helped them to analyse their context and think about how they would respond in different scenarios. They appreciated the emergency grants, relocation opportunities, digital security support and international advocacy provided by local and international supporters. Nevertheless, they recognised and regretted that these resources were only available to and accessed by a relatively small number of activists who were well connected locally and internationally and who tended to know English. The human rights defenders in our study recognised the need to build support amongst the public about their work. A defender focused on worker’s rights amongst a minority group in Sohag, a man, suggested, “We should work on more cases that are of interest to larger groups of people, so they get to know why our role is important and so no confusion takes place”.80 Similarly, a woman defender said, “[We need] to engage in people’s daily suffering, like prices, delay of electing the parliament, torture in police stations. All these issues are touching on people’s daily life. If we engage with groups of people on specific issues we can rebuild bridges with them”.81 Overwhelmingly, the defenders in our study recognised the need to focus on their mental and emotional wellbeing, but also shared about their struggles in doing so. They experienced not only the stress and anxiety that came from living with uncertainty and high levels of risks associated with their activism, but also vicarious trauma from listening to and documenting the experiences of victims of rape, torture and other forms of violence. They grappled with feelings of depression, fear and burnout. They felt guilty for focusing on themselves while others around them suffered. While leaders of organisations knew they had to do something to help their staff and volunteers who were overburdened, they had to implement initiatives with scarce resources. Reflecting on women human rights defenders’ experiences of trauma, disappointment and exhaustion in Egypt and Tunisia, Yara Sallam suggests that, “[U]ntil we reach a point where our wellbeing is taken into consideration, coping with the current situation remains a means for survival”.82 Sallam highlights a number of practical steps that organisations can undertake to support self- and collective care amongst human rights defenders, including the provision of flexible work hours, social insurance, sufficient salaries, support groups and measures to address overwork. She also highlights the importance of “[b]eing aware

The defence of human rights in Egypt 75 that we exist in a context that requires us to unlearn practices which harm us as well as others, practices that work against maintaining wellbeing. Understanding that constant tolerance and self-reflection are essential to building a supportive context”.83 The fight for human rights has also created opportunities for the building of solidarity and connection across entrenched social divides. A defender from an ethnic minority described how his community accepted a woman defender from another religion who supported them in their struggles, albeit gradually. Women defenders and LGBTIQA* defenders observed how shared experiences of repression enabled them to connect with human rights defenders working on other issues. Maintaining and rebuilding hope has become even more important under the current political climate in Egypt, until the day, perhaps in the distant future, as a defender expressed, “It becomes the norm to defend one’s rights”.84

Conclusion Since the Revolution in 2011, human rights defenders in Egypt have been subject to intense repression. Not only has the government imposed numerous restrictions on their right to freedom of assembly and association, they have been publicly vilified and criminalised. The defenders in this study spoke about the multitude of pressures they faced – constant surveillance, navigating the infiltration of their circles, contemplating their possible arrest, torture and disappearance even grappling with the meaninglessness of their work. This has led to high levels of stress, anxiety, depression, disappointment and social isolation. Sustained attacks against human rights defenders have shown them where their weaknesses as a movement lie – how they need to reshape their ways of thinking and acting as well as their relationships and networks, to protect themselves. The public stigmatisation of defenders has had powerful effects on the lives of defenders in Egypt. These include greater insecurity, higher exposure to violence, the loss of public support, discrimination, strained relationships, social isolation and mental and emotional distress. Political polarisation has resulted in increased threats against human rights defenders; political neutrality has been viewed with suspicion. Women defenders, in particular, experience risks that are gendered; social expectations shape the way their activism is perceived. Defenders recognise the urgent need to reshape public perceptions about human rights and civil society and to build broader support for human rights defenders. Crucial to the continuation of their work is the need to nurture and maintain hope in spite of their circumstances. As a woman human rights lawyer expressed, I still have hope. As long as you are honest with people, they will believe you at the end. As long as human rights defenders are hardworking and persistent in conveying the message, I am sure that people will change this negative picture about us and the media will stop attacking us. It’s not just optimism – it’s also a way to fight our daily disappointments.85

76 Alice M. Nah and Ellen Husseiny The price of choices The main challenge

is being a girl,

the social consequences

the constant worry

of my family.

If I get arrested,

it will not be the same,

if I were a boy.

Girls

can be subjected

to physical violations,

dramatic stress.

The security agencies that watch

know this point of weakness,

so they call home,

while male colleagues face different harassments.

Human rights workers, including me,

have different social choices.

My main concern, more than danger,

is how these choices will be used

to defame me

socially, politically

in front of my family,

the wider society.

We have created a ghetto

where we practise our beliefs freely.

You face the question,

how will this be used against you?

Your romantic and human relationships,

the nature of your friends;

the social events in which you participate,

anything related to sex or alcohol.

You practise these with more anxiety

than someone who made the same choice

but does not work in human rights.

This is a social burden and fear,

the harm that family can face.

I am ready to pay the price of my choices,

but other people pay the price too.

Composed by J.A. Mensah

The defence of human rights in Egypt 77 This verbatim poem was created from the interview transcript of a woman human rights defender in Egypt working on civil and political rights.

Notes 1 We are thankful to Sherif Azer, Katrina Maliamauv, Patricia Bartley and Holly Shorey who contributed to the data collection and analysis for this chapter. We are also thankful to Yara Sallam for her constructive comments on an earlier draft of this chapter. All mistakes remain our own. 2 In April 2011, a government fact-finding panel found that at least 846 people were killed and 6,400 injured during the protests, as a result of the excessive use of force by security forces, BBC News, “Egypt Unrest: 846 Killed in Protests – Official Toll”, 19 April 2011, https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-13134956. 3 Cherif M Bassiouni, Chronicles of the Egyptian Revolution and Its Aftermath: 2011–2016 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 49; Hanafy Gebaly, “Constitutional Developments in Egypt in 2011” (European Commission for Democracy Through Law (Venice Commission), Strasbourg), 27 February 2012, https://www.venice.coe.int/web forms/documents/?pdf=CDL(2012)004-e. 4 World Organisation Against Torture, “Egypt: Arbitrary arrest and enforced disappearance of Mr Mohamed El-Baqer and Mr Alaa Abdel Fattah, EGY 004 / 0919 / OBS 075, 30 September 2019, https://www.omct.org/human-rights-defenders/urgent-intervent ions/egypt/2019/09/d25522/. 5 European Parliament, European Parliament Resolution on Egypt, 2019/2880 (RSP), 22 October 2019, http://www.europarl.europa.eu/doceo/document/B-9-2019-0139_EN .html. 6 Leila Fadel, “Final Results Confirms Islamists Winners in Egypt’s Elections”, Washington Post, 21 January 2012, https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/middle _east/final-results-confirms-islamists-winners-in-egypts-elections/2012/01/21/gIQA XpwbGQ_story.html?utm_term=.1f10433b8a30. 7 Transparency International, “The Officers’ Republic: the Egyptian Military and Abuse of Power”, 23 March 2018, http://ti-defence.org/publications/the-officers-republic/. 8 David D. Kirkpatrick, Kareem Fahim, Ben Hubbard, “By the Millions, Egyptians Seek Morsi’s Ouster”, New York Times, 30 June 2013, https://www.nytimes.com/2013/07 /01/world/middleeast/egypt.html. 9 Bassiouni, Chronicles of the Egyptian Revolution and Its Aftermath: 2011–2016, 133. 10 The Egyptian Initiative for Personal Rights, “Weeks of Killing: State Violence, Communal Violence and Sectarian Attacks in the Summer of 2013”, 18 June 2014, https://eipr.org/en/publications/weeks-killing. 11 Human Rights Watch, “All According to Plan: The Rab’a Massacre and Mass Killings of Protesters in Egypt”, 12 August 2014, https://www.hrw.org/report/2014/08/12/all -according-plan/raba-massacre-and-mass-killings-protesters-egypt. 12 Amnesty International, “Egypt: 75 Death Sentences and Heavy Jail Terms Handed Down in Disgraceful Mass Trial, 8 September 2018, https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest /news/2018/09/egyptdeath-sentences-and-heavy-prison-terms-handed-down-in-disg raceful-mass-trial/. 13 Khalil al-Anani, “Upended Path: The Rise and Fall of Egypt’s Muslim Brotherhood”, The Middle East Journal, 68, no. 4 (Autumn 2015): 527-543, https://doi.org/10.3751/69.4.12. 14 European Parliament, Egypt: In-Depth Analysis of the Main Elements of the New Constitution, (Brussels: European Parliament Directorate-General for the External Policies of the Union, 2014), http://www.europarl.europa.eu/RegData/etudes/note/join/ 2014/433846/EXPO-AFET_NT(2014)433846_EN.pdf. 15 Patrick Kingsley, “Abdel Fatah al-Sisi Won 96.1% of Vote in Egypt Presidential Election, Say Officials”, Guardian, 3 June 2014, https://www.theguardian.com/wo rld/2014/jun/03/abdel-fatah-al-sisi-presidential-election-vote-egypt; John Davidson,

78 Alice M. Nah and Ellen Husseiny

16

17

18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

26

27 28 29 30

31

Ahmed Tolba, “Egypt’s Sisi wins 97 percent in election with no real opposition”, Reuters, 2 April 2018, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-egypt-election-result/egypts -sisi-wins-97-percent-in-election-with-no-real-opposition-idUSKCN1H916A. Gamal Essam El-Din, “Frequently Asked Questions about Parliament’s Proposed Amendments of Egypt’s 2014 Constitution’, AhramOnline, 15 April 2019, http://eng lish.ahram.org.eg/NewsContent/1/64/330089/Egypt/Politics-/Frequently-Asked-Quest ions-about-parliaments--prop.aspx. Amnesty International “Egypt: Parliament Should Reject Proposed Constitutional Amendments”, 8 April 2019, https://www.amnesty.org/en/documents/mde12/0147 /2019/en/; International Commission of Jurists, “Egypt: Constitutional Amendments to Extend the President’s Term and Powers Over the Judiciary Must be Rejected”, 6 February 2019, https://www.icj.org/egypt-constitutional-amendments-to-extend-the -presidents-term-and-powers-over-the-judiciary-must-be-rejected/. Amnesty International “Egypt: Parliament Should Reject Proposed Constitutional Amendments”. Amnesty International, “Egypt: An Open-Air Prison for Critics”, 20 September 2018, https://www.amnesty.org/download/Documents/MDE1291072018ENGLISH.pdf. Since 24 May 2017, the Association for Freedom of Thought and Expression (AFTE) have identified at least 512 blocked websites. See: https://afteegypt.org/en/blocked-we bsites-list, for more information. BBC News, “Egypt Unrest: NGO Offices Raided in Cairo”, 29 December 2011, https:/ /www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-16357795. Cairo Institute for Human Rights Studies, “The Militarization of Politics and an Authoritarian Revival: The State of Human Rights in the Arab World”, 7 August 2018, https://cihrs.org/arab-region-annual-report-2017-2018/?lang=en. The Egyptian Center for Public Policy Studies, “Analytic Study of Law 84/2002 on Non-Governmental Organizations”, undated, http://www.ecpps.org/index.php/en/p ublications/487-analytic-study-of-law-84-2002-on-non-governmental-organizations. Cairo Institute for Human Rights Studies , “New Law Will Cripple Egyptian NGOs”, June 2, 2017, https://cihrs.org/joint-statement-new-law-will-cripple-egyptian-ngos/?lang=en. Civic Freedom Monitor, “Egypt”, 30 October 2019, https://www.icnl.org/resources/ civic-freedom-monitor/egypt; Human Rights Watch, “Egypt: New NGO Law Renews Draconian Restrictions”, 24 July 2019, https://www.hrw.org/news/2019/07/24/egypt -new-ngo-law-renews-draconian-restrictions. The Egyptian Initiative for Personal Rights, “Background on Case No. 173 - The ‘Foreign Funding Case’ Imminent Risk of Prosecution and Closure”, 21 March 2016, https://eipr.org/en/press/2016/03/background-case-no-173-%E2%80%9Cforeign-f unding-case%E2%80%9D. European Parliament, “Resolution on Egypt, Notably the Situation of Human Rights Defenders”, 2018/2968 (RSP), 11 December 2018, http://www.europarl.europa.eu/ doceo/document/B-8-2018-0578_EN.html. The Tahrir Institute for Middle East Policy, “TIMEP Brief: Case 173: Egypt’s Foreign Funding Case”, 28 February 2019, https://timep.org/reports-briefings/timep-brief-case -173-egypts-foreign-funding-case/. Participant working on the rehabilitation of victims of torture, man, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. Nazra for Feminist Studies, One Year of Impunity: Violations against Women Human Rights Defenders in Egypt from August to December 2011 (Cairo: Nazra for Feminist Studies, August 2012); Nazra for Feminist Studies, A Continuation of Violations: Military Policy towards Women Human Rights Defenders (Cairo: Nazra for Feminist Studies, December 2011). Masa Amir, “A Study of the Experience of Women Human Rights Defenders in Eleven Egyptian Governorates”, Journal of Human Rights Practice, 5, No. 3 (September 2013): 460-477, p. 461.

The defence of human rights in Egypt 79 32 Participant working on political participation, woman, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. 33 Michel Forst, World Report on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders, December 2018, https://www.business-humanrights.org/sites/default/files/documents/UNSR %20HRDs-%20World%20report%202018.pdf. 34 International Commission of Jurists, “Egypt: Authorities Must End Politicization of the Judiciary and Ensure its Independence and Accountability”, 12 October 2016, https:// www.icj.org/egypt-authorities-must-end-politicization-of-the-judiciary-and-ensure-its -independence-and-accountability/. 35 Nah, A.M. Strengthening Security Training for Defenders at Risk, Human Rights Defender Hub Policy Brief 3, (York: Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York, 2017). 36 Participant working on civil and political rights, woman, interviewed in Cairo in November 2015. 37 Participant working on the rights of human rights defenders, man, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. 38 Participant working on civil and political rights, woman, interviewed in Cairo in November 2015. 39 Participant working on detainees’ rights, man, interviewed in Cairo in August 2015. 40 Participant working on political participation, woman, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. 41 Participant working on the rights of communities in Upper Egypt, man, interviewed in Cairo in January 2016. 42 Participant working on civil and political rights, man, interviewed in Cairo in April 2015. 43 Participant working on political rights and development, a man, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. 44 Participant working on the rights of the Bedouin, man, interviewed in Ismailia in July 2015. 45 Yasmine Shash, “The Formal Birth of the Human Rights Movement in Egypt”, Arab Reform Initiative, 4 August 2017, https://www.arab-reform.net/wp-content/uploads/ pdf/Arab_Reform_Initiative_en_the-formal-birth-of-the-human-rights-movement-in -egypt_2666.pdf?ver=34d134f2363071708d5de21ddbdce959. 46 Participant working on detainees’ rights, man, interviewed in Cairo in December 2015. 47 Participant working on freedom of expression, man, interviewed in Cairo in July 2015. 48 Participant working on economic rights, man, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. 49 Participant working on detainees’ rights, man, interviewed in Cairo in August 2015. 50 Participant working on civil and political rights, woman, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. 51 Participant working on freedom of expression, man, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. 52 Participant working on religious freedoms, man, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. 53 Participant working on detainees’ rights, woman, interviewed in Alexandria in September 2015. 54 Participant working on women’s rights, man, interviewed in Cairo in December 2015. 55 Participant working on the rehabilitation of victims of torture, man, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. 56 Participant working on detainees’ rights, man, interviewed in Cairo in December 2015. 57 Participant working on detainees’ rights, man, interviewed in Cairo in August 2015. 58 Participant working on the rights of human rights defenders, man, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015.

80 Alice M. Nah and Ellen Husseiny 59 Lila Abu-Lughod, “The Active Social Life of ‘Muslim Women’s Rights’: A Plea for Ethnography, Not Polemic, with Cases from Egypt and Palestine”. Journal of Middle East Women’s Studies, 6, no. 1 (2010): 1–45. doi:10.2979/mew.2010.6.1.1. 60 Ibid. 61 Lama Abu-Odeh, “Egyptian Feminism: Trapped in the Identity Debate”, Yale Journal of Law and Feminism, 16, no. 2 (2004), 145–191, 173. 62 The Women Human Rights Defenders International Coalition (2015) defines sexuality-baiting as “the manipulative use of prejudices about sexuality to attack defenders’ political agendas in addition to the attacks on the defenders themselves” (p.26); Women Human Rights Defenders International Coalition (2012) Gendering Documentation: A Manual for and About Women Human Rights Defenders, www.defendingwomen -defendingrights.org. 63 Participant working on civil and political rights, woman, interviewed in Cairo in November 2015. 64 Participant working with a prominent human rights organisation, woman, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. 65 Participant working on civil and political rights, woman, interviewed in Cairo in November 2015. 66 Participant working for an independent women’s rights NGO, woman, interviewed in Cairo in March 2016. 67 Participant working for an independent women’s rights NGO, woman, interviewed in Cairo in November 2015. 68 Participant working on the rights of LGBTIQA* persons, man, interviewed in Cairo in December 2015. 69 Participant working on freedom of expression, man, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. 70 Participant working on detainees’ rights, woman, interviewed in Alexandria in September 2015. 71 Participant working on reproductive health and gender rights, woman, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. 72 Participant working on women’s rights, woman, interviewed in Aswan in December 2015. 73 Participant working on prisoner’s rights, woman, interviewed in Cairo in December 2015. 74 Participant working on freedom of expression, man, interviewed in Cairo in July 2015. 75 Participant working on detainees’ rights, woman, interviewed in Alexandria in September 2015. 76 Participant working for an independent women’s rights NGO, woman, interviewed in November 2015. 77 Participant working on the rehabilitation of victims of torture, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. 78 Vivienne Matthies-Boon, “Shattered Worlds: Political Trauma Amongst Young Activists in Post-Revolutionary Egypt”, The Journal of North African Studies, 22:4, 620–644, DOI: 10.1080/13629387.2017.1295855. 79 Participant working on the rights of the Bedouin, man, interviewed in Ismailia in July 2015. 80 Participant working on worker’s rights, man, interviewed in Sohag in November 2015. 81 Participant working on women’s rights, woman, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. 82 Yara Sallam, Even the Finest of Warriors, translated by Zainab Magdy, 2020, 72, https ://www.hrresilience.org/uploads/1/1/6/2/116243539/even_the_finest_of_warriors_en glish.pdf. 83 Ibid, 76.

The defence of human rights in Egypt 81 84 Participant working on worker’s rights, man, interviewed in Sohag in November 2015. 85 Participant working on detainees’ rights, woman, interviewed in Alexandria in September 2015.

References Abu-Lughod, Lila. “The Active Social Life of ‘Muslim Women’s Rights’: A Plea for Ethnography, Not Polemic, With Cases from Egypt and Palestine.” Journal of Middle East Women’s Studies 6, no. 1 (2010): 1–45. doi:10.2979/mew.2010.6.1.1. Abu-Odeh, Lama. “Egyptian Feminism: Trapped in the Identity Debate.” Yale Journal of Law and Feminism 16, no. 2 (2004): 145–91. al-Anani, Khalil. “Upended Path: The Rise and Fall of Egypt’s Muslim Brotherhood.” The Middle East Journal 68, no. 4 (Autumn 2015): 527–43. doi:10.3751/69.4.12. Amir, Masa. “A Study of the Experience of Women Human Rights Defenders in Eleven Egyptian Governorates.” Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (September 2013): 460–77. Amnesty International. “Egypt: Parliament Should Reject Proposed Constitutional Amendments.” April 8, 2019. www.amnesty.org/en/documents/mde12/0147/2019/en/. Amnesty International. “Egypt: An Open-Air Prison for Critics.” September 20, 2018. www.amnesty.org/download/Documents/MDE1291072018ENGLISH.pdf. Amnesty International. “Egypt: 75 Death Sentences and Heavy Jail Terms Handed Down in Disgraceful Mass Trial.” September 8, 2018. www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2018 /09/egyptdeath-sentences-and-heavy-prison-terms-handed-down-in-disgraceful-masstrial/. Bassiouni, Cherif M. Chronicles of the Egyptian Revolution and Its Aftermath: 2011–2016. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016. BBC News. “Egypt Unrest: NGO Offices Raided in Cairo.” December 29, 2011. www.bbc .co.uk/news/world-middle-east-16357795. BBC News. “Egypt Unrest: 846 Killed in Protests – Official Toll.” April 19, 2011. www.b bc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-13134956. Cairo Institute for Human Rights Studies. “New Law Will Cripple Egyptian NGOs.” June 2, 2017. https://cihrs.org/joint-statement-new-law-will-cripple-egyptian-ngos/?lang=en. Cairo Institute for Human Rights Studies. “The Militarization of Politics and an Authoritarian Revival: The State of Human Rights in the Arab World.” August 7, 2018. https://cihrs.org/arab-region-annual-report-2017-2018/?lang=en. Civic Freedom Monitor. “Egypt.” October 30, 2019. www.icnl.org/resources/civic-freedo m-monitor/egypt; Human Rights Watch. “Egypt: New NGO Law Renews Draconian Restrictions.” July 24, 2019. www.hrw.org/news/2019/07/24/egypt-new-ngo-law-rene ws-draconian-restrictions. Davidson, John, and Ahmed Tolba. “Egypt’s Sisi Wins 97 Percent in Election with No Real Opposition.” Reuters, April 2, 2018. www.reuters.com/article/us-egypt-election-result /egypts-sisi-wins-97-percent-in-election-with-no-real-opposition-idUSKCN1H916A. El-Din, Gamal Essam. “Frequently Asked Questions About Parliament’s Proposed Amendments of Egypt’s 2014 Constitution.” AhramOnline, April 15, 2019. http://eng lish.ahram.org.eg/NewsContent/1/64/330089/Egypt/Politics-/Frequently-Asked-Quest ions-about-parliaments--prop.aspx.

82 Alice M. Nah and Ellen Husseiny European Parliament. Egypt: In-Depth Analysis of the Main Elements of the New Constitution. Brussels: European Parliament Directorate-General for the External Policies of the Union, 2014. www.europarl.europa.eu/RegData/etudes/note/join/2014 /433846/EXPO-AFET_NT(2014)433846_EN.pdf. European Parliament. “Resolution on Egypt, Notably the Situation of Human Rights Defenders.” 2018/2968 (RSP). December 11, 2018. www.europarl.europa.eu/doceo/d ocument/B-8-2018-0578_EN.html. European Parliament. “European Parliament Resolution on Egypt, 2019/2880 (RSP).” October 22, 2019. www.europarl.europa.eu/doceo/document/B-9-2019-0139_EN.html. The Egyptian Center for Public Policy Studies. “Analytic Study of Law 84/2002 on NonGovernmental Organizations.” undated. www.ecpps.org/index.php/en/publications/ 487-analytic-study-of-law-84-2002-on-non-governmental-organizations. The Egyptian Initiative for Personal Rights. “Weeks of Killing: State Violence, Communal Violence and Sectarian Attacks in the Summer of 2013.” June 18, 2014. https://eipr.or g/en/publications/weeks-killing. The Egyptian Initiative for Personal Rights. “Background on Case No. 173 - The ‘Foreign Funding Case’ Imminent Risk of Prosecution and Closure.” March 21, 2016. https:// eipr.org/en/press/2016/03/background-case-no-173-%E2%80%9Cforeign-funding-cas e%E2%80%9D. Fadel, Leila. “Final Results Confirms Islamists Winners in Egypt’s Elections.” Washington Post, January 21, 2012. www.washingtonpost.com/world/middle_east/final-results confirms-islamists-winners-in-egypts-elections/2012/01/21/gIQAXpwbGQ_story. html?utm_term=.1f10433b8a30. Forst, Michel. World Report on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders. December 2018. www.business-humanrights.org/sites/default/files/documents/UNSR%20HRDs %20World%20report%202018.pdf. Gebaly, Hanafy. Constitutional Developments in Egypt in 2011. Strasbourg: European Commission for Democracy Through Law (Venice Commission), February 27, 2012. www.venice.coe.int/webforms/documents/?pdf=CDL(2012)004-e. Human Rights Watch. “All According to Plan: The Rab’a Massacre and Mass Killings of Protesters in Egypt.” August 12, 2014. www.hrw.org/report/2014/08/12/all-according -plan/raba-massacre-and-mass-killings-protesters-egypt. International Commission of Jurists. “Egypt: Authorities Must End Politicization of the Judiciary and Ensure its Independence and Accountability.” October 12, 2016. www .icj.org/egypt-authorities-must-end-politicization-of-the-judiciary-and-ensure-its-inde pendence-and-accountability/. International Commission of Jurists. “Egypt: Constitutional Amendments to Extend the President’s Term and Powers Over the Judiciary Must be Rejected.” February 6, 2019. www.icj.org/egypt-constitutional-amendments-to-extend-the-presidents-term-and-po wers-over-the-judiciary-must-be-rejected/. Kingsley, Patrick. “Abdel Fatah al-Sisi Won 96.1% of Vote in Egypt Presidential Election, Say Officials.” Guardian, June 3, 2014. www.theguardian.com/world/2014/jun/03/ab del-fatah-al-sisi-presidential-election-vote-egypt. Kirkpatrick, David D, Kareem Fahim, and Ben Hubbard. “By the Millions, Egyptians Seek Morsi’s Ouster.” New York Times, June 30, 2013. www.nytimes.com/2013/07/01/wor ld/middleeast/egypt.html. Matthies-Boon, Vivienne. “Shattered Worlds: Political Trauma Amongst Young Activists in Post-Revolutionary Egypt.” The Journal of North African Studies 22, no. 4: 620–44, doi:10.1080/13629387.2017.1295855.

The defence of human rights in Egypt 83 Nah, AM. Strengthening Security Training for Defenders at Risk. Human Rights Defender Hub Policy Brief 3. Centre for Applied Human Rights, University of York, York, 2017. Nazra for Feminist Studies. A Continuation of Violations: Military Policy towards Women Human Rights Defenders. Cairo: Nazra for Feminist Studies, December 2011. Nazra for Feminist Studies. One Year of Impunity: Violations Against Women Human Rights Defenders in Egypt from August to December 2011. Cairo: Nazra for Feminist Studies, August 2012. Sallam, Yara. Even the Finest of Warriors. Translated by Zainab Magdy, 72. 2020. www.h rresilience.org/uploads/1/1/6/2/116243539/even_the_finest_of_warriors_english.pdf. Shash, Yasmine. “The Formal Birth of the Human Rights Movement in Egypt.” Arab Reform Initiative, August 4, 2017. www.arab-reform.net/wp-content/uploads/pdf/Ar ab_Reform_Initiative_en_the-formal-birth-of-the-human-rights-movement-in-egypt_2 666.pdf?ver=34d134f2363071708d5de21ddbdce959. The Tahrir Institute for Middle East Policy. “TIMEP Brief: Case 173: Egypt’s Foreign Funding Case.” February 28, 2019. https://timep.org/reports-briefings/timep-brief-case -173-egypts-foreign-funding-case/. Transparency International. “The Officers’ Republic: The Egyptian Military and Abuse of Power.” March 23, 2018. http://ti-defence.org/publications/the-officers-republic/. Women Human Rights Defenders International Coalition. Gendering Documentation: A Manual for and About Women Human Rights Defenders. 2012. www.defendingwomen -defendingrights.org. World Organisation Against Torture. “Egypt: Arbitrary Arrest and Enforced Disappearance of Mr. Mohamed El-baqer and Mr. Alaa Abdel Fattah, EGY 004 / 0919 / OBS 075.” September 30, 2019. www.omct.org/human-rights-defenders/urgent-interventions/egy pt/2019/09/d25522/.

4

Intersections between formal

protection mechanisms and

informal protection practices

for defenders at risk in Kenya

Irina Ichim and Patrick Mutahi

Introduction1 The mood in the human rights community was jubilant, relieved, elated. It was 11 November 2015, and the Mombasa High Court had just given its judgment in one of the most emblematic cases in Kenya’s recent struggles to keep the space for civic activism open. Months earlier, in April 2015, the government declared several organisations as terrorist entities under the Prevention of Terrorism Act 2012, including two reputable organisations – Muslims for Human Rights (MUHURI) and Haki Africa – both known, among other reasons, for their work in documenting and seeking redress for extrajudicial executions on the coast.2 Their bank accounts and staff medical/health insurance covers had been immediately frozen and their offices raided by the Kenya Revenue Authority. Later, the NGO Coordination Board, a state corporation responsible for regulating the NGO sector in Kenya, issued them with a show cause letter of de-registration for alleged noncompliance with its guidelines. This was not the first attempt by Kenya’s government to impede the work of NGOs through legislative or bureaucratic measures in recent years. Yet, there was something brazen and chilling about targeting two of the most prominent human rights organisations in one of Kenya’s most historically marginalised regions. MUHURI and Haki Africa were seen by many to be the torchbearers of human rights on the coast; hence, human rights defenders in Kenya were concerned that losing this battle would be a huge step backwards in the larger struggle of protecting human rights and the space for activism in Kenya. There was much exhilaration when the High Court in Mombasa finally declared these actions unconstitutional. The High Court also found that the Inspector General of Police had acted outside of his power and the confines of the law, and the government was ordered to meet the costs of the legal suit. This High Court decision not only upheld constitutionalism and the rule of law, it had positive implications for the broader fight to push back government efforts to limit civic space in Kenya. The support that individual human rights defenders, civil society groups, as well as donors offered to MUHURI and Haki Africa during this time was exemplary for how the protection of human rights defenders – as both an ideal and a series of tactics and strategies – has come to function in the recent years. The coming together of a coalition of diverse actors that cut across many of

Between formal and informal protection 85 the social and political divides that have come to define the human rights community in Kenya in the past decade or so, was emblematic of broader ideas of mutual support and solidarity. However, our research for this project also showed us that the reality for the vast majority of human rights defenders in Kenya is starkly different from the experiences of high-profile NGOs such as MUHURI and Haki Africa. Many activists who challenge power structures live and work either outside Nairobi in rural areas, or in informal settlements – not in privileged suburban areas. Many defenders do not have a public profile and are not well connected to national and international networks. In addition to the risks that arise from their human rights activism, many experience dangers related to socio-economic marginalisation and to aspects of their identity, such as their gender, ethnicity and sexual orientation. In this chapter, we explore the relationship between formal protection mechanisms – institutionalised policies and programmes by state or non-state actors (whether enacted through policies and laws or not) – and informal protection practices to strengthen the security of defenders at risk. We observe the near absence of formal protection mechanisms in the complex sociopolitical spaces where many human rights defenders practise human rights. We note that defenders drew resourcefully on family, social or community relationships and networks, as well as on informal knowledge to strengthen their security in situations of risk. When defenders have gained assistance from formal mechanisms, these have operated alongside more informal processes and other protection practices, often in complementarity, but sometimes also in tension. We define formal protection mechanisms as any form of institutionalised protection approach (law, policy or programme), whether enacted by state or civil society actors. Informal mechanisms are, however, organic, non-institutionalised and have grown out of protection practices by the defenders. Hence, we examine how and when defenders use informal or formal mechanisms exclusively or a mixture of both, and the implications of these approaches for protection of human rights defenders and defence of human rights in Kenya. However, we have not come across a single case of a human rights defender who had absolutely no means of protection at their disposal, even when they had no knowledge of the formal protection system. Some degree of reliance on informal mechanisms was omnipresent, regardless of how well informed defenders were about formal ones. In the next section of this chapter, we provide a brief discussion on the current developments that affect the protection of human rights defenders, and then sketch the formal defenders’ protection infrastructure in Kenya. We examine formal and informal protection measures, exploring the range of measures that happen outside of formal frameworks and why and how they are meaningful to defenders. We focus on personal relationships, geography, community and informal knowledge networks, and on the overlap between formal and informal mechanisms. Finally, we examine the advantages and disadvantages of formal and informal protection mechanisms, and how the two can complement each other.

86

Irina Ichim and Patrick Mutahi

This chapter draws upon interviews, focus groups and survey responses from 77 participants in Kenya, comprising 43 men, 33 women and one transgender person. They were from a wide range of backgrounds and engaged in a broad range of human rights activities in Nairobi, Nakuru, Mombasa, Kilgoris, Baringo, Laikipia, Kericho and Eldoret. They were working on issues such as civil and political rights; economic, social and cultural rights; police brutality; extrajudicial killings; corruption; good governance; land and environmental rights; sexual and gender-based violence; female genital mutilation; women’s rights; children’s rights; the rights of LGBTIQA* persons; the rights of sex workers and the rights of persons with disabilities. The participants were between 22 and 61 years old, with a mean age of 38.5 years. The participants described themselves as having conducted human rights work for between one and 30 years, with an average of around eight years. 87 percent described themselves as leading others in human rights work most of the time (rather than following others most of the time).

The political background and the context for human rights practice The first two post-independence governments of President Jomo Kenyatta (in office 1964–1978) and President Daniel Arap Moi (in office 1978–2002) consolidated power, turning the constitution and national institutions, including the parliament and the judiciary, into personal political instruments of the ruling elite.3 Between 1964 and 1990, 24 constitutional amendments were enacted by parliament all intended to strengthen the presidency at the expense of civil rights.4 This context and abuse of power was met with resistance by those aggrieved with the subversion of the constitution. They started calling for constitutionalism and respect of rights, but the government responded by detaining leaders. Some died in mysterious circumstances. Others went into exile. Nevertheless, there remained a group of church leaders, trade unionists, politicians, academics and others, who persevered in agitating for reforms and good governance.5 During the reign of President Moi, no form of political protest was tolerated. As scholars observed, he perceived human rights: generally as alien and Eurocentric conceptions inconsistent with African values and culture. He views the pro-democracy and human rights advocates in Kenya as unpatriotic, disloyal and ungrateful individuals influenced by what he called foreign masters.6 Those who took to the streets to protest against Moi’s rule were routinely arrested, detained and tortured to confess to charges mostly related to treason and sedition. Though the repression was supposed to silence the growing opposition, it had the contrary effect. In 1989, calls for the country to return to a multi-party state and for the restoration of democracy intensified with continuous street protests by human rights defenders who included opposition politicians, clergy and

Between formal and informal protection 87 ordinary citizens. In the end, Moi and KANU had to give in to the pressure and on December 1990, Section 2(A) of the constitution was repealed allowing the formation of other political parties. The first multi-party elections after the reintroduction of pluralism were held on 27 December 1992, but the struggle for much wider constitutional reforms continued. Just before the 1997 general elections, human rights defenders, the opposition and the church took calls for constitutional reforms a notch higher, terming them as a prerequisite to their participation in the elections. This led to more reforms touching on the elections and freedom of assembly.7 The period between 1998 and 2000 saw the government return to business as usual but civil society actors, human rights defenders and the opposition renewed efforts to agitate for a comprehensive and inclusive constitutional review process. It was also during this period that human rights organisations and donors became important and started playing a key role in protecting human rights defenders, opposition leaders and activists against state abuses. They not only mobilised support for the protection and promotion of human rights, but foreign embassies also sometimes became a point for refuge for those running away and seeking asylum or temporary refuge. In 2002, Kenya held its first free and fair multi-party elections. The National Rainbow Coalition (NARC) won with a majority vote.8 The political transition of 2002 represented an important opportunity for Kenya to improve human rights in the country since the new government was elected on a platform of good governance and accountability. The government’s promise, coupled with the euphoria of the moment, also led to the transition of many important figures from civil society into politics. Former human rights leaders and defenders were elected to parliament after the 2002 elections and others were appointed to key government positions under NARC. This weakened civil society and affected its ability to critique the abuses that continued to take place in the new dispensation. Donors shifted their funding to the government, since they had shared priorities and interests. These changes forced many defenders to alter the way they operated. Street protests were shunned and looked down upon. Human rights defenders were now required and asked to engage with policy makers in board rooms and to give alternative, workable solutions to be implemented. As noted by Kanyinga, this led to a split in civil society and the human rights movement between those who supported the government and those who opposed it. Intolerance to criticism of the NARC government grew, with many of the opposition and human rights defenders now in government accusing their former colleagues of not appreciating how the government worked or claiming that it was too soon to start judging their performance.9 After the 2007 elections and the ensuing post-election violence, a coalition government was formed by Prime Minister Raila Odinga and President Mwai Kibaki (in office 2002–2013).10 At the top of the agenda of the coalition government was the review and passage of a new constitution, which was supposed to address the fundamental issues that led to the 2007/2008 election violence. In 2010, a new constitution was promulgated, which consolidated rights gains

88

Irina Ichim and Patrick Mutahi

fought for over the years by human rights defenders through protest and board room discussions. The constitution entrenches political, social, economic and cultural rights through an elaborate Bill of Rights. The constitution, and especially the Bill of Rights, have added vibrancy to human rights work in Kenya, both by the professional and the grassroots sectors, and has proven to be invaluable in the defense of civic space and human rights defenders in Kenya. The operating environment for human rights defenders: recent years The development of Kenya’s human rights defenders as individuals themselves and as a collective community has been tied to the struggle for good governance, multi-party politics and the new constitution introduced in 2010, providing a new era for promotion of rights and protection of human rights defenders. In spite of progress in human rights and broader reforms, the post-2002 years marked a clampdown on civic space and activism. This intensified as investigations into the 2007/2008 post-election violence proceeded and when the cases were referred to the International Criminal Court (ICC).11 Throughout the 2007/2008 violence, civil society actors monitored and recorded the violence, identifying perpetrators and facilitators of violence. They forwarded the names of victims and witnesses to the ICC when the Prosecutor commenced investigation into the cases in 2010.12 Government efforts to end the ICC’s investigations were unsuccessful. In 2013, two of the politicians indicted by the Court – Uhuru Kenyatta and William Ruto – won the elections, becoming President and Deputy President respectively.13 As part of a broader narrative that recast the ICC as a tool of Western oppression, the government’s propaganda machine started portraying human rights defenders as unpatriotic and agents of foreign powers for supporting the ICC.14 The government has also sought to limit civil society space and media freedoms through enacting restrictive legislation. In 2013, the government passed the Kenya Information and Communication (Amendment) Bill and the Media Council Bill, both of which sought to provide the government with extensive powers over the media, including by creating a government-controlled body with powers to revoke journalists accreditation, seize their property and impose excessive fines on the basis of anonymous complaints. Covert pressure on the media houses and critical journalists has been on the rise15 while direct attacks on journalists and media continue to be documented.16 Various laws to close or harass NGOs – including immigration laws, the NGO Coordination Board Act 1990 and taxation laws – are applied in a targeted manner. Despite several court orders and calls by CSOs, the government has failed to gazette and implement the Public Benefits Organisations Act. Passage of this Act in 201317 raised much hope for an enabling environment for civil society in Kenya. The law was supposed to ensure a better legal administration and governance of public benefit organisations including establishing self-regulation. These legislative initiatives have been matched by repeated attempts to de-register NGOs and to introduce bureaucratic measures to impede their work.18 One such move was the shifting of the NGO Co-ordination Board from Ministry of

Between formal and informal protection 89 Devolution and Planning to that of Interior and Coordination of Government,19 a move that securitised regulation of NGOs. It is instructive that two months after this shift occurred, the Interior Principal Secretary Karanja Kibicho on 6 January 2017 wrote to all the 47 county commissioners directing them to shut down NGOs that were not properly licensed or were implementing projects that they had not been registered to undertake.20 Same-sex relations and sex work is criminalised by law although there are attempts to decriminalise it. Minority and identity groups such as LGBTIQA* and commercial sex workers have the additional challenges of legal, cultural, and religious barriers along with government bureaucracy. The Gay and Lesbian Coalition of Kenya (GALCK) has also highlighted cases of attacks on LGBTIQA* people.21 Women human rights defenders also continue to be attacked. According to the National Coalition of Human Rights Defenders Kenya (NCHRD-K), in 2016, 26 percent of women human rights defenders indicated threats as a challenge to their human rights work.22 Further, 30 percent of the women human rights defenders indicated harassment from both state and non-state actors. This came especially from those advocating for justice for victims of sexual and gender-based violence, who are left vulnerable to physical and verbal abuse by the community and the perpetrators of these violations. The report noted that direct and indirect threats of physical assault, not just to human rights defenders but also to their families, and verbal abuse instils fear in them, making it difficult for them to pursue matters to conclusion. Finally, widespread, violent disruptions of protests, that have sometimes led to casualties and more often to the arrest of protesters, many of them human rights defenders, also signal a crackdown on the freedom to associate and assemble, and hence little tolerance for critical voices coming from Kenya’s civil space and elsewhere. These developments have had very real consequences for individual defenders. For one, the legislative measures are reflected in the judicial harassment of defenders, either through cases based on malicious prosecutions, which then drag on and on, and/or through punitive bails. For example, in December 2014, seven defenders were arrested while protesting the unconstitutionality of the Security Laws (Amendment) Bill and the bail was set at 300,000 Kenyan shillings (around 2,900 US dollars) per person, which was prohibitively high. This method is particularly successful for slowing down defenders and discouraging them from being active, especially so with those operating at the grassroots, who cannot afford to pay for lawyers and who have a hard time engaging with the legal system. Public narratives that criminalise activism also legitimise threats and physical attacks against individual defenders. It is in this context, as much as under international and regional normative and institutional influences that Kenyan civil society decided to set up a series of formal protection mechanisms. Although in some way drawing upon older forms of protection, this new architecture was Kenya’s first attempt at institutionalising the protection of defenders. It is to these new protection forms that we now turn.

90

Irina Ichim and Patrick Mutahi

The institutional framework for the protection of defenders in Kenya At the time of writing, the protection framework for human rights defenders in Kenya is still under development. The government has neither set up any specific protection mechanisms for human rights defenders nor passed any laws that recognise the rights of human rights defenders specifically. However, the constitution has provisions that serve to protect human rights defenders on the basis of their status as citizens, rather than as a specific category of persons. The constitution’s expansive Bill of Rights provides for civil and political rights, as well as economic, social and cultural rights. The Bill of Rights states that no derogation is permitted from the right to life and the right to freedom and security of person, including the right not to be tortured or to be treated or punished in a cruel, inhuman or degrading manner, the right not to be subject to corporal punishment, and the right not to be deprived of freedom arbitrarily or without just cause (Article 29). A number of government institutions have either started working with human rights defenders within broader mandates or have mandates that relate to their protection. Most notably, the Kenya National Commission on Human Rights (KNCHR), the national human rights institution established in 2011, identifies the protection of human rights defenders as a thematic area.23 Although it does not have the capacity to offer direct protection to defenders, KNCHR engages in public litigation cases that concern defenders, conducts investigations of reported violations against defenders and conducts other activities, such as trainings for defenders and other relevant stakeholders in their protection such as the police. Another relevant agency, the Witness Protection Agency (WPA), established in 2011 under the 2006 Witness Protection Act (Cap 79) is tasked with the protection of witnesses at risk. However, this is a government agency and its independence has been questioned, especially in relation to the protection of witnesses against powerful government officials. Civil society in Kenya, like other countries in East Africa, has established its own NGO concerned specifically with the protection of defenders at risk. Established in 2007, the National Coalition of Human Rights Defenders – Kenya (NCHRD-K) runs three main programmes: a protection programme, an advocacy programme and a capacity-building programme. Although based in Nairobi, NCHRD-K works with a number of regional and county representatives in order to increase its reach beyond the boundaries of the capital. In addition, international NGOs, such as Front Line Defenders, Peace Brigades International and Protection International have staff in Kenya and actively participate in the protection of defenders at risk. The Protection Working Group (PWG) comprises NGOs concerned with the protection of defenders at risk, while the Donor Protection Working Group has membership of both donors and NGOs. There is also the Media Stakeholders Working Group comprised of CSOs and individuals working to protect the media and journalists. These working groups meet regularly to coordinate with each other, avoid duplicating support and to synergise resources and

Between formal and informal protection 91 strategies for specific protection cases. Additionally, the donors with a presence in Kenya are an important source of support, including through regular meetings with protection actors, the issuance of public statements and their presence at important events. Some Kenyan human rights defenders interact regularly with regional protection mechanisms, such as the African Commission on Human and People’s Rights and its Special Rapporteur on Human Rights Defenders in Africa. Some also engage with the UN Human Rights Council’s Universal Periodic Review Process and with UN special procedures, such as the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders, the Special Rapporteur on Extrajudicial Executions and the Special Rapporteur on the Freedom of Association and Assembly. However, comparatively few human rights defenders have the knowledge, contacts and financial means to interact with these regional and international bodies. National protection mechanisms are also limited in reach; they lack the financial and human resources to be in most towns outside of Nairobi. Given such conditions, many defenders resort to informal measures in situations of risk.

Informal protection practices By “informal protection practices” we mean the range of processes and resources that fall outside of the institutionalised programmes and initiatives that we have described above, which were put in place to achieve security for defenders at risk. Even as much of the current discourse and practice on the protection of defenders is concerned primarily with formal and institutional approaches, defenders continue to rely overwhelmingly on informal protection practices. In what follows, and based on our data, we provide a brief overview of the range of forms that these practices take and why and how they are meaningful. Defenders often draw upon their personal relationships – be they with family, friends, members of their community, or even with individuals in institutions – to navigate situations of danger. Personal relationships fill in gaps left by formal protection mechanisms in a number of ways. Often, family and friends physically shield defenders at risk, either by helping them escape situations of imminent danger, or by taking them into their homes, often for long periods of time. For example, when a woman defender we interviewed in Mombasa working on environmental rights was threatened by armed gunmen, she called a friend who immediately sent her a taxi. She took her son and went to live with that friend in another town for almost a year until the risks reduced. She did not tell anyone else where she was as an additional layer of protection.24 In another case, a woman defender who was threatened due to her advocacy for victims of sexual attacks during Kenya’s post-election violence left her home and lived with friends for a long period of time, moving from one friend to another. Another defender from outside of Nairobi, a man, told us how, in addition to staying in two houses, he also sought shelter with other friends and sometimes a neighbour. When things got really difficult, he moved to Nairobi to stay with friends there. In yet another case, when people came looking for a trans LGBTIQA* activist at her home, her

92

Irina Ichim and Patrick Mutahi

family members disguised her in a burqa and helped her to escape.25 Other participants also told us about how they helped other defenders to relocate to other countries in the region when formal protection mechanisms did not respond fast enough.26 Networks of families and friends also contribute financially to the security of defenders, ranging from bail payments to medical bills to daily subsistence. In a number of situations where defenders were wrongfully arrested and charged, it was with the help of family and friends that they were able to raise bail money to avoid imprisonment during trial and to hire a lawyer until others could help.27 For example, when a woman defender was framed and arrested before a demonstration, her brother and sister helped her to get a lawyer and gave her some money in the first instance.28 Only later, after the media picked up her case, giving her a high profile, did a number of national and international organisations provide her with assistance. They provided her with a grant to cover personal expenses while she was in hiding (and hence not working), and later assisted her in relocating other members of her community that were at risk for the same issue. The help she received from family members was crucial in the first few months, and could have remained her only line of assistance had the media not picked up her case. However, defenders also told us about instances when they did not receive formal protection support from state or civil society actors. Although they sought help from various organisations, this was never granted. Other forms of financial support included that for hospital bills when necessary, for transport when immediate relocation was needed, phone credit and even food. Considering that a sizable number of defenders in Kenya come from difficult socio-economic backgrounds, the importance of this financial support cannot be overestimated.

Socio-geographies of security Perceptions of security and ways of managing security are tied to space and place. One of the participants that we interviewed for this project told us that she felt safe when she was at home. Located in one of Nairobi’s many informal settlements, the participant’s home, where we conducted the interview, was located somewhere in the middle of the settlement, but also towards the end of the compound that it formed together with other homes. This arrangement, which is typical of slum areas in Nairobi more generally, creates a sense of anonymity. Newcomers unfamiliar with the area find it very difficult to navigate these informal settlements as there are no signs to indicate directions, no names for roads and no maps. It makes perfect sense, then, that insiders to the slums would use their own knowledge of their environs and outsiders’ lack of the same as a way of achieving security. The spatial dimensions of protection are strengthened by supportive relationships with family, friends and neighbours. Nothing illustrates this better than a visit that we conducted with one of our participants to her informal settlement, where a couple of years earlier she almost single-handedly managed to get a lead factory shut down because it was poisoning the environment and causing acute

Between formal and informal protection 93 health problems to local residents.29 During our visit, we met numerous members of her informal settlement, all of whom seemed to know her, and many voiced their appreciation for her efforts. During our interview, she mentioned how, a few years earlier, while she was organising a protest with members of the local community, when she was arrested, 16 other young men who were with her at the time refused to leave her side. They too were arrested. In a particularly terrifying moment in prison, at around 3am one night, she was told that the officer in command of the police station wanted her to go to meet him. She started speaking loudly to make herself heard, and when the other 16 youths who were arrested with her rioted in their cells, the police officers abandoned their plan. Other participants affirmed the importance of community relationships for their protection from attacks by state and non-state actors including community members. A woman defender working on minority rights in Nakuru said, I have come to realise that when you are good to people they can be your protectors. For example, I live near a boda boda [bicyle and motorcycle taxis] operators’ stage. One time, someone was talking about eliminating me. [Boda boda drivers] went and talked to them and they said that they knew me and that I was helping society.30 Another defender, a man, working on good governance also based in Nakuru said, [We] have created [a] rapport with the community that we work with and it has enabled us to create a critical mass that understands our work and therefore we get security in masses…. whenever they feel or hear about the moves that those particular people are planning against us, they inform us in advance.31 Community relationships are important both for support in case of attacks as well as for generating intelligence about impending attacks. A woman defender working on women’s and girls’ rights in Kilgoris told us about how she was warned in advance by someone at a party that the food was poisoned.32 An LGBTIQA* defender in Mombasa was warned by a member of the community about plans to attack her if she continued visiting her LGBTIQA* friends, who she was checking on regularly because they faced threats from members of their community.33 Often, defenders replicate these kinds of dynamics within their own relationships with a small circle of trusted family members and friends with whom they share secret phone numbers for the exchange of confidential information and strategies. A defender working on access to information and transitional justice, a man, stated, “I have to share information with my close friend and fellow human rights defenders and tell them [that] I am in such-andsuch a place. Sometimes I do not go alone; normally I do not go alone”.34

Informal encounters with formal protection mechanisms At times, personal and community relationships also overlap with institutional ones. We have come across defenders who managed their security by working

94

Irina Ichim and Patrick Mutahi

with particular individuals within institutions, including some that are judged to be perpetrators of human rights violations, such as the police. They establish personal relationships with those who show sympathy for their cause. A woman defender working on sex worker rights in Mombasa, for example, said she would turn for help to a particular policeman that was known to them to be supportive of sex workers.35 Another woman defender working on female genital mutilation and early child marriage narrated how they were rescued by the police and the local administration when they were attacked while trying to rescue five girls being forced into early marriage.36 The police took them from the scene and NCHRD-K paid their hospital bills. In another case, two queer women working as sex workers in Nairobi were threatened by construction workers. One of the women was able to mobilise the local community – friends and police in the area – who offered her protection in a safe house for a while, until the NGO GALCK could intervene.37 A different dimension of an overlap between personal and institutional relationships can be seen in the fact that many of the self-identifying LGBTIQA* defenders and sex workers more readily appealed to organisations that work on the same issues, rather than organisations that work on protecting defenders more generally. This might be due to an issue of trust that is more readily found when solidarity is based on aspects that are so integral to one’s identity. It could also be because human rights organisations that specialise in certain areas have simultaneously developed the capacity to offer specialised support to defenders working there. For example, cases of attacks on journalists are referred to organisations like the Media Council of Kenya and ARTICLE 19. Even when defenders refer those cases to NCHRD-K, they are passed on to these organisations for action. Finally, at the opposite pole, initiatives like the Protection Working Group (PWG), which we mentioned above, illustrate how defenders can be excluded from protection processes. These spaces are closed to many defenders, not only to those in rural areas but also to those in urban areas. It has meant that large numbers of unknown defenders have not been able to access these specific protection resources even though they could be at risk. Access to the PWG, for example, as a space where dialogue occurs – between defenders; between diplomats; between defenders and diplomats; between state officials and diplomats; between state officials, diplomats and defenders – is strictly by invitation, and mostly reserved for a select number of people and organisations based primarily in Nairobi and Mombasa Counties. Being invited to these dialogues is a privilege and it can have an immediate positive impact since it assists defenders in getting acquainted with diplomats and state officials. It can help them get access to rapid, emergency funding and protection initiatives in case of emergencies. As a woman defender observed, We went to look for money at the [Country] Embassy. They offered to protect us if things came to the worst. It was good to know we were being recognised. It was a group of five emissaries that had convened at the embassy. Yes, they said this work is risky and they were aware and would be there to protect us.

Between formal and informal protection 95 Could [they] have done better? Yes they should have given us money… they didn’t.38 What emerges therefore is that the relationship between formal and informal protection is complex, layered, multidimensional and predicated on their relative advantages and limitations. This is an issue further elaborated in the next section.

Formal protection mechanisms and informal protection practices: advantages, limitations and mutual complementarities Informal mechanisms may be preponderant in how defenders manage risk, but their presence also offers a number of important advantages. Firstly, they often tip the balance in a positive direction when utilised, covering capacity gaps in formal protection mechanisms. The environmental defender mentioned above, who was arrested together with the youth from her community, was only able to withstand her trial with the help of actors from the international community who paid her legal fees. The same funder paid transport costs for two of the youths who had been charged in the trial and who were studying for high school in a different part of the country and needed to be present in court for each hearing. Logistically and financially, this would have been extraordinarily difficult if not outright impossible for these defenders to sustain through informal protection networks. In other, less high-profile cases, defenders were relocated in situations of extreme risk, for example after being attacked by armed gunmen in their homes39 or in their community.40 They had their hospital bills paid for them41 and were helped in other ways, for example with medical reports after they were physically assaulted.42 Although the latter might not necessarily be construed as tipping the balance in a positive direction, it does take a heavy strain off informal protection measures. Finally, formal protection systems are particularly helpful when it is the institutions themselves or civic space more broadly that are at risk, as the case of MUHURI and Haki Africa illustrated. According to one of our participants, another advantage of institutional protection mechanisms is the fact that it decreases the possibility that risk is transferred from the defenders to those people – family, friends, colleagues or acquaintances – that are so crucial in how informal protection mechanisms work. The institutions, once they come to publicly support the defender, take a larger share of the burden and reduce spotlight on the individual or the family. As a woman defender put it, “It is good to try and bring institutions in to extricate yourself as an individual”.43 Furthermore, some of the organisations offer additional temporary support such as safe houses, which are only known to a small group of actors directly involved in protection. This support provides relief to defenders as it enables them to wait until the risks they experience decrease or fizzle out. However, even as formal protection mechanisms have the ability to fill in gaps left by more informal measures, they are also limited in a number of ways. Firstly,

96

Irina Ichim and Patrick Mutahi

there is the issue of bureaucracy and the sometimes tedious, time-consuming process of getting protection. Although this often becomes a contentious issue between protection organisations and their beneficiaries, protection organisations have an obligation both to their constituencies and to their donors. This, coupled with resource constraints, means that adequate vetting processes must be put in place to ensure that protection resources reach only defenders who are at genuine risk. Vetting is both easier and faster when defenders already have a medium or high public profile, are threatened for issues already on the agenda of human rights organisations or are geographically close to protection actors. The opposite applies when none or only some of those conditions are met. In the interim, it is often the informal protection mechanisms that fill in the gap. Secondly, due to resource constraints and the need to ensure wide reach, formal protection mechanisms are often limited in duration compared to the duration of risk that defenders experience; they are also limited in their ability to cater for all of the needs of defenders. Again, in such situations, informal mechanisms fill in the gaps. One defender we interviewed was threatened by armed people when working on a case of land grabbing in one of Nairobi’s informal settlements. Fearing for his safety, he moved away from the area, then applied for an emergency grant from Front Line Defenders which helped him to relocate for six weeks. He did not feel secure at the end of that period, however, and continued to stay relocated for another six weeks at his own expense and with support from family and friends. Another defender from the informal settlements who was threatened by the police when he started investigating an extrajudicial execution in his community, also started off by relocating himself until a friend told him about Front Line Defenders. He too was awarded a grant to enable him to relocate for three months. In yet another case, an LGBTIQA* defender who was relocated for a period of time with the help of two LGBTIQA* organisations, relied on friends for money to cover his food and essentials such as phone credit. Thirdly, there is the issue of geographical location – the more remote and disconnected defenders are, the more difficult it is for protection to be made available to them in good time. We interviewed a number of defenders who had experienced risks associated with their human rights work but had never heard about formal protection mechanisms.44 Usually, these defenders either live or work in remote areas and/or they belong to comparatively marginalised categories of defenders, such as sex workers, people living with disabilities or those living and working in informal settlements. There are a number of things that informal protection processes have in common. For one, they are embedded in the everyday – they are the same processes and structures that defenders would use in any situation of risk rather than strictly in situations of risk related to human rights work. These measures can be enacted immediately because they are based on pre-existing trust – there is no need for a formal vetting process to assess the truth of the request being made, and other factors related to that. Finally, and related to that, informal mechanisms draw on and are embedded in culturally appropriate frameworks, such as kinship and patronage, that define social relationships prior to risk situations in socially recognisable and

Between formal and informal protection 97 acceptable ways. These features are the very opposite of the bureaucracy that (necessarily) defines formal protection mechanisms, which are mediated by institutions rather than personal relationships. A relationship of complementarity between the two forms of protection is essential for protection. Having knowledge and assurance of effective protection, in turn, can be an important factor in the choices that defenders make – to become involved in and/or to continue doing human rights work.

Implications for defending human rights in Kenya Most human rights defenders feel reassured by the existence of formal protection mechanisms, especially when their knowledge of these is coupled with their embeddedness in networks that include human rights defender protection institutions, and/or organisations with broader human rights mandates. As one of our participants, a woman, explained: While working on land rights we have networks e.g. under [name of organisation] on forced evictions…There are organisations that can bail you out when arrested… [For example,] in a demonstration there will sometimes be chaos, people putting down walls, and one can be arrested. Some organisations like [name of organisation] have come out and paid bail for the demonstrators. Other times we have lawyers for free to come to court. We have many organisations that one can network with. Other organisations like [name of organisation] are there to monitor implementation of the constitution. They are reliable. It is organisations and networks that [I] am part of which make me feel secure.45 However, the bureaucracy that defines formal protection mechanisms can be an impediment in defenders’ interaction with these mechanisms. The referral system used by NGOs involved in the protection of defenders requires that, in order to file a case requesting assistance, a defender must be referred by another NGO or a fellow defender known to the organisation offering protection. The reasons behind this approach include the need to avoid duplication of support in conditions of resource constraints in the formal protection sector, as well as the need to limit the possibility of the system being manipulated. While these are all legitimate reasons, this approach also creates layers of bureaucracy that require sometimes filling in what some defenders experience as complex paperwork. In situations of emergency, this can be so off-putting to defenders, that it results in them not engaging at all. Moreover, as one of our participants observed, for people who operate in remote areas and are less connected to formal networks and institutions, the requirement of a formal reference can discourage them from interacting with formal protection mechanisms. A community organiser working on housing and education rights in Nairobi, a man, observed, Somebody else comes who is doing a lot of work at the grassroots but is not known so this person will be dismissed even without being spoken to.

98

Irina Ichim and Patrick Mutahi At times the [name of organisation] asks you to get a recommendation from [name of organisation]. Those people also don’t know you so they cannot give you a recommendation… it discourages a lot of people who are doing human rights defence at the grassroots.46

In turn, the perception that in the event of risk there is no protection available, can determine defenders to disengage from human rights work. At the opposite pole to the participant that we quoted at the beginning of this subsection, other defenders that we spoke to told us how they completely withdrew from being involved in human rights work when no protection was offered to them after they found themselves in danger. Perhaps these are both extremes – the choices that defenders make on a daily basis more likely happen somewhere along the broad spectrum in between, but, like these extremes, they can and are influenced by the perception of available protection in the eventuality that risk materialises.

Conclusion Compared to other contexts, Kenya has a well-developed civil society-based institutional infrastructure for the protection of human rights defenders that offers a variety of services to defenders at risk. These include financial and logistical support in case of emergencies, especially health or legal cases, case monitoring, capacity building, relocation and safe housing for limited periods of time. Nevertheless, these interventions are uneven and unequal between rural- and urban-based defenders as well as high-profile and medium- and low-profile defenders. Defenders overcome these limitations through the use of informal protection measures, such as personal relationships, informal knowledge networks and even the intentional use of urban geography. In this paper, we have focused on the points of intersection where the two types of protection mechanisms complement each other. As elaborated, there are also points of tension between the two, especially in socio-economically marginalised landscapes, where funding is channelled exclusively to formal protection mechanisms. More research is needed, both to understand potential points of tension and to further examine the nuances of relationships of complementarity such as the ones that we have discussed here, and their implications for protection. In the meantime, formal protection mechanisms need to become more decentralised, less bureaucratic and more accessible. This is that much more likely in Kenya’s new system of devolved governance,47 which will further localise human rights struggles. A centralised, Nairobi-based protection system no longer fits that reality. Within this context, it is important that protection networks become more decentralised not just for more effective protection, but also for the sustainability of defending human rights itself.

Between formal and informal protection 99 Safe insecure Safety means:

Being inside the house,

especially when it is locked.

Sending kids to buy things from the shop,

not going myself.

Being in the middle of this compound

– before you get to me, you have to pass all these other houses. [Researcher Notes: This arrangement,

which is typical of slum areas in Nairobi,

creates a sense of anonymity

– especially for a newcomer who is not familiar with the area. Specific locations can be difficult to find; signs for the toilet are an exception.

People rely on knowledge acquired through living there

to find someone’s house. ] Insecurity means:

Police or strangers

coming around.

Seeing Toyota Probox

– these were used by police doing extrajudicial killings.

Phone calls from unknown numbers.

I always look to see who it is,

when someone is knocking at the door.

Composed by J.A. Mensah

This verbatim poem was created from the interview transcript of a woman human rights defender in Kenya working on extrajudicial killings and gender-based violence.

Notes 1 We thank Katrina Maliamauv and Patricia Bartley who contributed to data analysis for this chapter. We also thank Paul Gready, David Maughan Brown and Alice Nah for constructive feedback on earlier drafts of this chapter. All mistakes remain our own. 2 J, Kubania. “Muslim Human Rights Group Accuses Kenyan Government of Harassment”, The Guardian, 2015, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/jun/23/ muslim-human-rights-group-accuses-kenyan-government-of-harassment.

100

Irina Ichim and Patrick Mutahi

3 Okoth Ogendo, “Constitutions without Constitutionalism: Reflections on an African Paradox” in Issac Shijvi (eds), “State and Constitutionalism: An African Debate on Democracy”, Southern Africa Political Economy Series, 1991, 11. 4 Korwa G. Adar and Issac Munyae, “Human Rights Abuse in Kenya under Daniel Arap Moi, 1978–2001”, Africa Studies Quarterly Online Journal, in in http://sites.clas.ufl .edu/africa-asq/files/Adar-Munyae-Vol-5-Issue-1.pdf. 5 Ibid. 6 Ibid. 7 In November 1997, a month before elections, the Preservation of Public Security Act, sections of the Penal Code dealing with sedition and treason, the Public Order Act, the Chiefs Authority Act, the Administration Police Act and the Societies Act were repealed in what was known as the “IPPG reforms”. IPPG stands for Inter Parties’ Parliamentary Group, which is the body that negotiated the reforms. It was made of politicians from different political parties, and it was a shrewd maneuver by Moi to avoid comprehensive reforms but do enough to appease the opposition and go into elections. 8 NARC was a coalition of political parties that were mainly from the opposition. KANU lost power after ruling since 1963. 9 Kanyinga, Karuti. 2008. “Contradictions in Neo-liberalism: Donors and Human Rights CSOs in Kenya”, in Makau Mutua (ed). Human Rights NGOs in East Africa. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 199. 10 Following the political violence which saw 1,300 people die and around 600,000 displaced, international mediation by the African Union’s (AU) Panel of Eminent African Personalities, comprising Mr Kofi Annan (Chair), Mr Benjamin Mkapa and Mrs Graca Machel, brought the two main parties -- the government/Party of National Unity (PNU) and the Orange Democratic Movement (ODM) – into the Kenya National Dialogue and Reconciliation (KNDR) forum for dialogue and mediation. The overall goal of the KNDR process was to achieve sustainable peace, stability and justice in Kenya through the rule of law and respect for human rights. The parties committed themselves to end the violence including by addressing long-standing issues that had caused the crisis through constitutional, legal and institutional reforms. 11 The cases collapsed largely due to witness interference and lack of government cooperation with the Court. 12 It is notable that the ICC was not the first avenue for holding perpetrators accountable. The Commission of Inquiry into the Post-Election Violence (CIPEV/ Waki Commission), which had been formed in February 2008 as a result of the KNDR, had recommended in its report the formation of a hybrid national/international tribunal to try those responsible for the violence. When the Kenyan parliament failed on three successive occasions to pass legislation to that effect, it forwarded the evidence in its possession to the ICC (see Brown, Stephen and Sriram Chandra Lekha, The Big Fish Won’t Fry Themselves: Criminal Accountability for Post-Election Violence in Kenya, African Affairs, 2012, Volume 111, Issue 443, 244–260. 13 The cases eventually collapsed, largely due to witness interference and the lack of government cooperation. 14 FIDH, and KHRC, “Kenya One Year in Office for Uhuru Kenyatta and William Ruto”, April 2014. Kenyans for Peace with Truth and Justice, https://www.fidh.org/IMG/pdf/ kenya631a2014bassdef.pdf. 15 At the beginning of 2016, two reputable journalists lost their jobs with the Nation newspaper, one of Kenya’s main media outlets. Denis Galava, senior editor, was fired after writing an editorial that criticised Uhuru Kenyatta’s reign in power, while Godfrey Mwampembwa, popularly known as Gado, did not have his contract renewed, after his cartoons allegedly irked the Tanzanian President who subsequently banned the East African Newspaper in Tanzania for a period of six months. See: Committee to Protect Journalists, “Gado Blames Government Pressure as Cartoonist’s Contract at Kenya’s Nation ends,”, CPJ, 17 March 2016, https://cpj.org/blog/2016/03/gado-blames

Between formal and informal protection 101

16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

24 25 26 27

28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36

-government-pressure-as-cartoonists-con.php and Anne Telnaes and Karen Attiah, “Tanzanian Government Shuts Down The EastAfrican Newspaper over a Cartoon”, The Washington Post, 17 February 2015, https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/opin ions/wp/2015/02/17/tanzanian-government-shuts-down-the-eastafrican-newspaper -over-a-cartoon/. “Kenyans Take Issue with Attacks on Press Freedom”, Daily Nation, 4 May 2018. “Public benefits organisations” is an umbrella name for a wide variety of civil society actors, including non-governmental organisations, community based organisations and faith-based organisations. “Kenya ‘Deregisters’ NGOs in Anti-Terror Clampdown”, BBC News, 16 Dec 2014; Wanzala, Ouma., “957 NGOs to be De-registered for Financial Malpractice”, Daily Nation, 28 Oct 2015. “Uhuru Removes NGOs from Kiunjuri, gives to Nkaissery amid Civil Society Protests”, The Star, 13 December 2016. “Kenya: 4 Years after the Signing of the PBO Act into Law, Kenyan Civil Society is Still under Attack,” https://www.fidh.org/en/issues/human-rights-defenders/kenya-4 -years-after-the-signing-of-the-pbo-act-into-law-kenyan-civil. https://www.galck.org/resources/. “Gendered risks: Challenges WHRDs Face in the Course of their Work” https://hrdcoal ition.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/03/Gendered-Risk_-Challenges-WHRDs-Face.pdf. The Kenya National Commission on Human Rights (KNCHR) was established under article 59 of the constitution of Kenya 2010. The main goal of KNCHR is to investigate and provide redress for human rights violations, to research and monitor the compliance of human rights norms and standards, to conduct human rights education, to facilitate training, campaigns and advocacy on human rights as well as collaborate with other stakeholders in Kenya. The Commission is established in accordance with the United Nations approved Paris Principles. Participant working on environmental rights, woman, interviewed in Mombasa in November 2015. Participant working on LGBTIQA* rights and sex worker rights, trans woman, interviewed in Mombasa in November 2015. Participant working on children’s rights, woman, interviewed in Mombasa in November 2015; participant working on the rights of women and children, woman, interviewed in Mombasa in November 2015. Participant working on extrajudicial killings and land grabbing, man, interviewed in Nairobi in November 2015; Participant working on rights of communities, man, interviewed in Nairobi in November 2015; Participant working on environmental rights, woman, interviewed in Mombasa in November 2015. Participant working on environmental rights, woman, interviewed in Mombasa in November 2015. Ibid. Participant working on the rights of women and children, woman, interviewed in Nakuru in August 2015. Participant working on good governance, man, interviewed in Nairobi in July 2015. Participant working on the rights of women and children, woman, interviewed in Kilgoris in October 2015. Participant working on LGBTIQA* rights, woman, interviewed in Mombasa in November 2015. Participant working on transitional justice and accountability, man, interviewed in Nakuru in September 2015. Participant working on the rights of women and children, woman, interviewed in Mombasa in November 2015. Participant working on the rights of women and children, woman, interviewed in Kilgoris in October 2015.

102

Irina Ichim and Patrick Mutahi

37 Participant working on rights of women and LGBTIQA* persons, woman, interviewed in Nairobi in November 2015. 38 Participant working on the rights of women and children, woman, interviewed in Nakuru in August 2015. 39 Participant working on the rights of women and LGBTIQA* persons, woman, interviewed in Nairobi in November 2015. 40 Participant working on police brutality, land grabbing and evictions, man, interviewed in Nairobi in July 2015; participant working on extrajudicial killings, man, interviewed in Nairobi in November 2015. 41 Participant working on LGBTIQA* rights, man, interviewed in Mombasa in November 2015; participant working on the rights of women and children, woman, interviewed in Mombasa in November 2015. 42 Participant working on police brutality, land grabbing and evictions, man, interviewed in Nairobi in July 2015. 43 Participant working on the rights of women and LGBTIQA* persons, woman, interviewed in Nairobi in November 2015. 44 Participant working on political participation of communities, woman, interviewed in Nairobi in July 2015; participant working on sexual and gender-based violence and extrajudicial killings, woman, interviewed in Nairobi in July 2015; participant working on sex worker rights, woman, interviewed in Nairobi in July 2015; participants working on extrajudicial killings and access to justice, men and women, interviewed in Mombasa in November 2015. 45 Participant working on the rights of human rights defenders, woman, interviewed in Nairobi in July 2015. 46 Participant working on the right to housing, education and security, man, interviewed in Nairobi in July 2015. 47 This occurred in 2010, when the new constitution was adopted. Kenya now has 47 counties.

References Adar, Korwa G, and Issac Munyae. “Human Rights Abuse in Kenya Under Daniel Arap Moi, 1978–2001.” Africa Studies Quarterly 5, no 1 (Winter 2001). http://sites.clas.ufl .edu/africa-asq/files/Adar-Munyae-Vol-5-Issue-1.pdf. BBC News. “Kenya ‘Deregisters’ NGOs in Anti-Terror Clampdown.” BBC News, December 16, 2014. www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-30494259. Brown, Stephen, and Sriram Chandra Lekha. “The Big Fish Won’t Fry Themselves: Criminal Accountability for Post-Election Violence in Kenya.” African Affairs 111, no 443 (2012): 244–60. CPJ. “Gado Blames Government Pressure as Cartoonist's Contract at Kenya's Nation Ends.”, March 17, 2016, https://cpj.org/blog/2016/03/gado-blames-government-pre ssure-as-cartoonists-con.php. Daily Nation. “Kenyans Take Issue with Attacks on Press Freedom.” Daily Nation, May 4, 2018. www.nation.co.ke/news/Kenyans-take-issue-with-attacks-on-press-freedom /1056-4544070-16iq4l/index.html. FIDH. “Kenya: 4 Years After the Signing of the PBO Act into Law, Kenyan Civil Society is Still Under Attack.” January 13, 2017. www.fidh.org/en/issues/human-rights-defe nders/kenya-4-years-after-the-signing-of-the-pbo-act-into-law-kenyan-civil. FIDH, and KHRC. Kenya One Year in Office for Uhuru Kenyatta and William Ruto. FIDH and KHRC, April 2014. www.fidh.org/IMG/pdf/kenya631a2014bassdef.pdf.

Between formal and informal protection 103 Kanyinga, Karuti.“Contradictions in Neo-Liberalism: Donors and Human Rights CSOs in Kenya.” In Human Rights NGOs in East Africa, edited by Makau Mutua. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008. Kubania, J. Muslim Human Rights Group Accuses Kenyan Government of Harassment. The Guardian, 2015. www.theguardian.com/world/2015/jun/23/muslim-human-rights -group-accuses-kenyan-government-of-harassment. NCHRD-K. “Gendered Risks: Challenges WHRDs Face in the Course of Their Work.” August 2019. https://defenderscoalition.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/08/Gendered -Risk_-Challenges-WHRDs-Face.pdf Okoth-Ogendo, H. W. O. “Constitutions Without Constitutionalism: Reflections on an African Paradox.” In State and Constitutionalism: An African Debate on Democracy, edited by Issa G. Shijvi. Harare: Southern Africa Political Economy Series, 1991. Olick, Felix. “Uhuru Removes NGOs from Kiunjuri, Gives to Nkaissery Amid Civil Society Protests.” The Star, December 13, 2016. Telnaes, Ann, and Karen Attiah. “Tanzanian Government Shuts Down the EastAfrican Newspaper Over a Cartoon.” February 18, 2015. www.washingtonpost.com/news/op inions/wp/2015/02/17/tanzanian-government-shuts-down-the-eastafrican-newspaper-o ver-a-cartoon/. Wanzala, Ouma. “957 NGOs to Be De-Registered for Financial Malpractice.” Daily Nation, October 28, 2015. www.nation.co.ke/news/957-NGOs-to-be-deregistered-for -financial-malpractice/-/1056/2933956/-/ffetmuz/-/index.html.

5

Resisting a hostile and

insecure environment for

defending rights in Mexico

Patricia Bartley, Erick Monterrosas

and Paola Pacheco Ruiz

Introduction1 Marisela Escobedo Ortiz became a human rights defender as she pursued justice for the killing of her 16-year-old daughter and other victims of violence in Mexico. Marisela’s daughter, Rubi Fraye Escobedo, disappeared in Ciudad Juárez in August 2008. Her body was recovered, burned, dismembered and dumped at a pig ranch near the city in June 2009. Following their daughter’s femicide, Marisela and her husband started investigating the case and discovered that Rubi had been killed by her partner, Sergio Barraza Bocanegra. Barraza was found, arrested and confessed to the crime in court, but was later acquitted and released. Marisela began a series of protests against the authorities’ decision to release her daughter’s killer, until the court overturned the acquittal and sentenced Barraza for murder. On 16 December 2010, an unknown assassin killed Marisela outside the governor’s office in Chihuahua, where she was holding a vigil against impunity for her daughter. Marisela was killed despite the fact that state authorities knew about previous threats against her. Marisela’s murder made national headlines, but it is not an isolated case. Violence against human rights defenders remains a serious issue in Mexico with authorities failing to provide adequate protection, despite being aware of the pervasive attacks against them as in the case of Marisela. Notwithstanding the existence of official protection mechanisms at both the federal and the local level since 2012 (further elaborated below), human rights defenders are routinely silenced, with 32 killed in 2017 alone.2 This chapter focuses on the experiences of risk and protection of human rights defenders in Mexico. In the next section, we provide an overview of the hostile and insecure context that defenders face in Mexico. We highlight the lack of guarantees and the wide-ranging violence that defenders confront, shaped by militarised public security strategies and the existence of a multiplicity of perpetrators in a complex environment of corruption, aggravated crime and impunity. Against this backdrop, we highlight the initiatives and efforts of civil society to respond to the insecurities experienced by defenders. We then examine the Mexican government’s protection policies, including the current Federal Mechanism for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders and Journalists (Mecanismo Federal para

Resisting a hostile and insecure environment 105 la Protección de Personas Defensoras de Derechos Humanos y Periodistas, FPM). We offer a critical analysis of the government’s approach to security, drawn from the perspectives of defenders benefiting from this protection scheme. We emphasise the importance of thinking about protection in alternative, creative and unorthodox ways. We highlight in particular, the significance of distrust amongst human rights defenders towards the governmental institutions providing protection; the importance of protecting those close to defenders, as risk is experienced collectively; as well as the importance of understanding security multidimensionally, taking into consideration mental and emotional wellbeing and digital security amongst other factors. We then focus on civil society responses to the protection of defenders at risk. We examine strategies for building legitimacy and political visibility aimed at creating safer environments and defusing threats in the complex territorial environment of diverse perpetrators in Mexico. We then examine the ways in which experiences of risk, security and protection are gendered and intersectional. We highlight the issue of gender discrimination within human rights movements, and the importance of self and collective care as strategies for sustainable activism. This chapter draws upon interviews, focus groups and a survey with 75 defenders, 30 men and 45 women, from a wide range of backgrounds and engaged in a broad range of human rights activities in Chiapas, Coahuila, Chihuahua, Jalisco, Mexico City, Nuevo León, Oaxaca, Veracruz, Puebla, Estado de Mexico and Morelos. They worked on issues such as civil and political rights, freedom of expression, enforced disappearances, the rights of political prisoners, indigenous peoples’ rights, land rights, environmental rights, the right to health, the right to education, women’s rights, LGBTIQA* rights and the rights of migrants and refugees. The participants were aged between 19 and 78 years old, with a mean age of 39.2 years. They described themselves as having conducted human rights work for between two and 24 years, with an average of around 12 years. 77.5 percent described themselves as leading others in human rights work most of the time (rather than following others most of the time).

The complex environment for human rights in Mexico Mexico is a federal presidential representative democratic republic, in which the President is the head of state and the head of government. The federal government shares sovereignty with 31 Mexican states. In 2000, after seven decades of rule, the Institutional Revolutionary Party (Partido Revolucionario Institucional, PRI) lost a presidential election, handing power to the National Action Party (Partido Acción Nacional, PAN). As Mexico transitioned from authoritarianism to a nominal democracy over the next two decades, the Mexican state has been configuring a public discourse that is officially pro-democracy and human rights. However, structural violence exists in Mexican society, rooted in political corruption, criminality and impunity.3 In 2012, the PRI came back into power under the leadership of Enrique Peña Nieto, who was ousted subsequently in 2018 by Andrés Manuel López Obrador

106

Bartley, Monterrosas and Ruiz

from the National Regeneration Movement (Movimiento de Regeneración Nacional, MORENA) party. A major coalition of national NGOs reported that under the Nieto administration (and when this research was conducted), there was a large increase in violations of rights and crimes against defenders in the majority of states, at the three levels of government, as well as in the three branches of the state.4 Internationally, however, the federal government of President Peña Nieto and his predecessor Felipe Calderón (2006–2012) adamantly and publicly affirmed Mexico’s adherence to the main human rights treaties. During the first months of the new President, López Obrador, the same discourse on human rights has continued to prevail. In fact, he created a Commission for Truth and Access to Justice for Ayotzinapa to examine the case of 43 disappeared Mexican students in Guerrero. The Mexican presidencies of the 21st century have exerted leadership on human rights issues in UN forums, even extolled the work of human rights defenders at public events. These assertions were complemented by extensive domestic reforms in 2011 that introduced the recognition of human rights for all persons in the constitution of Mexico.5 Furthermore, in 2013, the government introduced the widely heralded General Victims’ Law (Ley General de Víctimas), in order to provide compensation to victims of crime and human rights violations but it has failed to fulfil this goal since its inception. However, the positive developments described above coexist with one of the darkest eras for human rights defenders in Mexico’s contemporary history.6 As reported by the participants in this study, manifestations of the prevalent environment for human rights defenders over recent years include criminalisation, stigmatisation, physical and digital surveillance, arbitrary detentions, extrajudicial killings and enforced disappearances. Between December 2012 and July 2017, 106 human rights defenders were killed and more than 81 disappeared.7 Persistent violence and impunity suggests that attacks and violations against defenders are – at the minimum – tolerated by the state and all its branches, creating pervasive conditions of risk and insecurity for human rights defenders both physically and in the digital sphere.8 Threats and attacks against human rights defenders occur in the context of high levels of violence and impunity fostered by Calderón’s security strategy of military deployment for public security during his war against drugs. This continued de facto under Peña Nieto’s administration, and was formalised with the ratification of the Interior Security Law by the Mexican Congress in 2017. Although this law was overturned by the Mexican Supreme Court two years after its approval with the support of Congress, Lopez Obrador’s administration has again strengthened militarisation with the creation of the National Guard, a 70,000 officer force mainly composed and directed by former military officers which began to act in an official capacity in April of 2019. In 2014, after a series of decisions by the Inter-American Court of Human Rights and the Supreme Court, the Military Criminal Code was amended to ensure that human rights violations and crimes against civilians are investigated and prosecuted by civil authorities. However, the military judicial authorities retain jurisdiction regarding human rights violations committed by members of the armed forces. In 2017, the homicide rate reached

Resisting a hostile and insecure environment 107 25 per 100,000 inhabitants, the highest peak in 27 years.9 The magnitude and ratio of killings by state forces demonstrated the excessive and disproportionate use of lethal force in what the government claims to be legitimate security operations.10 Commentators suggest that given the magnitude of military force used, Mexico could be considered a humanitarian conflict or a traditional war without necessarily being categorised as such according to international law.11 In recent years, the militarisation of public security12 introduced a multiplicity of perpetrators acting against defenders. The relationships between them have also become more complex. At the state level, the armed forces and the different police bodies (federal, local, etc.) are often identified as perpetrators.13 Furthermore, gender-based violence including rape, is widely perpetrated by military and security forces in Mexico.14 As reported by our participants, aside from state security forces, private militia, hitmen15 and other paramilitary groups associated with caciques (local or regional bosses),16 whether in competition or in alliance with state agents, have joined forces making it difficult to identify perpetrators.17 The mapping of interests and links of collusion are even more difficult when it involves non-state actors, as the logics and rationality of attacks as well as chains of command become more obscure.18 Mexico has also been described as the home of “the hemisphere’s largest, most sophisticated and violent organised criminal groups”.19 Criminal organisations are often linked to political elites, social control, drug production and trafficking activities20 and in recent years to megaprojects and territory control.21 This criminal activity operates in a context in which approximately 98 percent of crimes committed in Mexico remain unresolved22 and it is in this context of impunity that human rights defenders operate. The disappearance of 43 students from a rural indigenous school in Ayotzinapa, Guerrero, in 2014 has become an emblematic example of widespread collusion between organised crime and state agents in cases of grave human rights violations.23 This case sparked public outrage and massive citizen mobilisation; it also worsened conditions of risk for human rights defenders.24 Two months after evidence of the role of public forces in this case went public, President Peña Nieto declared that public protests related to the Ayotzinapa case were intended to “destabilise, create social disorder while putting the Nation project at risk”.25 Megaprojects related to neoliberal reforms in Mexico have generated significant investment in wind power, hydroelectric, mining and other extractive industries.26 This in turn has promoted alliances amongst state and non-state economic actors to implement those projects, sometimes forcibly.27 As an indigenous grassroots woman defender participating in this study highlighted, these megaprojects are perceived by their communities as “projects of death” destroying forests, animals and damaging the earth and traditional ways of living.28 Defenders working on indigenous rights have been put at risk as they denounce powerful agents with privatisation interests for treating water, woods, minerals and other resources as commodities for profit. For many human rights defenders, the violence and impunity they live with is linked to a strategy of spreading terror to quell social dissent in Mexico. According to civil society monitors, more than half of the human rights defenders who were victims of enforced disappearances during the 2006–2012 federal administration, were

108

Bartley, Monterrosas and Ruiz

leaders, or coordinators of social organisations, causing some to believe that social movements were being deliberately targeted.29 As this study made clear, diverse perpetrators use multiple strategies aimed at disseminating terror. As an example, the widely publicised murder of the journalist Rubén Espinosa and woman human rights defender Nadia Vera along with three other women in a single episode in Mexico City in 2015 spread fear amongst human rights defenders throughout Mexico. As a woman defender explained, “This was a political execution, a femicide, including sexual torture. The message was brutal for all our networks; the message was of terror, it was in the capital”.30 Such spreading of terror goes hand in hand with the infliction of different forms of violence towards groups that are part of heterogeneous networks of protection and the defence of human rights; one attack or episode of terror can be experienced in differentiated ways. Some of the participants in this study characterised the Mexican government as being highly capable of sophisticated strategies for the social cleansing, control and repression of civil society. In many cases, the struggles of human rights defenders in Mexico and the aggressions they suffer are treated as isolated events, with no recognition that there is a human rights crisis in the country.31 As a defender expressed, reflecting on the killing of two prominent figures in his movement, We should have stopped our exposure and activities after the killing of our first companion... we knew that there was a persecution against our movement but since the movement was [built as] as a network, different sectors of the network were attacked. We did not have an integral analysis of the threats against our whole movement… Persecution, imprisonment, killings of local leaders – [all this] was a general strategy.32 Stigmatisation, smear campaigns and criminalisation have been on the increase. Some participants observed that while there is greater recognition of the value of defending human rights in society in general, some human rights defenders are still characterised as troublemakers, terrorists, defenders of criminals, crazy, and so on.33 RedTDT highlights that in at least three quarters of the cases, aggressors in threats and attacks against human rights defenders were identified as being state agents.34 The interviews with the human rights defenders in our study consistently made reference to the high-risk environment in which they operate. On 1 July 2018, Mexicans went to the polls to vote for a new president. In the nine months leading up to the election, 132 politicians were killed,35 a huge increase compared to the run-up to the previous presidential election in 2012, when fewer than ten politicians were killed. Furthermore, civil networks registered more than 185 cases of attacks against journalists and human rights defenders related to the coverage and monitoring of human rights violations during the elections.36 The 2018 election results gave the MORENA party not just the presidency for 2018–2024 but a majority in Congress and the Senate as well as six governorships. MORENA, which dominates the political landscape for the first time, promised to reduce violence and corruption as well as provide redress to victims of human rights violations in the framework of a general amnesty – a high

Resisting a hostile and insecure environment 109 ideal given the last decade’s magnitude of atrocities. As yet, the Mexican state has yet to address the complicated risk environment for human rights defenders and to implement a comprehensive protection policy for them.37

Institutional state protection for human rights defenders In Mexico, there is an institutional state protection framework for human rights defenders, but it suffers from serious limitations. In 2012, after prolonged efforts from civil society, the Mexican government adopted the Law for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders and Journalists (Ley para la Protección de Personas Defensoras de Derechos Humanos y Periodistas), which created the Federal Mechanism for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders and Journalists (FPM).38 According to the Mexican Ministry of the Interior, between October 2012 and December 2017, the Federal Mechanism received 257 petitions from human rights defenders to receive protective measures, 40 of which were rejected.39 Despite the increasing demand for protection since its inception, the financial budget of the mechanism has declined from 128 million Mexican pesos in 2013 (about 6.7 million US dollars) to 15 million in 2018 (approximately 787,750 US dollars). More than 20 civil society organisations have claimed that the government of Mexico is putting the lives of 727 human rights defenders and journalists enrolled in the Federal Protection Mechanism at risk by stating that there is no budget to maintain its implementation.40 In addition to the FPM, multiple state mechanisms have emerged in recent years at the local level to protect human rights defenders. These have fragmented the national protection system, sometimes with contradictory standards and a low standard operational quality for protection at the local level.41 According to official reports by the FPM itself, alleged public servants could be the very people who commit the most aggressions against human rights defenders.42 Civil society groups have stressed that there is no integrated and comprehensive public policy that involves relevant federal and state-level authorities in a coordinated manner to provide an effective protection scheme that is accompanied by preventative policies and measures to combat impunity enjoyed by perpetrators.43 The defenders in this study, who applied for and received governmental protection, expressed frustrations with the FPM’s protection measures as well as with the unclear and inconsistent criteria used for risk assessment and formal acceptance into the Mechanism. As we elaborate in the section below, some of the main complaints include the insufficient number and continual turnover of personnel and that the protection measures are not implemented swiftly or adequately, especially in urgent cases, coupled with the absence of gender-sensitive, family-oriented and community-focused approaches to protection. The limitations of institutional state protection measures In this study, most of those who received FPM protective measures were given what is commonly understood as interventions for their physical security.44

110

Bartley, Monterrosas and Ruiz

For example, they were offered panic buttons, emergency telephones, cameras and alarm systems, direct protection by security forces, the regular surveillance of their houses or NGO facilities by police patrols and were sometimes offered relocation. Some participants expressed distrust at delays in the implementation of protective measures and frustration at the inability of governmental institutions at the local level to act quickly to protect defenders. Another major concern is the increase in the federal government’s outsourcing of the installation and set-up of these protection measures to the private sector. This implies that after protective measures have been approved by officials the implementation of those measures are often carried out by private companies with no adequate supervision. Given the federal jurisdiction in Mexico, the implementation of the protection measures depends on the coordination of federal and local authorities. Generally, our participants reported a lack of coordination between the different authorities which should assume their protection. Despite official protocols requiring local and federal coordination between focal point authorities,45 flawed or inexistent coordination is a widespread problem and one of the major challenges for the real implementation of measures for “hard” physical protection, especially those involving local police. This issue can be extremely thorny in several regions in Mexico, where there are open conflicts between different police branches, especially when some of the police are aligned with divergent criminal interests and collude to perpetrate attacks on human rights defenders. There were different points of view about the effectiveness of the direct protective measures provided by government security forces, in particular, bodyguard accompaniment and escort/ police surveillance close to the defenders’ home and workplace. A human rights defender in the north found it useful to be accompanied at specific times by a local police patrol when he entered extremely violent areas, where there are heavy weapons and organised criminal groups. Other defenders were reluctant to be accompanied by security forces since this heightened the perception that they were associated with criminals, even the perpetrators of the threats themselves. They were concerned that this would result in their human rights work and reputation being discredited amongst local civil society allies. As a women human rights defender from Ciudad Juarez told us, “The Victim’s Attention Unit [government] offered us a patrol out of our place to take care of us, [but] we rejected that offer. They were putting the enemy close to us; in a good position for surveillance”.46 Those receiving protection from the FPM perceived it to be bureaucratic; they neither understood the risk assessment methodologies used by FPM staff, nor the decisions and protective measures implemented on their behalf. Another criticism of the FMP is that its staff does not have the necessary skills and training to determine a sound risk analysis for them. As a woman human rights defender from Guadalajara, Jalisco, working on land and environmental rights opined, It is discretionary, they do not have clear criteria, nor an adequate systematisation… support is discretionary, there are power struggles on the board of officials, they do not really care about us, people in human rights do care, but

Resisting a hostile and insecure environment 111 the ones taking the final decisions, those on part of the state and the [federal] police do not.47 In addition to institutional mistrust, the participants mentioned a lack of contextual understanding of the work of human rights defenders by the government. In a focus group with two human rights defenders working on freedom of expression in Mexico City, one stated, They had specialists coming to us [to do risk analysis]; they have technical expertise yet they do not understand several things… they do not have deep knowledge of the work of the organisations. We were told recommendations such as, “not everyone should have office keys” “not everyone should know where their colleagues are”…48 His colleague concurred, stating “They lack an understanding of the context. They have technical knowledge but… they do an analysis of something they do not know”.49 In Mexico there are many people who became human rights defenders because they experienced abuses of power and violations of their human rights. But the condition of being a victim has not limited them; on the contrary, it has propelled them to exercise the right to defend their rights. A recurring problem mentioned by participants was a lack of protection offered to relatives, close contacts and collectives who were also at risk because of the defenders’ human rights work. Furthermore, relatives who report serious human rights violations have frequently become human rights defenders themselves.50 This lack of protection for families was of great concern to many, especially women human rights defenders, as they often care for children as they engage in human rights activism. As a defender working on cases of torture and enforced disappearances, a man, stated, The greatest threat for me is that our relatives suffer an aggression, what are we going to do in order not to put our relatives in risk. Some mothers got to the extreme of saying “I do not care if something bad happens to me but I care if something bad happens to my children”.51 The lack of provision for families and loved ones was felt particularly acutely by those offered relocation to reduce the risk of attack. They felt that relocation promoted delineation of their communities, interrupted their work in defending rights and isolated them from social networks. As a defender from Ciudad Juárez seeking justice for the sexual torture and arbitrary detention of her daughter stated, [The local government] proposed us [relocation for protection] that in three days they would take us to [a place in the same country located more than 2,500 kilometres away] … they would pay just for one month of rent; did not offer other alternatives; [and] told us to take our personal documents without belongings…. this was not a solution … we wanted justice, the judicial

112

Bartley, Monterrosas and Ruiz process was running … they wanted us to sign at the very moment, to take us out from the city in three days … they told us if you do not sign then [the government] won’t be responsible.52

From the defenders’ responses in this study, it is evident that other types of psychosocial protective measures related to wellbeing of defenders, their families and communities intersected with a gender perspective are needed.53 As a woman human rights defender working on cases of torture and enforced disappearances declared, “Security is defined around life [being preserved], yes that’s very important, but we as defenders suffer an everyday impact, physical and emotional, the worst is losing one’s life, but we are also losing our health, there are no mechanisms addressing that”.54 As we discuss further below, dimensions related to emotional wellbeing are closely related to the perception of risk and security for human rights defenders in Mexico. Another critical aspect of protection disregarded by governmental protective schemes concerns digital protection. Even if digital threats were mentioned explicitly as a priority by human rights defenders in this study, surveillance, monitoring and the intervention of communications and devices were openly discussed in several interviews. Some participants took it for granted as part of the inherent targeting of human rights defenders. According to a recent report by civil society groups, sophisticated malware developed by the NSO Group software company, sold exclusively to governments, was used to target and spy on dozens of prominent human rights defenders and journalists in Mexico.55 A 2017 report revealed that between 2013 and 2015, Peña Nieto’s government made at least 3,000 communication interventions, 40,000 metadata and 11,000 real-time geolocation petitions to communication companies.56 Our participants did not report receiving any integral scheme or protective measures from the government to counter digital surveillance. Measures intending to create an enabling environment for the defence of rights have also not been guaranteed widely by the state protection mechanisms.57 For example, the public recognition of the role of human rights defenders by top level and local officials towards specific defenders at risk, even if legally contemplated by the Federal Law of 2012, has not been afforded to any of the defenders in our study. This would have been a helpful measure particularly in situations where their reputation and work have been severely discredited, thus putting them at further risk. As we will address in next section, these types of measures, aimed at bringing visibility and legitimacy to human rights defenders and their work, could deter further attacks.

Beyond governmental responses: civil society networks of protection and strategies for building legitimacy and political visibility Beyond formal institutional mechanisms of protection, human rights defenders rely on civil society networks for their protection.58 Consistent with earlier

Resisting a hostile and insecure environment 113 literature, building on the work of Keck and Sikkink and others on transnational advocacy networks,59 we found that human rights defenders relied on both local and international networks to promote their agendas, develop protection strategies and generate legitimacy and acceptance for their work.60 We found that human rights defenders exercised political imagination61 for resistance as well as diverse non-violent strategies to defend their rights and increase their security. For example, a group of more than 20 national and international civil society organisations (CSOs) came together in 2010 to advocate for the creation of a federal protection policy for both human rights defenders and journalists. Two years later, in 2012, Espacio de Organizaciones de la Sociedad Civil para la Protección de Personas Defensoras de Derechos Humanos y Periodistas (Espacio OSC) became the coordination platform for these CSOs and it continues to monitor protection policy and conducts advocacy for its improvement. CSOs working with human rights defenders include Peace Brigades International Mexico, which provides international accompaniment and training for human rights defenders at risk; Rompe el Miedo, a network that provides preventative security training and which monitors attacks on freedom of expression against human rights defenders and journalists, especially in relation to protest; the National Human Rights Network: All Rights for All (Red Nacional de Organismos Civiles de Derechos Humanos Todos los Derechos para Todas y Todos, RED TDT), which provides a national alert system for attacks against human rights defenders; and Just Associates and the National Network on Women Human Rights Defenders (Red Nacional de Defensoras de DDHH en México), which support women in activism at risk with a feminist perspective. Civil society protection actors have also invested time in workshops and training on self-protection. This is more evident amongst defenders in more institutionalised organisational environments such as medium or large-scale NGOs with financial stability. Through the survey we found that 81.1 percent of respondents in Mexico – a comparatively high figure – had taken part in trainings on developing strategies to deal with risks derived from their work. Men had received slightly more training than women – 83.3 percent compared to 79.5 percent; and all participants had received an average of 2.8 trainings each. Without asserting that this figure is representative of all defenders in Mexico, it highlights that the topic of self-protection strategies and networking is on the agenda of human rights defenders in Mexico. In terms of self-protection strategies, the human rights defenders in this study drew upon formal and informal networks to try to reduce possible attacks stemming from their work (see also the chapter on Kenya in this volume). Strategies for visibility and deterrence from attacks on Mexican human rights defenders at the local level are focused on generating legitimacy and acceptance for their work, which can increase the political cost of being attacked.62 Just being connected to others gave defenders a sense of safety. As a defender in Mexico City, a man, stated, What makes me feel safe a lot is that we have a broad network of connections with different groups… with the clergy… with feminist groups, with sexual

114

Bartley, Monterrosas and Ruiz diversity groups but also with workers’ movements, union movements, farmers, environmental groups and properly our human rights counterparts that claim themselves as human rights organisations. What makes me feel very safe is that there is a broad network in which we include ourselves and we know that [they] support us to keep on with the work we do.63

However, defenders have different levels of access to networks that provide them with political visibility. Defenders based in cities, or working in more institutionalised environments, or in networks of NGOs had easier access to international contacts, compared with those working in community-based organisations focused on human rights issues in their locality. Interestingly, according to participants interviewed in this study, the most relevant networks supporting the work of human rights defenders are located within Mexico. In our survey, 73 percent of respondents in Mexico stated that they received “high” or “very high” levels of support from other people doing human rights work in their own country, while only 45.2 percent of them received such levels of support from people doing human rights work in other countries.64 Notwithstanding, international networks of support matter. Some participants mentioned using networks to make their situation of risk more visible amongst foreign embassies in Mexico following Keck and Sikkink’s “boomerang” model.65 Even in cases in which clear signs of collusion and a clear chain of command between state and non-state actors were reported by human rights defenders, some strategies of dissuasion were undertaken by defenders with official political actors at the international level to put pressure on government officials. In some cases, those strategies were (in turn) reported as effective to prevent aggressions perpetrated by organised crime actors. As a woman defender working on indigenous rights in Chihuahua stated, “We knew that these criminals would now go through their contacts in government, at state level, that they should be dissuaded from harming us… organised crime groups are linked [with the government]”.66 In spite of the above, strategies aimed at building acceptance and legitimacy in contexts where organised crime operates can have very limited effects.67 We found that many strategies to prevent attacks from organised criminal groups do not always have the same effect as they do with some political actors. This may be related to the impunity that these criminal actors enjoy. As a woman defender on Oaxaca working on the protection of human rights defenders said, “[Organised crime] cannot be controlled; in our risk analysis, this actor does not care a lot [about reprisals]; this actor is not really paying [for its violence]; there cannot be a negotiation with them”.68 In addition, there are divided opinions among human rights defenders about the effectiveness of public visibility as a protection strategy. In some cases, civil society groups deliberately make human rights defenders visible as part of campaigns, for example through the publication of alerts to denounce attacks. Defenders also increase their own visibility by taking on public roles and by building alliances with well-known personalities in order to legitimise their human rights work. However, some participants considered the strategy of visibility to

Resisting a hostile and insecure environment 115 be counterproductive at specific times; it can have unintended consequences. As a human rights defender reported, “Visibility is such a debate, because it does not guarantee you more safety”. A feminist woman defender working on civil and political rights stated: If you are protected by your organisation, you are still at risk. If you lower your profile, or leave your organisation, thus being demobilised … you have no eyes upon you, but at the same time you are vulnerable without your support networks. I have decided to continue being involved with my political network. But I know that also puts me at risk too.69

Gender and intersectionality in experiences of risk, support, and wellbeing Women human rights defenders’ experiences of human rights work, risk and support are gendered and intersectional. Their experiences are shaped by patriarchal expectations about their gender roles. As a woman human rights defender stated, There are moments where either in a subtle or a very cruel way you have to pay for the patriarchal logic that says “how can you put your children at risk by participating [in politics] if you are a mother, you could be the cornerstone of you home?” those are almost imperceptible “pay checks” that we have to pay.70 Women defenders observe the importance of taking gender and intersectionality into account in the development of security protocols and protection initiatives. As a woman defender asserted, “There are protocols not focused specifically towards women; it’s like they’re created in a general way, like if every person was facing the same risks”.71 Another woman defender reiterated this point: Something desirable we have proposed for new methodologies is to take into account gender specificities, forms of confronting fear or security plans … comprising holistically a set of tools to continue working and getting support for living wellbeing, self-care healing, digital security, political incidence and case accompaniment, psychosocial and legal accompaniment, generating safe spaces such as shelters … Security is just a small part of the picture, protection is not just related to risk, but having the right to live in a context with good conditions to continue our work.72 While non-institutionalised, community networks, comprised of dense emotional bonds, can sustain and promote collective action in risk contexts,73 the gendered psychosocial dynamics in these networks and how they relate to the creation and sustenance of safe spaces, has been under-researched.74 In this study, we found that men and women defenders experienced different senses of safety and protection within human rights circles. Specifically, women defenders reported

116

Bartley, Monterrosas and Ruiz

experiences of discrimination, marginalisation and violence from within their organisations and movements. As a woman defender working on women’s rights in Mexico City stated, Like a lot of women I had to confront harassment and a lack of recognition of my work as a woman human rights defender, most of all in organisations comprising men and women. I used to work in those kind of organisations; afterwards, I became involved in the feminist agenda and I realised that harassment is pervasive. I had different experiences with men human rights defenders that were close to violence. I had to confront this. And usually there are not mechanisms [to address this]; this situation has become normal in organisations. On the other side there is a lack of credibility and recognition to the work of women human rights defenders within organisations. Having recognition for women’s leadership within organisations is very difficult.75 Another woman defender observed, When violence comes from within, from the closer sphere, such as sentimental partners, colleagues from the same organisations, machismo within social movements, when that happens, there is a peril of fracture, sometimes even more dangerous that with that related to external actors.76 Existing literature demonstrates that social actors such as human rights defenders can be very creative in terms of developing resources of resilience for resisting political repression dynamics.77 Indeed, over the past decade, women defenders in particular have been developing measures for self-protection, wellbeing and self-care drawing on feminist methodologies.78 Such approaches emphasise the importance of collective support, solidarity-building and care for resilience-building with a critical gender perspective, as well as the incorporation of a psychosocial approach to security and self-protection. As a woman defender working on women’s rights in Mexico City and Oaxaca said, When I give psychosocial support to women defenders, I’ve found myself in high risk situations; but I also have to contemplate, personally, which strategies I’m building for myself. It also has to do with feminist theory, or the feminist movement – [these have] given me a lot for my healing processes; I am more conscious about my security.79 Being able to share feelings and experiences of vulnerability are a crucial part of building collective wellbeing practices. Another woman defender observed, Women human rights defenders hear and accompany painful and tense situations, if you add the fact that one is passing through domestic violence for example, of course you can get affected by that. When we analyse security

Resisting a hostile and insecure environment 117 incidents, me and my companions have learned to open [the discussion] on our feelings, we have passed through very complicated emotional processes.80 In contrast, socio-cultural gender norms make it difficult for men defenders to show weakness. As a man working on civil and political rights in Mexico City said, There’s a very interesting thing about the duty of the defender, so you couldn’t be weak; and if you’re a man even more, because of the mandates of the hetero-patriarchal society, c’mon, you’re here to help, so there isn’t much of a chance to know our limitations too. We can’t say no…81 Some defenders find it challenging to establish intra-organisational support networks in environments where violence is normalised. As a grassroots defender, a man, with experience working in both rural and urban contexts stated, “Certain people in my team, at times, think that the risks we face, because of the job we do in this kind of conflict, is inherent to the work itself, so they take it as something normal and natural”.82 These prevailing dynamics are framed in a context of socio-cultural expectations about how martyrdom and invincibility associated with the struggle for human rights must prevail at all costs.83 In Mexico, there are particularly high expectations about human rights defenders who seek justice for family members who have been subject to serious human rights violations. As a woman defender working on cases of torture and enforced disappearances observed, Relatives becoming defenders are resisting, giving their voice, defending their cases, torture survivors are in jail, and their relatives give their voice, for the disappeared young people, relatives are the ones searching for them [...] a father and a mother will never get tired of looking for justice, they are the ones at the forefront demanding justice.84 Mothers seeking justice in cases of femicide, extrajudicial executions or disappearances are expected to make a greater sacrifice as woman human rights defenders, while simultaneously being judged for challenging pre-established social norms within the context of Mexican machismo by not remaining within the private sphere.85

Conclusion Mexico has signed numerous treaty commitments within the Inter-American and United Nations systems, and has been a champion of human rights standards on the international stage and in domestic level reform. In 2012, it approved the Law for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders and Journalists and established a Federal Protection Mechanism for human rights defenders. Yet despite the state’s outward commitment to human rights, the expansion of the Federal Protection

118

Bartley, Monterrosas and Ruiz

Mechanism and the political pressure from civil society and international bodies, defending human rights in Mexico remains a dangerous occupation. Our research showed us that a diverse repertoire of attacks exists against human rights defenders across Mexico. Even with the electoral party transitions in the 21st century, the militarisation of public security, the expansion of megaprojects and the escalation of complicity of governmental actors with organised crime have generated a hostile environment for the defence of rights. In theory, Mexico has institutional resources to prevent, prosecute and punish crimes against human rights defenders; the question remains whether Mexico has the political will to do so. Successive Mexican governments have failed to ensure accountability for crimes against human rights defenders carried out by federal and state actors, or by non-state actors. The government continues to minimise the extent and nature of human rights violations committed against human rights defenders. High levels of impunity persist, along with pervasive failure to provide reparations to victims of crime. The lack of effectiveness of state institutions and the complicity of state actors in crimes and human rights violations have driven human rights defenders to find alternative solutions and allies for their protection and support. A paradox exists in the institutionalisation of protection. Despite investment into and the growth of the Federal Protection Mechanism since 2012, it has fallen short in many ways – it focuses primarily on the physical security needs of individuals in a reactive way; it does not create an enabling environment for the defence of rights; it does not provide adequate protection to communities, families and loved ones; it does not provide psychosocial protective measures or meet the digital security needs of defenders at risk. The lack of coordination between federal and local authorities involved in protection remains a key concern amongst human rights defenders participating in this study. The protection schemes proposed by the Mexican government are not tailored sufficiently to the experiences and needs of human rights defenders within their communities and families; they overlook the real contexts in which human rights defenders operate. These factors generate distrust amongst defenders towards the state institutions that are supposed to protect them. Our research shows that human rights defenders have developed many diverse strategies designed to defend their rights and increase their security. They have generated strategies of legitimation, visibility and dissuasion, as well as building solidarity with civil society networks locally and transnationally. Human rights defenders reported that generating public legitimacy and acceptance for their work was effective at increasing their protection in some cases, for example, with the use of international and local networks of protection to increase the political cost of being attacked. Strategies of dissuasion through engagement with diplomats have at times also worked, suggesting that Mexican political actors may be sensitive to international pressure given that it is the Mexican state’s intention to be perceived internationally as a protector of human rights. There were divided opinions about the use of visibility as a protective strategy; while some benefitted from increased public profile, some experienced higher risks.

Resisting a hostile and insecure environment 119 Women human rights defenders highlighted that their experiences of risk and protection support differed from their male counterparts; they emphasised the importance of using an intersectional lens to understand risk, security and protection in human rights work. Women defenders highlighted that organisational and collective spaces were not always safe spaces and free of risk for them. Women defenders emphasised the importance of self and collective care especially in the framework of feminist activism in Mexico; this may have crucial implications for protection that could be further explored, adapted and expanded beyond the feminist movement. Last but not least, we found that socio-cultural understandings about gender inform constructions of risk. For example, we found a higher propensity to assume risk amongst human rights defenders as well as for relatives of victims of serious human rights violations who became defenders.

120

Bartley, Monterrosas and Ruiz To die for my work We do not see

objectively

people think

we want to be notorious.

I do not want

the fire line, alerts

suspend.

I do not want to be a martyr

Break my struggle

we all have a day and time.

I was in a shelter,

under surveillance

day and night

without being able to see my son.

Isolation

constantly shifting,

a “friendly solution”.

The adrenaline is like an addiction,

my future is this.

I do not want to die now

when the criminals want me to,

I will die struggling. With that vision

I take care of myself

under fire, I respect certain rules. A bodyguard

I told him: If I die, please give this

to my son. He replied

“If you are killed

I will be dead too”.

There are certain things that I do not tell.

There are several things I do not know:

how to encrypt information,

keep things safe,

a sound and structured security vision,

contingency

plan.

I do not want to die for my work,

Resisting a hostile and insecure environment 121 I want to die

old.

So far I have learned how to say no

to protect myself.

Composed by J.A. Mensah

This verbatim poem was created from the interview transcript of a woman human rights defender in Mexico working on women’s rights and enforced disappearances.

Notes 1 We thank Alice Nah for comments on an earlier version of this chapter and Katrina Maliamauv for her assistance with data analysis. 2 Front Line Defenders, Stop the Killings (Blackrock: Front Line Defenders, 2018), 39. https://www.frontlinedefenders.org/en/statement-report/stop-killings. 3 Charles, Blake and Stephen, Morris, Corruption and Democracy at the State Level in Mexico, Corruption and Democracy in Latin America (USA: University of Pittsburg Press, 2009); E, Buscaglia, “La Paradoja Mexicana de la Delincuencia Organizada: Policías, Violencia y Corrupción”, Policía y Seguridad Pública, Vol. 1, (Jan.–July, 2012): 273–282; P, Pacheco, Víctimas y Acción Política en México Thesis (B.A.), (México: National Autonomous University of Mexico, 2014). 4 Red TDT, La Esperanza no se Agota. Situación de las Personas Defensoras de Derechos Humanos durante la Presidencia de Enrique Peña Nieto (México: Red TDT, 2017). 5 Mexican Supreme Court of Justice, Reformas Constitucionales en Materia de Amparo y Derechos Humanos (Mexico: Mexican Supreme Court of Justice, 2011). http://stj .col.gob.mx/Centro_de_Estudios_Judiciales/assets/docs/folletos/2012/01-2012_Refo rmas%20Amparo%20y%20Derechos%20Humanos.pdf. 6 P, Vargas, México: Derechos Humanos en Crisis. Política de Estado y Emergencias Humanitarias (México: UACM, 2018). 7 Red TDT, La Esperanza no se Agota (2017). 8 ACUDDEH, Defender los Derechos Humanos en México: La Represión Política, una Práctica Generalizada - Informe junio de 2014 a mayo de 2015 (México: ACUDDEH, 2015); ACUDDEH, Defender los Derechos Humanos en México: La Normalización de la Represión Política – Informe junio de 2015 a mayo de 2016 (México: ACUDDEH, 2016); Red TDT, La Esperanza no se Agota (2017); IACHR, Situación de los Derechos Humanos en México, OEA/Ser.L/V/II doc. 44/15, (2015); Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights in Mexico, Informe Sobre la Situación de las y los Defensores de Derechos Humanos en México: Actualización 2012 y Balance 2013 (Mexico: Comisión Mexicana de Defensa y Promoción de los Derechos Humanos, 2015); Erick Monterrosas. and K, Masoud. (eds), Comprehensive Protection for Human Rights Defenders and Journalists. The Duty of the Mexican Government (Mexico: Espacio OSC, 2017); Article 19, R3d and SocialTIC, #GobiernoEspía: Vigilancia Sistemática a Periodistas y Defensores de Derechos Humanos (Mexico: Article 19, R3d and Social TIC, 2017); UNSR, Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders on his Mission to Mexico (A/HRC/37/51/ Add.2). (2018). 9 Sin Embargo, Los homicidios en el penúltimo año de Peña (2017) tocan su peor nivel en al menos tres décadas (Sin Embargo, Jul 30, 2018).

122

Bartley, Monterrosas and Ruiz

10 C, Pérez Correa. & R, Gutiérrez, Índice de Letalidad. Menos Enfrentamientos, Más Opacidad (Mexico: Nexos, 2015). 11 M, Bertrand, “The Mexican ‘War on Drugs’: Is it an Armed Conflict, and What are the Legal Implications?”, Thesis (LL.M.), (UK: University of Essex, 2012). 12 D, Pera. “Drug Violence and Public (In)Security: Mexico’s Federal Police and Human Rights Abuse”, Paper 7, Undergraduate Honors Theses, (University of San Diego: USA, 2014); E, Buscaglia, “La Paradoja Mexicana de la Delincuencia Organizada: Policías, Violencia y Corrupción”, Policía y Seguridad Pública, Vol. 1, (Jan.–July, 2012): 273–282; M, Meyer, 2016 Review: Addressing Mexico’s Human Rights and Security Situation (Washington: Washington Office on Latin America, 2016). 13 Red TDT, La Esperanza no se Agota (2017); IACHR, Situación de los Derechos Humanos en México (2015). 14 Amnesty International, Sobrevivir a la muerte:tortura de mujeres por policías y fuerzas armadas en México (London: Amnesty International, 2016). 15 Molloy, M. & Bowden Ch. (eds), El Sicario. The Autobiography of a Mexican Assassin (New York: Nation Books, 2011). 16 These are usually local actors with political and economic power, such as landlords or local corrupt politicians often working with organised crime groups, exerting violence for political and economic motives. 17 Participants in this study perceive a shift in the logics of the risk environment since the “Dirty War” period of the 1960s and 1970s, when surveillance and enforced disappearances were systematically used by state actors to suppress left activism associated with Marxism by the Institutional Revolutionary Party officials. This gave rise to enforced disappearances as a state policy. 18 Ben Leather, Marianne Bertrand, Laia Evia, Submission to the OHCHR on the Impact of the World Drug Problem on the Enjoyment of the Right to Defend Human Rights in Latin America (Geneva: ISHR, 2015). 19 InSight Crime, “Mexico Profile”. InSight Crime, https://www.insightcrime.org/mexico -organized-crime-news/, (2017). 20 E, Buscaglia, “La Paradoja Mexicana de la Delincuencia Organizada: Policías, Violencia y Corrupción”, Policía y Seguridad Pública, Vol. 1, (Jan.–July, 2012): 273– 282. 21 International Service for Human Rights, El Rol de las Empresas y los Estados en las Violaciones contra los Defensores y las Defensoras de los Derechos de la Tierra, el Territorio y el Ambiente Informe Conjunto de Organizaciones de la Sociedad Civil (Geneva: ISHR, 2015). 22 IACHR, Situación de los Derechos Humanos en México (2015). 23 IACHR, Situación de los Derechos Humanos en México (2015); T, Grecko. Mentira Histórica. Estado de Impunidad, Impunidad de Estado (México: Proceso, 2016). 24 Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights in Mexico, Double Injustice – Human Rights Violations in the investigation of the Ayotzinapa case (2018). 25 Aristegui Noticias, “EPN ve ‘Afán por Desestabilizar’ al País, Detrás de Protestas por Ayotzinapa” (Mexico: Aristegui Noticias, 2014). 26 Cfr. Human Rights and Economic Development, The case of Mega Projects in Mexico. Organised by the FCO and the Chevening Alumni Association (Mexico City: British Embassy, 2015). 27 International Service for Human Rights, El Rol de las Empresas y los Estados en las Violaciones (2015). 28 Participant working on environmental rights and the rights of indigenous people, woman, interviewed in Puebla in October 2015. 29 ACUDDEH, Defender los Derechos Humanos en México (2015), 97. 30 Participant working on environmental rights and the rights of indigenous people, woman, interviewed in Oaxaca in January 2016.

Resisting a hostile and insecure environment 123 31 P, Vargas, México: Derechos Humanos en Crisis. Política de Estado y Emergencias Humanitarias (Mexico: UACM, 2018). 32 Participant working on extrajudicial killings and forced disappearances, man, interviewed in Mexico City in October 2015. 33 UNSR, Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders on his Mission to Mexico (2018). 34 Red TDT, La Esperanza no se Agota (2017), 98. 35 ETELLEKT, Informe de Violencia Política en México, julio–agosto (2018). 36 Red Rompe el Miedo, Mapa de Agresiones, Mexico (2018). 37 Erick Monterrosas. and K, Masoud. (eds), Comprehensive Protection for Human Rights Defenders and Journalists. The Duty of the Mexican Government (2017). 38 D, Joloy, “Mexico’s National Protection Mechanism for Human Rights Defenders: Challenges and Good Practices”, Journal of Human Rights Practice, Vol. 5 issue 3, (2015). 39 Mexican Ministry of the Interior (SEGOB), Informe de Actividades Ejercicio 2017 Mecanismo para la Protección de Personas Defensoras de Derechos Humanos y Periodistas, (México: SEGOB, 2017b). 40 ESPACIO OSC, El Espacio OSC Hace un Llamado al Gobierno Federal para dotar de Recursos y Garantizar el Funcionamiento del Mecanismo para la Protección de Personas Defensoras de Derechos Humanos y Periodistas (Mexico: Espacio OSC, 2018). 41 Article 19, “Crear Más Mecanismos de Protección no Resuelve la Violencia contra la Prensa en México”, Des Informemonos, 14 June, 2017. 42 Mexican Ministry of the Interior (SEGOB), Informe de Actividades Ejercicio 2017 Mecanismo (Mexico: SEGOB, 2017b). 43 Erick Monterrosas. and K, Masoud. (eds), Comprehensive Protection for Human Rights Defenders and Journalists. The Duty of the Mexican Government (Mexico: Espacio OSC, 2017). 44 UNHRC, Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders, (A/HRC/31/55), (2016); Tactical Technology Collective, Holistic Security. A Strategy Manual for Human Rights (Berlin: Tactical Tech, 2016). 45 Mexican Ministry of the Interior (SEGOB), Avances y retos 2012–2016. Mecanismo de Protección para las Personas Defensoras de Derechos Humanos y Periodistas, (México: SEGOB, 2016). 46 Participant working on the rights of human rights defenders, woman, interviewed in Ciudad Juárez in December 2015. 47 Participant working on the rights of victims of human rights violations, woman, interviewed in Guadalajara in March 2016. 48 Participant working on freedom of expression, man, interviewed in Mexico City in November 2015. 49 Participant working on freedom of expression, man, interviewed in Mexico City in November 2015. 50 P, Pacheco, Víctimas y Acción Política en México (2014). 51 Participant working on torture and enforced disappearances, man, interviewed in Ciudad Juárez in December 2015. 52 Participant working on the rights of victims of torture and arbitrary detention, woman, interviewed in Ciudad Juárez in December 2015. 53 J, Barry. and N, Vahida, Insiste, Persiste, Resiste, Existe. Urgent Action Fund for Women’s Human Rights (Canada: Front Line – The International Foundation for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders and The Kvinna till Kvinna Foundation, 2008); Peace Brigades International, Programa de Asesorías en Seguridad y Protección para Personas Defensoras de Derechos Humanos – Guía de Facilitación (Mexico: PBI, 2014).

124

Bartley, Monterrosas and Ruiz

54 Participant working on torture and enforced disappearances, woman, interviewed in Ciudad Juárez in December 2015. 55 Article 19, R3d and SocialTIC, #GobiernoEspía (2017). 56 R3D-Red de defensa de los derechos digitales, El Estado de la Vigilancia Fuera de Control (Mexico: R3D, 2017). 57 UNHRC, Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders (2016). 58 A, Nah., et al, “A Research Agenda for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders”, Journal of Human Rights Practice, Volume 5, Issue 3, (1 November, 2013): Pages 401–420. 59 M, Keck. and K, Sikkink, Activists without Borders: Advocacy Networks in International Politics (New York: Cornell University Press, 1998). 60 Peace Brigades International, Programa de Asesorías en Seguridad (2014); L, Fast. et al, “In Acceptance We Trust? Conceptualizing Acceptance as a Viable Approach to Security Management”, Disasters 37 vol. 2, (April, 2013): 222–243; K, Van Brabant, “Cool Ground for Aid Providers: Towards Better Security Management in Aid Agencies”, Disasters, 22, (1998): 109–25. 61 A, Teles, Política Efectiva. Apuntes para Pensar la Vida Comunitaria (2009). 62 L, Fast. et al, “In Acceptance We Trust?” (2013): 222–243; Peace Brigades International, Programa de Asesorías en Seguridad (2014). 63 Participant working on civil and political rights, man, interviewed in Mexico City in March 2016. 64 A, Nah., et.al, Navigating Risk, Managing Security and Receiving Support: A Study of Human Rights Defenders at Risk in Mexico, Summary of Findings, (York: University of York, 2017). 65 M, Keck. and K, Sikkink, Activists Without Borders (1998). 66 Participant working on the rights of indigenous people, woman, interviewed in Chihuahua in December 2015. 67 K, Van Brabant, “Cool Ground for Aid Providers” (1998): 109–25. 68 Participant working on the protection of human rights defenders, woman, interviewed in Tonameca in January 2016. 69 Participant working on civil and political rights, woman, interviewed in Oaxaca in January 2015. 70 Participant working on the rights of women, indigenous people and political prisoners, woman, interviewed in Mexico City in December 2015. 71 Participant working on the rights of women and indigenous people, woman, interviewed in Mexico City in February 2016. 72 Participant working on the rights of women, indigenous people and political prisoners, woman, interviewed in Mexico City in December 2015. 73 M, Loveman, “High‐Risk Collective Action: Defending Human Rights in Chile, Uruguay, and Argentina”, American Journal of Sociology 104, no. 2 (1998): 477–525; D, Della Porta. and M, Diani, Social Movements. An Introduction, (Massachusetts: Blackwell Publishing, 2006); Erick Monterrosas, Voices against Femicide: Victim’s Perspectives on Justice in Praxis, M.A Thesis, (Essex: University of Essex, 2012). 74 Tactical Technology Collective, Holistic Security (2016); M, Müller. and C, Correa, “Integrating a Psychosocial Perspective into Human Rights and Protection Practices: A Case Study of Peace Brigades International (PBI) Mexico”. Human Rights Defender Hub Working Paper, Series 2, (York: University of York, 2017); A, Nah., et al. “Wellbeing, Risk, and Human Rights Practice”, Human Rights Defender Hub Policy Brief 1 (York: University of York, 2017b). 75 Participant working on the rights of women human rights defenders, woman, interviewed in Mexico City in February 2016. 76 Participant working on the rights of women, indigenous people and political prisoners, woman, interviewed in Mexico City in December 2015.

Resisting a hostile and insecure environment 125 77 C, Beristain. and F, Riera. Afirmación y Resistencia. La Comunidad como Apoyo (Spain: Editorial Virus, 2004); M, Müller. and C, Correa. Integrating a psychosocial perspective into human rights and protection practices (2017); S, Knuckey., et.al. “Trauma, Depression and Burnout in the Human Rights Field: Identifying Barriers and Pathways to Resilient Advocacy”,Columbia Human Rights Law Review 49.3:1 (2018): 267–323. 78 IM-Defensoras, A Feminist Alternative for the Protection, Self-Care, and Safety of Women Human Rights Defenders in Mesoamerica, Journal of Human Rights Practice Vol. 5, Number 3, (November 2013), 446–45; J, Barry. and N, Vahida, Insiste, Persiste, Resiste, Existe (2008); Ana María Hernández Cárdenas and Nallely Guadalupe Tello Méndez, “Self-Care as a Political Strategy: Sustainability and Well-Being for Women Human Rights Defenders”, SUR: International Journal on Human Rights, 14, no. 26 (2017): 171–180. 79 Participant working on women’s rights, woman, interviewed in Mexico City in February 2016. 80 Participant working on the rights of women, indigenous people and political prisoners, woman, interviewed in Mexico City in December 2015. 81 Participant working on civil and political rights, man, interviewed in Mexico City in March 2016. 82 Participant working on extrajudicial killings and forced disappearances, man, interviewed in Mexico City in October 2015. 83 Alice M. Nah et.al, Navigating Risk, Managing Security and Receiving Support (2017). 84 Participant working on torture and enforced disappearances, woman, interviewed in Ciudad Juárez in December 2015. 85 E, Monterrosas, Voices against Femicide (2012).

References ACUDDEH. Defender los derechos humanos en México: La represión política, una práctica generalizada - Informe junio de 2014 a mayo de 2015. México: ACUDDEH, 2015. ACUDDEH. Defender los derechos humanos en México: La normalización de la represión política - Informe junio de 2015 a mayo de 2016. México: ACUDDEH, 2016. Amnesty International. Sobrevivir a la muerte:tortura de mujeres por policías y fuerzas armadas en México. London: Amnesty International, 2016. Aristegui Noticias. EPN ve ‘afán por desestabilizar’ al país, detrás de protestas por Ayotzinapa. Mexico: Aristegui Noticias, 2014. https://aristeguinoticias.com/1811/ mexico/epn-ve-afan-por-desestabilizar-el-pais-detras-de-protestas-por-ayotzinapa/. Article 19, R3d and SocialTIC. #GobiernoEspía: Vigilancia sistemática a periodistas y defensores de derechos humanos. Mexico: Article 19, R3d and SocialTIC, 2017. https://ar ticulo19.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/06/Reporte-Gobierno-Espi%CC%81a-Final.pdf. Barry, J, and N Vahida. Insiste, Persiste, Resiste, Existe. Urgent Action Fund for Women’s Human Rights. Ottawa, Canada: Front Line - The International Foundation for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders and The Kvinna Till Kvinna Foundation, 2008. Beristain, C, and F Riera. Afirmación y resistencia. La comunidad como apoyo. Spain: Editorial Virus, 2004. Bertrand, M. “The Mexican ‘War on Drugs’: Is it an Armed Conflict, and What Are the Legal Implications?” Thesis (LL.M.), University of Essex, UK, 2012. Buscaglia, E. “La Paradoja mexicana de la delincuencia organizada: policías, violencia y corrupción.” Policía y Seguridad Pública 1 (January-July 2012): 273–82.

126

Bartley, Monterrosas and Ruiz

Comisión Mexicana de Defensa y Promoción de los Derechos Humanos. En Defensa de la Vida: Conclusiones de la Misión de Observación Civil sobre la situación de las personas defensoras en México. México: Comisión Mexicana de Defensa y Promoción de los Derechos Humanos, 2015. Cfr. Human Rights and Economic Development. The Case of Mega Projects in Mexico. Organised by the FCO and the Chevening Alumni Association. Mexico: British Embassy, 2015. Della Porta, D, and M Diani. Social Movements. An Introduction. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2006. Espacio OSC. Segundo diagnóstico sobre la implementación del Mecanismo de Protección para Personas Defensoras de Derechos Humanos y Periodistas. Mexico: Espacio OSC, 2015. Espacio OSC. El Espacio OSC hace un llamado al Gobierno federal para dotar de recursos y garantizar el funcionamiento del Mecanismo para la Protección de Personas Defensoras de Derechos Humanos y Periodistas. Mexico: Espacio OSC, 2018. http:// espacio.osc.mx/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/EspacioOSC.PresupuestoMecanismo.pdf. ETELLEKT. Informe de violencia política en México. Mexico: ETELLEKT, 2018. www .etellekt.com/presencia-medios.html. Fast, L et al. “In Acceptance We Trust? Conceptualizing Acceptance as a Viable Approach to Security Management.” Disasters 37, no. 2 (April 2013): 222–43. Front Line Defenders. Stop the Killings. Blackrock: Front Line Defenders, 2018. González, R. Historia de la desaparición: nacimiento de una tecnología represiva. México: Terracota, 2012. Grecko, T. Mentira histórica. Estado de impunidad, impunidad de Estado. Mexico: Proceso, 2016. Hernández Cárdenas, Ana María, and Nallely Guadalupe Tello Méndez. “Self-Care as a Political Strategy: Sustainability and Well-Being for Women Human Rights Defenders.” SUR – International Journal of Human Rights 14, no. 26 (2017): 171–80. IACHR. Situación de los derechos humanos en México. OEA/Ser.L/V/II doc. 44/15. 2015. IM-Defensoras. “A Feminist Alternative for the Protection, Self-Care, and Safety of Women Human Rights Defenders in Mesoamerica.” Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (November 2013): 446–45. InSight Crime. “Mexico Profile.” InSight Crime, 2017. www.insightcrime.org/mexico-or ganized-crime-news/. Instituto Nacional de Geografía y Estadística. Encuesta Nacional de Victimización y Percepción sobre Seguridad. Mexico: INEGI, 2016. ISHR. El rol de las empresas y los Estados en las violaciones contra los defensores y las defensoras de los derechos de la tierra, el territorio y el ambiente: Informe Conjunto de Organizaciones de la Sociedad Civil. Geneva: ISHR, 2015. Joloy, D. “Mexico’s National Protection Mechanism for Human Rights Defenders: Challenges and Good Practices.” Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (2015): 489–499. Keck, M, and K Sikkink. Activists Without Borders: Advocacy Networks in International Politics. New York: Cornell University Press, 1998. Knuckey, S et al. “Trauma, Depression and Burnout in the Human Rights Field: Identifying Barriers and Pathways to Resilient Advocacy.” Columbia Human Rights Law Review 49, no. 3:1 (2018): 267–323. Lambin, J. “Mexico: Armed Gang Violence Sliding into Armed Conflict?” In The War Report: Armed Conflicts in 2017. Geneva: Geneva Academy of International

Resisting a hostile and insecure environment 127 Humanitarian Law and Human Rights, 2017. www.geneva-academy.ch/joomlatools-f iles/docman-files/The%20War%20Report%202017.pdf. Leather, B, M Bertrand, and L Evia. Submission to the OHCHR on the Impact of the World Drug Problem on the Enjoyment of the Right to Defend Human Rights in Latin America. Geneva: ISHR, 2015. Loveman, M. “High-Risk Collective Action: Defending Human Rights in Chile, Uruguay, and Argentina.” American Journal of Sociology 104, no. 2 (1998): 477–525. Mexican Ministry of the Interior (SEGOB). Avances y retos 2012–2016. Mecanismo de Protección para las personas defensoras de derechos humanos y periodistas. México: SEGOB, 2016. www.gob.mx/cms/uploads/attachment/file/372490/Informe_a_cuatro _a_os.pdf. Mexican Ministry of the Interior (SEGOB). Informe de actividades Ejercicio 2017 Mecanismo para la protección de personas defensoras de derechos humanos y periodistas. México: SEGOB, 2017. www.gob.mx/cms/uploads/attachment/file/3 37951/Informe_de_Actividades_Ejercicio_2017.pdf. Mexican Supreme Court of Justice. Reformas Constitucionales en materia de Amparo y Derechos Humanos publicadas en junio de 2011. Mexico: Mexican Supreme Court of Justice, 2011. Meyer, M. 2016 Review: Addressing Mexico’s Human Rights and Security Situation. Washington: Washington Office on Latin America, 2016. www.wola.org/analysis/201 6-review-addressing-mexicos-human-rights-security-situation/. Meyer, M, and X Suarez-Enriquez. Mexico’s Law on Internal Security: Turning a Blind Eye to Military Abuses in Public Security Operations. Washington: Washington Office on Latin America, 2017. www.wola.org/analysis/mexicos-law-internal-security-tur ning-blind-eye-military-abuses-public-security-operations/. Molloy, M, and Ch Bowden, eds. El Sicario. The Autobiography if a Mexican Assassin. New York: Nation Books, 2011. Monterrosas, E. Voices Against Femicide: Victim’s Perspectives on Justice in Praxis. MAE Thesis. University of Essex, Essex, 2012. Monterrosas, E, and K Masoud, eds. Comprehensive Protection for Human Rights Defenders and Journalists. The Duty of the Mexican Government. Mexico: Espacio OSC, 2017, http://espacio.osc.mx/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/Espacio-osc_Duty OfMexicanGovernment.pdf. Morris, Stephen D. “Corruption and Democracy at the State Level in Mexico.” In Corruption and Democracy in Latin America, edited by Charles H. Blake and Stephen D. Morris, 169–192. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. Moser, C. “The Gendered Continuum of Violence and Conflict: An Operational Framework.” In Victims, Perpetrators or Actors: Gender, Armed Conflict and Political Violence, 30–51. London: Zed Books, 2001. Müller, M, and C Correa. “Integrating a Psychosocial Perspective into Human Rights and Protection Practices: A Case Study of Peace Brigades International (PBI) Mexico.” Human Rights Defender Hub Working Paper, Series 2. University of York, York, 2017. Nah, A et al. “A Research Agenda for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders.” Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (November 1, 2013): 401–20. Nah, A et al. Navigating Risk, Managing Security and Receiving Support: A Study of Human Rights Defenders at Risk in Mexico, Summary of Findings. York: University of York, 2017a.

128

Bartley, Monterrosas and Ruiz

Nah, A et al. Wellbeing, Risk, and Human Rights Practice. Human Rights Defender Hub Policy Brief 1. University of York, York, 2017b. Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights in Mexico. Informe sobre la situación de las y los defensores de derechos humanos en México: actualización 2012 y balance 2013. Mexico: OHCHR, 2013. Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights in Mexico. Double Injustice – Human Rights Violations in the Investigation of the Ayotzinapa Case. Mexico: OHCHR, 2018. Pacheco, P. “Víctimas y Acción política en México.” Thesis (B.A.). National Autonomous University of Mexico, Mexico, 2014. Peace Brigades International. Programa de Asesorías en Seguridad y Protección para Personas Defensoras de Derechos Humanos – Guía de Facilitación. Mexico: PBI, 2014. Pera, D. “Drug Violence and Public (In)Security: Mexico’s Federal Police and Human Rights Abuse.” Paper 7, Undergraduate Honors Theses. University of San Diego, USA, 2014. http://digital.sandiego.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1008&context=honors _theses. Pérez Correa, C, and R Gutiérrez. Índice de letalidad. Menos enfrentamientos, más opacidad. Mexico: Nexos, 2015. www.nexos.com.mx/?p=25468. Presidency of the Republic of Mexico. El Presidente Enrique Peña Nieto, reafirmó el compromiso indeclinable del Gobierno de la República con el respeto y la protección de los derechos humanos. Gobierno de Mexico, 2016. www.gob.mx/presidencia/articul os/premio-nacional-de-derechos-humanos-2016-87112?idiom=es. Randolph, M. “NGO Field Security.” Forced Migration Review 4 (1999): 4–7. R3D-Red de defensa de los derechos digitales. El estado de la vigilancia fuera de control. Mexico: R3D, 2017. Red Rompe el Miedo. “Mapa de Agresiones.” 2018. https://informaterompeelmiedo.mx/ agresiones/. Red TDT. La esperanza no se agota. Situación de las personas defensoras de derechos humanos durante la presidencia de Enrique Peña Niet. México: Red TDT, 2017. Shirk, D. “Future Directions for Police and Public Security in Mexico.” In Robert A. Donnelly and David A. Shirk. Police and Public Security in Mexico. San Diego: University Readers, 2009. Sin Embargo. “Los homicidios en el penúltimo año de Peña (2017) tocan su peor nivel en al menos tres décadas.” Sin Embargo, July 30, 2018. www.sinembargo.mx/30-07-2018 /3449698. Stevenson, M. “Mexican Congress Approves Law Allowing Army to Act as Police.”Associated Press News, November 30, 2017. https://apnews.com/df692c0bf88 c449dada36616408d8e89. Tactical Technology Collective. Holistic Security. A Strategy Manual for Human Rights. Berlin: Tactical Tech, 2016. Teles, A. Política efectiva. Apuntes para pensar la vida comunitaria. Parana: La hendija, 2009. UNHRC. “Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders.” A/HRC/31/55. 2016. UNSR. “Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders on his Mission to Mexico.” A/HRC/37/51/Add.2. 2018. Van Brabant, K. “Cool Ground for Aid Providers: Towards Better Security Management in Aid Agencies.” Disasters 22 (1998): 109–25.

Resisting a hostile and insecure environment 129 Vargas, P. México: derechos humanos en crisis. Política de Estado y emergencias humanitarias. Mexico: UACM, 2018. Washington Office on Latin America and Peace Brigades International. The Mechanism to Protect Human Rights Defenders and Journalists in Mexico: Challenges and Opportunities. Mexico: WOLA & PBI, 2015. www.wola.org/sites/default/files/MX/ Jan%202015-The%20Mechanism%20to%20Protect%20Human%20Rights%20Def enders%20and%20Journalists%20in%20Mexico.pdf. Washington Office on Latin America and Peace Brigades International. Turning the Tide on Impunity: Protection and Access to Justice for Journalists and Human Rights Defenders in Mexico. Mexico: WOLA & PBI, 2019. https://pbi-mexico.org/sites/pbi -mexico.org/files/2019%20WOLA%20PBI_ENG.pdf.

6

Territory, community and the efficacy of the state Reconceiving the protection of human rights defenders in Colombia Peter Cousins and Emily Schmitz

Introduction1 “One year after we reported the incident, we got a call from the prosecutor’s office, asking me to make a statement! We went, but it didn’t make the slightest difference”..2 These are the words of one of the leaders of a community of campesinos (small farmers), a man, in the Tamarindo Community at Barranquilla, an industrial city nestled at the mouth of the River Magdalena. This community was initially established after its members were displaced – forced from their homes – from locations all around the north of the country. Having found their way to Caribbean Colombia’s unofficial capital, they settled on fertile, unoccupied land on its outskirts in the early 2000s, constructing their own basic houses and infrastructure, growing crops to live a subsistent, self-sufficient lifestyle, engendering a sense of community. However, their lives were to be interrupted again when the government’s excise agency designated the terrain on which these farmers lived as a new taxfree industrial zone in 2007. The campesinos organised themselves, creating the Tamarindo Community identity in 2010, and seeking legal recognition as the Farmland Workers Association (ASOTRACAMPO) the year after. This was, however, insufficient to prevent the gradual eviction of the farmers from nine of the ten lots that the community occupied. On 10 December 2015 – a little over a month after our interview with them and, ironically, International Human Rights’ Day – the final eviction from the tenth lot took place, despite the efforts of national and international accompaniment organisations. The campesinos scattered across Barranquilla to wherever they could secure some form of temporary lodging.3 The story of the Tamarindo Community is a David-and-Goliath scenario in which Goliath triumphs. Local and national economic interests conspired to finally defeat the significant efforts of David-like figures to maintain their campesino lifestyles. It is also an emblematic, if stark, illustration of certain themes that arose from the interviews we conducted across the country. In the face of numerous legal and physical threats, it is the story of the failure of the institutions of state, of which the quote provided above is but one example. Yet, the efforts of the Tamarindo Community also demonstrate novel and vigorous community-based methods of protecting and defending rights.

Territory, community and the efficacy of the state 131 Following a brief consideration of Colombia’s history and the situation presently faced by human rights defenders across the country, this chapter focuses on community-generated and community-oriented protection processes; the government’s key protection institution (the National Protection Unit, Unidad Nacional de Protección, UNP) and its weaknesses; and the importance of prevention and investigation – amongst other measures for tackling impunity – as critical elements of a more holistic approach to the protection of human rights defenders. This chapter draws upon interviews, focus groups and survey responses from 89 participants from Colombia, comprising 45 men, 41 women and three transgender persons. Data was collected between July 2015 and March 2016. They were from a wide range of backgrounds and engaged in a broad range of human rights activities in the capital city, Bogotá, the regional capitals of Barranquilla, Bucaramanga, Cali, Ibagué, Mocoa, Neiva, Popayán, Quibdó, Sincelejo and Yopal. Interviews were also conducted in the region of South Bolívar, the cities of Barrancabermeja and Buenaventura, and the towns of Apartadó, Baranoa, Istmina, Ituango, La Jagua, San Onofre, Santa Rosa, Soacha and Villa Garzón, as well as rural areas such as Guamoco and Puerto Asís. The participants worked on issues such as civil and political rights, freedom of expression, forced disappearances, the right to truth, historical memory and political neutrality vis-à-vis the armed conflict, the rights of political prisoners, indigenous peoples’ rights, land rights, environmental rights, the right to health, the right to education, victim’s rights, women’s rights, rights of LGBTIQA* persons, workers’ rights, rights of campesinos, rights of Afro-Colombian communities, rights of indigenous people and rights of displaced persons. The participants were between 20 and 74 years old, with a mean age of 46.7 years. The participants described themselves as having conducted human rights work for between one and 35 years, with an average of around 12 years; 77.9 percent described themselves as leading others in human rights work most of the time (rather than following others most of the time).

The political background and risks in human rights practice Violence has provided a backdrop to national life in Colombia for over fifty years.4 Guerrilla structures emerged in the 1960s, the most prominent being the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia, FARC) and the National Liberation Army (Ejército de Liberación Nacional, ELN). The 1990s witnessed the demobilisation of other, minor guerrillas, but also the coming of age of the illegal narcotics trade, as well as the rightwing paramilitary phenomenon. The United Self-Defence Forces of Colombia (Autodefensas Unidas de Colombia, AUC) were formed out of regional groupings in 1997 and, despite their controversial demobilisation in 2006 under President Álvaro Uribe (in office 2002–2010), paramilitarism – an economic and social project as well as a military one – embedded itself in the structures of regional and national political life.5 The government’s struggle with FARC concluded under Uribe’s successor, President Juan Manuel Santos (in office 2010–2018), following peace talks between 2012 and 2016,6 leaving the ELN as the country’s final

132

Peter Cousins and Emily Schmitz

guerrilla force. A semi-official report from 2013 put the number of victims of the conflict at approximately eight million, of which more than 80 percent were civilians.7 The 1990s was a crucial decade in the development of rights in Colombia. The guerrilla demobilisation occurred in the context of a democratic opening, embodied in the new constitution of 1991, which, inter alia, established special parliamentary representation, and other rights, for indigenous communities.8 Law 70, the Law of Black Communities (Ley de las Negritudes) was signed in 1993, recognising communal Afro-Colombian territories in the Pacific region.9 The human rights sector became increasingly professionalised and the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights established a presence in Colombia in 1997, increasing the level of international human rights monitoring.10 Not all Colombian human rights defenders work in the context of the country’s armed conflict, but President Uribe, elected in 2002 on a hard-line ticket against the FARC, antagonised the human rights community.11 His policies weakened the military capability of the guerrillas; there were major human rights violations under his leadership, including the murder by the army of thousands of young people to boost the guerrilla body count, known as the “false positives” scandal;12 and revelations that the Administrative Security Department (Departamento Administrativo de Seguridad, DAS) was spying on defenders (further elaborated below). President Santos dismantled DAS and launched the peace process with FARC. Nevertheless, the situation for human rights defenders remains precarious. Right-winger Iván Duque, from the Democratic Centre Party (Centro Democrático) assumed the presidency in August 2018. Risks in the defence of human rights Human rights defenders in Colombia face significant levels of risk. Indeed, since the conclusion of the conflict with the FARC in November 2016, there has been a sharp increase in such murders. The UN High Commissioner for Human Rights reported that 59 leaders were assassinated in 201613, more than 120 in 201714 and 108 in 2019.15 The Washington Office on Latin America recorded 123 deaths in 2018.16 Somos Defensores’s figures for all attacks in the first half of 2018 find that over 50 percent of the violence occurred in 5 of Colombia’s 32 provinces.17 Another civil society report suggests an even higher cumulative figure: 817 social or community leaders were killed between the signing of the peace agreement and the end of February 2020.18 The latest UN report in February 2020 notes that while “statistics convey the gravity of the problem, reducing the analysis to figures conceals the structural causes of violence against human rights defenders”.19 Indeed, the catalogue of attacks against human rights defenders reaches as far back as the development of the Colombian human rights movement itself. Winifred Tate considers its emergence, its actors and phases of development, while highlighting the overlapping and competing discourses associated with the field, including those that legitimate

Territory, community and the efficacy of the state 133 the impunity that the movement endures.20 A human rights lawyer in Bogotá recalled for us the changing dynamics she witnessed in recent decades: In the 1990s, there were many assassinations in the regions and at the grassroots level. I think the situation for human rights defenders goes through phases. Stigmatisation has always existed, but right now it has been on the decrease. […] Risks come both from paramilitary repression, such as assassinations, and from the military, such as intelligence and information gathering. This has been the risk that many human rights defenders face – they are targeted by the same state that should protect them.21 Indeed, while the nature of risk and threat has evolved over time, in our study, the great majority of participants identified the paramilitaries or their successors, and the armed forces/police,22 as their aggressors, not infrequently working in concert with one another. Paramilitary successor groups have been identified as the principal perpetrators in cases of political persecution, abuse and social intolerance.23 Nonetheless, local geo-political factors, and some fluidity in the composition of illegal armed groups, make for particularly complex contexts in Colombia – actors might not be as unitary as is often perceived.24 Debate also rages as to the degree that this violence is systematic.25 Beyond its armed forces, human rights defenders also hold other state entities to be responsible for threats and attacks against them. Many participants were deeply scarred by President Uribe’s administration. They also perceived of other units within government as inefficient, cold or disinterested in the threats and attacks against them, thus considering them to be responsible by omission. Actors with large-scale economic interests, in particular in mining and the extractive industries, bear responsibility too. Over the past 20 years, foreign investment, agro-business and mining have become prominent in the country, strengthened by the deregulation of investment controls, workers’ rights and environmental protections. Indeed, the recent National Development Plan presented by President Duque proposes an increase in coal extraction, hydrocarbon production and the number of oil exploratory wells.26 Global Witness reports that Colombia was the third-most dangerous country in the world for environmental defenders in 2017. 27

State institutional protection for human rights defenders The existing state protection infrastructure in Colombia is extensive. Colombia operates a national police force, a Human Rights Ombudsman’s Office (Defensoría del Pueblo) with an Early Warning System, a Public Prosecutor’s Office (Físcalía General) and a dedicated National Protection Unit (Unidad Nacional de Protección, UNP), as well as a National Commission on Security Guarantees (Comisión Nacional de Garantías de Seguridad). Furthermore, at least ten items in the peace accords with the FARC would lead to a direct reduction in violence against activists, if fully implemented.28 President Santos

134

Peter Cousins and Emily Schmitz

also signed Decree 660 in April 2018, an Integral Programme for Security and Protection for Communities and Organisations in the Territories,29 while President Duque has established an intersectoral Timely Action Plan for Prevention and Protection of Human Rights Defenders, Social and Community Leaders, and Journalists.30 The National Protection Unit was born out of a scandal involving DAS. Previously, DAS handled border control, state intelligence and protection of human rights defenders. Under President Uribe, agents assigned to the protection of human rights defenders shared information about them with those focusing on state intelligence, who subsequently designed actions to neutralise their work.31 DAS was abolished by President Santos, who divided its tasks between new agencies, including the UNP. In 2017, the UNP’s overall operating budget was over 634 billion pesos (196 million US dollars), increasing from 240.4 billion pesos (73 million US dollars) in 2012.32 That year, the UNP protected some 6,000 persons, of whom 575 were classified as human rights defenders.33 However, as noted, this institutional architecture is severely challenged. Indeed, one study suggests that impunity in cases of social leaders murdered between 2009 and 2017 stands at over 90 percent.34 Later in this chapter, we examine defenders’ experiences of the UNP and investigatory and prosecuting bodies. In the next section of this chapter we focus on how defenders – particularly those in communities – rely on non-institutional mechanisms for their safety.

Defending lands and territories: communities, risk, and self-protection In 2019, around 139,000 people were forcibly displaced due to the conflict in Colombia, and the country still retains the second-highest overall population of internally displaced people worldwide.35 Many human rights defenders in Colombia also find themselves in a struggle for land and territory.36 These very elements lie at the root of decades of conflict in Colombia, which continues to evolve. While “land” refers to a geographical space, “territory” consists of ties to the natural world, identity, traditions and culture, food sustainability and health – a place where individual and communal identities and histories are fomented. Sylvain Lefebvre defines territories to include, “any bounded land united by political, social, economic or cultural activities”.37 The concept of “territory” includes the construction of communities, the preservation of traditional farming and artisanal mining procedures, and the recognition of long-standing indigenous cultural practices, while “land” is the fundamental life source beneath one’s feet where communities can thrive. This, in turn, leads to the creation of reliable networks, which Lefebvre describes as, “a key strategy used by social movements to challenge structures of power”.38 The defence of land is integrated into the protection not only of the environment, but of the affirmation of histories, cultures and communities, often bound to the territory itself. Many activists consider their work to be integrated, and inclusive, of a variety of rights. A teacher and human rights defender in Huila

Territory, community and the efficacy of the state 135 involved in the struggle against hydroelectric megaprojects explained that his work involves defending the economic, environmental, cultural and social rights of communities affected by the hydroelectric dam. You cannot separate these rights from one another. If you are displaced from your territory, you lose all your rights – the right to work, the right to health, the right to live in your territory, the right to belong to a community, the right to participate and make decisions, etc.39 For many, the loss of land is tied not only to the loss of a home, but to the social fabric and community that provide security and meaning to life itself. Expressing the depth of connection that he felt with his territory, this teacher elaborated, “For me, displacement comes one step before death. It’s almost like an attempt against someone’s life. When someone loses his or her community, land or social network, they may enter into crisis”.40 Land in Colombia is coveted by a multitude of large-scale business interests.41 Defenders who are prepared to contest these interests, and to stand up for smallerscale, traditional land usage, bear high risks. Yet, these communities enter processes of resistance with a deep awareness of “relational territoriality”, whereby “practice, values and places … cohere to produce an emancipatory collective political subject”.42 This section explores aspects of this term, including some of the risks that arise from defending territories, the environment and related customs, as well as nonviolent methods of protection that are created as a result of communal bonds. Social and cultural links to territory engender social cohesion, and this in turn fosters a sense of security and protection. Most communities engaged in the defence of lands and territories are located in rural areas that are geographically and socially marginalised, with little access to reliable infrastructure or state presence. Nevertheless, one defender residing in the countryside stated that he only felt safe when he was amongst his community, explaining that We are all friends there. We all know one another. We all protect one another. It is for this reason that we are protected in the campo [countryside]. Because we know one another. Campesinos [farmers] protect one another. … People are very organised in rural areas. They are very careful. They are protective over what is theirs – they are protective of life. They really care about life in the countryside.43 Furthermore, meaningful, comprehensive protection goes beyond the defence of territory, and is conceived of more holistically in terms of communal responses – as one of our participants from an indigenous community said – to “our health, our education, our productivity”.44 A full expression of this approach is perhaps found in the example of the Peace community of San José de Apartadó, who issued a declaration of neutrality to conflict as a means of protecting themselves,

136

Peter Cousins and Emily Schmitz

marking their lands as a neutral zone and refusing to participate in hostilities.45 A campesino leader described the community’s origins, conceived around the idea of non-cooperation with, and resistance to, armed actors and their interests: Our declaration of neutrality served to highlight these interests and behaviours, and the consequences for campesinos. There were few campesinos left across the 32 veredas (rural subdivisions) of the district. We started to ask ourselves what we could do to remain. Initially we considered negotiating with the state and demonstrating internationally that there were governmental interests behind the abuse. But then we had the idea for neutrality: not having anything to do with any armed group. The army was killing people because they were supposedly collaborating with the guerrillas, and the guerrillas were killing people on the basis that they were working with the army. We didn’t want anything to do with any of them.46 As the Peace community recognised the potential of communal protection, they have forged – non-violently, experimentally but intentionally47 – spaces where individuals and families could remain on or return to, and consolidated other practices such as Freirean education within the community, traditional health care practices and working towards food sustainability. Such a range of activities amounts to a form of “emancipatory sovereignty”48, highlighting the critical link between protection and communal ways of life. Although land and territory are frequently associated with the countryside, these concepts can be meaningful in urban contexts too. In the Pacific city of Buenaventura, the Puente Nayero Humanitarian Space also represents an intentional effort to harness the energies of residents – in this case those who lived along a single street. Surrounded by armed groups and criminal gangs, the residents acknowledged the power of community bonds. A defender, a man, living on that street explained, We got rid of people who didn’t live here but were just committing crime. The leaders from Cacarica told us how they expelled the paramilitaries from their territory. We saw that a community united can achieve lots of things. We have used their experience as a model.49 Once communal processes are established, communities look for ways to sustain their own protection. Some communities, including the two above50 and the Tamarindo community mentioned in the introduction, have developed long-standing relationships with international accompaniment organisations and human rights observers (discussed further below). Indigenous communities share their own bonds with the territory in the context of a broader cosmology. Accorded high degrees of autonomy on their reserves by the constitution, an indigenous governor, a woman, argued, We all defend the indigenous jurisdiction, in search of harmony and balance, in the hands of our elders. This is in danger, because the ordinary branches

Territory, community and the efficacy of the state 137 [of the Colombian state] do not want to recognise this. This is not something written down, but oral traditions are valid for us, and laws are divinely ordained (our gods are the sun, the moon, water).51 For indigenous populations, the Indigenous Guard’ is an established institution in Colombia – widely recognised, trusted and respected. It is the visible manifestation of indigenous sovereignty, both on and beyond indigenous reserves. Unarmed and identified by the sticks they carry, the guards enforce a form of executive sovereignty within the reserves, which includes protecting those territories, as well as indigenous leaders. Their authority derives from the respect they receive from their communities rather than the use of force. Two indigenous leaders expressed great confidence in their guards; one, who was shortly to vacate her post as governor when we interviewed her, questioned if she would be as safe without them.52 Similarly, Afro-Colombian populations, largely concentrated along the two coastlines, are recognised as a distinct community by Law 70. A displaced leader of Afro-Colombian women in Cali described the intent to build a “Cimarrona Guard” (Guardia Cimarrona), effectively an Afro-Colombian nonviolent guard that places importance on dialogue for the resolution of conflicts.53 While AfroColombian populations do not enjoy rights to sovereign territories such as reserves, efforts are being made to enjoin the state to recognise the Guardia Cimarrona in areas populated by Afro-Colombians. Although defenders in this study identified the strength and security they derived from communal settings and processes, many also observed that it was this very strength that was often attacked, in order to fracture and destroy social movements. As a woman defender in Huila observed, If we all spoke up at the same time, we would have a much greater impact. The multinational knows this, and that’s why they try to divide the communities. They pay people to go around to the communities and say good things about the project – that they are going to bring us jobs and employment.54 Activists expressed fears over the resulting fragility of community ties, which they frequently attributed to intentional attempts by their opposition to fragment their communal processes as they defended their territories and the environment. For instance, La Jagua, a small town in the south, is home to numerous environmental and territorial defenders, due in large part to the construction of the Quimbo hydroelectrical project that has caused forced displacements from ancestral lands and led to the loss of traditional farming and fishing practices. Peaceful marches and protests have been met with brutal police retaliation. In the past, communities in the region were united, but the arrival of the dam has left them fractured. Similarly, the defender who discussed the Guardia Cimarrona had experienced the impacts of large-scale mining. This changed the nature of land use and contaminated local rivers with mercury, provoking cultural loss – they were no longer able to practise small-scale mining techniques passed down through generations.

138

Peter Cousins and Emily Schmitz

These examples again illustrate how the protection of communities is bound up with the continuation of a way of life. Furthermore, in recent years, the legal relationship between the environment and the enjoyment of human rights has been the subject of enquiry,55 while the natural world itself has started to be considered as the subject of rights.56 As the figures quoted above illustrate, those engaged in the defence of the rights of the environment – invariably a community endeavour – are particularly vulnerable to violence unleashed by the proponents of large-scale development or their proxies. A woman defender working with an environmental NGO reflected upon the severity of her experience: Everything that has happened to me since I’ve been an environmental activist has been on a scale I hadn’t experienced before. Nothing ever happened with the women’s group that made me think that someone wanted to stop us altogether. […] Their plan wasn’t to destroy us, to put an end to our existence, it was more about putting us off our struggle, to make us feel that we were worthless – not to eliminate us from the face of the earth. Now, I feel they are determined to finish off the existence of any opposition to the megaproject.57 Those we interviewed emphasised the importance of maintaining commitment to communal processes, practices and ideals. For communities that came together because of a shared purpose, coherence and close bonds are common. In the face of imminent threat from armed groups, however, their continuation depends on their ability to stay organised, on the basis of communal reference points and shared knowledge. An Afro-Colombian defender in Quibdó expressed, “Something that makes me feel insecure is the lack of awareness within our communities as to what constitutes communal rights. When this knowledge is lacking, it increases the danger”.58 In sum, ties to land, territory and the environment are often the foundations of organised processes defending and protecting these very elements that bring life to communities. The Colombian state has barely grasped the holistic nature of communal processes. Formal protection conceived for entire communities is limited to the aforementioned Decree 660 on collective protection measures for communities. Indeed, while this Decree represents a significant policy outworking of the jurisprudence enshrined in the constitution and in Law 70, it is relatively new and hence its reach and impact are still hard to assess. Community bonds and processes therefore become sources of security and protection. Threats, violence and attacks against communities and defenders can leave such processes fragile and fractured. This collective protection paradigm goes against the grain of the individually focused, materially oriented protection measures administered by the National Protection Unit – as we elaborate below, bodyguards, armoured cars and bulletproof vests do not resonate with cultural traditions and ways of life.

Territory, community and the efficacy of the state 139

State protection measures: assessing the national protection unit (UNP) The UNP’s mandate is to focus on awarding and delivering protection measures for human rights defenders. There are relatively few such state agencies in the world.59 UNP protection also constitutes institutional recognition and legitimisation of the defence of human rights for those whom it supports. As a woman defender working on prisoner’s rights in Santander observed, “It’s more important that [the authorities] recognise your work and what you are doing. If they can recognise what you do as something valid, this provides many opportunities for security measures”.60 However, several recipients of UNP protection repeatedly articulated one basic complaint: that the methods and mechanisms provided for their security were often inadequate, unsuitable and intrusive. The UNP typically provides defenders with mobile phones, bodyguards, armoured cars and bulletproof jackets – measures that are often incompatible with, or do not take account of, the way that defenders live their lives. In some cases, they were given bulletproof vests that did not fit correctly; in others, they received mobile phones that did not function properly, or they were not supplied with adequate funds for credit to make phone calls. In a separate case, a woman defender working on the rights of victims of conflict and political prisoners in Sincelejo observed, “What use is an armoured car to a campesino?”61 Another woman defender working on political and civil rights in Bogotá and Popayán in Cauca said, “The travel subsidy was supposed to last for six months, but I only got the money for two months”.62 The state’s narrow conception of security lies at the heart of this approach, something also made clear in a number of interviews. These words of a woman defender in Cauca were both revealing and typical: “Seguridad” refers to all the conditions necessary to make human and political life flourish. These are conditions of dignity. But security [to the government] is reduced to a military or police perspective.... People have been sold the idea that the more troops, the more security. More bodyguards, more bulletproof vests, and more armoured cars. The overall perspective is missing.63 This basic conceptual fault is manifested in symptomatic weaknesses in the design and execution of protection measures. One prominent grievance consists in the lack of timeliness and communication in awarding protection measures. For example, a journalist in the east of the country was, “[put] in touch with the National Protection Unit; someone interviewed me but sometime later I found out that they did not consider there to be an imminent risk”.64 This point was echoed by a lawyer, a man, in Bogotá: “Protection didn’t arrive in time.… In practice it’s very slow – even in an emergency. Bodyguards can take four to six months to be approved: it needs to be quicker and more agile”.65 Furthermore, the measures

140

Peter Cousins and Emily Schmitz

provide little in the way of practical usefulness, or indeed are counterproductive, as a woman defender in northern Colombia pointed out: Plus, the measures the government offers also serve to draw attention to yourself. You have less anonymity. If I have a security detail, three men are following me around! They might give you a bulletproof jacket, but there’s no jacket that covers your head! And a car without petrol is of no use.66 Other defenders in this study highlighted structural problems within the UNP. For example, a defender from Cauca asserted that, “the Protection Unit’s systems are not unified; sometimes they don’t know who has what”.67 A Quibdó-based woman defender illustrated this with a different example: “Money is sent to bank accounts in Medellín or Apartadó, because there are no branches here in Quibdó. To go and get that money, you run risks”.68 A lawyer in Barranquilla, a man, offered revealing insight into the impact of politics on staffing, with its attendant consequences: There is a lack of continuity amongst public officials who cover protection issues. Each time a new official arrives, we have to start from scratch. There is no continuity, either in terms of officials or policies. For example, the Protection Unit has had two directors in four years, plus various changes of middle-ranking officials. [The reason they are they rotated around] is because the government sees them as political rather than technical appointments; each minister etc. brings his/her own team with him. And this involves starting from scratch.69 A particular point of consternation amongst defenders lies in the UNP’s selection of bodyguards, who have predominantly been drawn from other state security systems, in particular the DAS or the army’s and police’s anti-kidnapping units, the Unified Action Groups for Personal Freedom (Grupos de Acción Unificada por la Libertad Personal, GAULA). Not only does this reinforce the deployment of the state’s coercive arm in protection, it is also self-defeating, given that, by action or omission, many human rights defenders consider themselves as victims of the state. Trust in UNP measures is largely diminished from the outset. On a related point, there appeared to be little room to exercise agency in the process of selecting bodyguards. We found some examples where defenders were allowed input into such decisions, but such cases were rare and dependent on individual circumstances. These included the aforementioned lawyer in Bogotá who had been awarded precautionary measures from the Inter-American human rights protection system that mandated the form of protection be mutually agreed upon, and the defender in Popayán, who considered himself “something of an exception” for his “political achievement” in securing his choice of minders.70 But much the more typical experience was that of a woman defender in Bogotá, who stated, The schemes don’t contemplate your being able to put anyone forward to serve as your bodyguard. Many of them come from the DAS and may

Territory, community and the efficacy of the state 141 therefore be caught up in the disappearances themselves. This means that people are obliged to cut themselves off from their surroundings.71 A more consensual procedure for choosing guards would both increase trust and be reasonably simple to implement, representing a quick win for the UNP. As things stand, however, the inability to choose one’s bodyguards is an example of the rigidity of the procedures and mechanisms available. An additional symptom of the quasi-military, inflexible model for protection was articulated by women defenders in different regions, who considered that insufficient attention had been paid to gender in regard to the use of bodyguards. The woman defender in Bogotá mentioned above argued that, “protection cannot be limited to two armed men who don’t know what dignified treatment is about – especially towards a woman”.72 This basic point was echoed by another woman defender in Barranquilla, who took it upon herself to sensitise those assigned to her protection in order to build confidence: Something that could be improved on is how a protection team for a woman is formed. The vehicles are not suitable for women; men wouldn’t realise this. They are large and it is awkward to get in and out of them. It’s tricky, particularly at a woman’s time of the month. Also, the way bodyguards treat us. I used to educate them. I delivered two trainings per month with the guards, for six months. This was actually beneficial for our organisation and it was helpful to them too; their vocabulary improved.73 Overall, defenders in our study were ambivalent about the protection measures they received from the UNP. One activist for political and civil rights in a northern province acknowledged that the protection measures he received reduced his level of risk, enabling him to maintain a high profile.74 The Bogotá-based lawyer was cognisant of the sacrifices that his bodyguards might have to make: I feel a certain degree of safety because I have bodyguards. I would like to be able not to have to count on them, it feels like having a prison regime. But they work according to my timetable, and they are willing to give their life for me, for which I feel appreciation.75 However, UNP protection measures also triggered cynicism amongst beneficiaries and inhibited their quality of life; many defenders were reluctant to accept their measures. Expressions of cynicism were usually tied to the state’s role in human rights violations, whether by commission or omission, and the incongruence of this with its role in protecting defenders. A lawyer in Barranquilla, a man, working on state aggressions receiving UNP protection measures joked, “It’s like having a vampire in charge of the blood bank”.76 As noted above, UNP protection measures impact heavily on one’s personal space and freedom. The aforementioned lawyer, with a total of eight bodyguards,

142

Peter Cousins and Emily Schmitz

security cameras and bulletproof office windows, described feeling like, “a fish in a tank, trapped in this world”.77 A woman defender working on the rights of victims and on land rights in Barrancabermeja echoed this point: A bodyguard isn’t with you all of the time – he doesn’t work on weekends for instance – and when he isn’t on duty, I can’t leave my house. And when the bodyguard is there, I have no privacy. I want to be free! This isn’t living!78 These considerations lead to a general reluctance amongst defenders to accept UNP protection mechanisms. Yet a lack of formal alternative options prevails, reinforcing the sense of inflexibility. Human rights defenders claimed that the state considered its duty discharged when it provided approved beneficiaries with measures from its standard package. Indeed, many were left with the sensation that to turn down an option on offer was tantamount to forgoing state protection altogether. As a woman defender opined, “You should be able to freely reject an offer, but then the state will say that it offered you support and fulfilled its responsibility”.79 Defenders therefore contemplate self-protection measures. A defender working on rights for LGBTIQA* persons observed, “You really have to take responsibility. Not everything is down to the state. We have to implement certain things ourselves, for example reading and practising all the advice”.80 A campesino of the Tamarindo community told us that he had increased the number of his dogs.81 Some defenders and communities in this study availed themselves of international accompaniment: trained, international volunteers belonging to accompaniment NGOs are invited by threatened activists or communities to literally accompany them, donned in bright jackets and t-shirts displaying their organisation’s logo. The method is designed to deter attacks and threats, and thus diminish risk for defenders. As Mahony and Eguren explain, The concept of political space is crucial to understanding how the incremental protection and encouragement provided by accompaniment interact with each other. Each actor in a complex conflict situation, whether a soldier or human rights activist, perceives a broad array of possible political actions and associates a certain cost or set of consequences with each action. The actor perceives some consequences as acceptable and some as unacceptable, thereby defining the limits of a distinct political space. Accompaniment alters this mapping of political space for a threatened human rights activist. It shifts the borderline upward, expanding the space of political action available to the activist. The middle ground is made up of actions that will no longer be attacked in an unbearable fashion. There are still actions that will provoke unacceptable consequences, even with accompaniment.82 While recognising its limitations, a woman in the north of the country explained why she preferred this method to the UNP model of protection: I understand they can’t be with us all the time. But if they could be, I would renounce my state protection measures. […] It’s a more human

Territory, community and the efficacy of the state 143 accompaniment, they know the context and they can make representations, which makes things safer for us. Even a high-ranking soldier once told me that international accompaniment was the best “protective jacket” that I could have.83 International accompaniment is also grounded strictly on the principle of nonviolence – accompanied persons must renounce any form of armed protection, at least for the duration of an accompaniment. As an issue of conscience, this was one of two very personal considerations that mattered to defenders as they contemplated the acceptance of protection measures. A human rights researcher in Barranquilla who received death threats explained why he turned down UNP protection measures, saying, [This] would have involved armed protection, according to the relevant decree. I turned this down. An armoured car and two armed guards following me around is no form of protection really. I am of the conviction that our option as human rights defenders is based on nonviolence.84 The community-based models of protection reviewed earlier in this chapter also practised the principle of nonviolence. The second issue that was very close to the hearts of defenders was that of repercussions on family members. Attacks on relatives are some of the most harmful and feared threats that defenders can experience, and defenders in this study revealed how the potential impact on family affected them deeply. As a woman defender expressed, “The worst threat a defender can receive is when they mess with your family. Because you, as a human rights defender, assume the risk, but your family doesn’t”.85 This problem spills over into the subject of protection. UNP measures have implications for all of daily life, as well as on the intimacy of home life. The lawyer in Bogotá connected the topic of weapons to his family: “It weighs on me that my daughter has to grow up in the presence of arms. I want her to grow up normally!”86 Some defenders highlighted inadequacies regarding family-oriented protection measures. One commented on the distribution of human resources, citing the example of her bodyguards who only ever accompanied her, despite the mandate being extended to cover her family. Her daughter consequently found herself alone, a concern that, despite representations to the UNP, had not been addressed when we spoke to her.87 In sum, despite the potential of the UNP, it remains a problematic institution, operating largely on the basis of an inflexible, narrowly focused, one-size-fits-all model. Protection instruments are, at best, viewed as necessary evils, generally unappreciated by their recipients. Greater collaboration with defenders themselves and more imaginative approaches could ease some of these tensions. But as we shall see in the following section, the clearest call by defenders is what one woman defender referred to as “political guarantees”.88 This relates to a more preventive approach, which would render the security measures offered by the UNP

144

Peter Cousins and Emily Schmitz

unnecessary, or at least less frequently required. In the words of the Barranquillabased lawyer, Better prevention does not mean more bodyguards. Millions are spent on material protection, which could be better spent on more basic needs of the population. But we need better preventive policies for human rights defenders, who are a demonised part of the population.89

The importance of a preventive approach: investigation, justice and countering impunity The UNP fails human rights defenders in many ways, but even at its best it is not designed to address any of the underlying causes of violence against human rights defenders. Indeed, it operates on the underlying logic that security is to be found in the provision of material, physical measures. Threats must be explicit and credible if protection mechanisms are to be granted at all. In our interviews, defenders across Colombia linked the concept of protection with effective prevention. A woman defender in the north called on the government to “direct its public policy at the question of prevention. It currently doesn’t foresee anything, it reacts”. She elaborated, “How can you protect, foresee and guarantee the exercise of human rights… in Colombia? It’s not just something physical; you use investigative and judicial mechanisms, and protective and preventive policies”. She emphasised, “If there is impunity, nothing will ever change”.90 Defenders call for an approach to protection focused on investigation, an effective judicial system and an intolerance of impunity as a means of conveying a message to (potential) perpetrators. Colombia possesses the legal apparatus and infrastructure to make a success of executing such a vision. However, as with the UNP, institutions designed to offer assistance, investigate crimes and prosecute perpetrators remain ineffective. The two institutions that possess investigative powers are the national police force and the Fiscalía (Public Prosecutor’s Office). Across the board, defenders were sceptical as to the probability of either institution achieving concrete results. A woman defender believed that her report, “was just filed away. It never went anywhere”.91 Another stated that “the Fiscalía does not investigate. That’s its responsibility, but they ask victims to supply proof!”92 The experience of a trans woman defender is particularly stark: The response to our complaints and to the reporting by trans women is, if you hit a gay person, if you torture a gay person or even kill her, nothing will happen. And the police have even said that to us, “Go ahead, report us! Nothing will happen!”93 We asked defenders about the reasons underpinning the lack of effective response. They noted that human rights defenders were often stigmatised, for example, accused of being part of the guerrilla insurgency, or cast as terrorists: “They know

Territory, community and the efficacy of the state 145 that this can do a lot of harm, so at certain points they have put a lot of energy into delegitimising us. They do propaganda; they attack us on TV and radio programmes. It is moral damage”.94 This reached an apogee under President Uribe, and although it is widely agreed that his successor, President Santos, toned down such negative discourses about human rights activists, once engrained, such impressions have proved difficult to undo: during a focus group in Cauca, one defender said, “Some civil servants still display uribista attitudes (those typical of President Uribe) regarding human rights”.95 Such stigmatisation impacts on the political will of state authorities to undertake fair and balanced investigations. This matter is further complicated by recurring allegations of co-optation of institutions by paramilitaries – many defenders insist that the state and/or its some of its agents have gone rogue. This could certainly play into a view of activists as auxiliaries of left-wing terror. Equally, resources are an issue. While foreign governments have contributed large sums to Colombia’s judicial apparatus,96 the capacity of Colombia’s justice system has long been challenged, and there is a present focus on post-conflict transitional justice.97 Nevertheless, a defender of the rights of LGBTIQA* persons highlighted a link between political will and efficiency: People see things in terms of budget and material protection…. What is needed are resources and better investigation. The one relates to the other. A month ago, a senator’s assistant, who was gay, was killed; the case was cleared up in four days.98 In contrast, a woman in Quibdó recounted an experience with threats issued through publicly distributed pamphlets: Last year the deputy prosecutor said he didn’t know where the pamphlets were coming from. A defender replied to him congratulating him on his sincerity but said it was ridiculous – with all the resources available and all the monitoring and intercepting of human rights defenders that has gone on – that nobody can trace the source of the pamphlets!99 One might argue that whether resources are directed to monitoring human rights defenders or investigating crimes against them is also a political consideration. The widespread sensation of a justice system that is, at best, inefficient and, at worst, hostile towards human rights defenders (a form of re-victimisation), is reflected in the treatment meted out to defenders: “There is no support from the Fiscalía.… The Fiscalía and the Interior Ministry offer no reason for hope. They are inept, indifferent and cold institutions”.100 A woman defender described a similar experience of treatment by public officials, Victims are invariably re-victimised by the way they are treated. We need public officials … who are sensitive, who listen carefully. When I went to report that I was the victim of forced displacement, in 2007, all I understood was that they assigned me a number and told to carry on [siga”. I felt treated

146

Peter Cousins and Emily Schmitz like cattle. It wasn’t dignified treatment. They least they could do is to listen to you. Sometimes they say, “What do you expect me to do about it?” In the Victims’ Unit, [they] stand around making chit-chat with each other, and then hurry you along when they get to you, shouting and issuing orders. You can’t call that service!101

At times the treatment made defenders themselves feel that they were under suspicion. When a woman defender reported a crime committed against her to the police, “the police interrogated my daughter and me, as though we were under investigation!”102 Some defenders were concerned about experiencing higher levels of risk as a result of reporting threats to appropriate authorities. A young defender working in Barrancabermeja, a man, who had very little trust in institutional support, feared making public denouncements lest they lead to increased threats. He said, “There have been cases where people make a public denouncement and, by the time they get home, the armed groups already know about it. How do they know about it if it is something private?”103 Similarly, a woman defender in Quibdó stated that, “going to the Fiscalía is a risk in itself; the moment someone leaves [the building], they get a call asking them why they were there”.104 On the general question of the value of reporting criminal activity in the first place, defenders held different opinions. To attain an institutional response or investigation for crime, a complaint must first be filed for all threats or acts of violence in the city or municipality where it took place.105 Though almost none of the participants we interviewed felt that institutions were effectual, some felt this to be a necessary legal step. Others believed that official denouncements were best bypassed, given the poor likelihood of obtaining meaningful institutional response. On the whole, however, defenders opined that while little could be expected in terms of concrete advances or outcomes, it is nevertheless important to file the initial complaint so that the matter is made visible, and so that authorities cannot say that they knew nothing about the incident. Amidst the inefficiency and hostility, defenders highlighted what they did to pressure the authorities into delivering results. These efforts typically involve building relationships. Some attempted to challenge head-on the deep-rooted image of human rights defenders as insurrectionaries. As a woman defender working on victims’ rights in Quibdó said, “The state needs to create confidence (confianza) at the human level, within communities, that human rights are for everyone. This is about a change in mentality within the institutions”.106 Another woman defender working on campesino rights in Barranquilla said, “I use many arguments to defend people’s human rights. I have managed to convince many public servants that the work of human rights’ defenders is legitimate and has a beneficial effect for all society”.107 Another approach consists of engaging in sustained dialogue with state institutions. As a woman defender working on women’s rights and guarantees for human rights defenders in Quibdó explained, Public hearings on guarantees were proposed for 14 regions, which would look at the situation in terms of prevention, protection and investigation

Territory, community and the efficacy of the state 147 in each of the regions.… The Interior Ministry presides, and [the United National Development Programme] has the post of relator. In the Chocó we asked for Interior Ministry, Ministry of Defence and Fiscalía to send highlevel officials with decision-making powers. There is a lot of distrust in the Fiscalía.108 A third approach involves engaging with institutions that are more trustworthy. Defenders generally found the Defensoría del Pueblo (Human Rights Ombudsman) more willing to accompany complainants and able to guide them through the process of filing denouncements – even taking the initiative to lead such processes if necessary. For a smaller number of defenders, taking their case to the InterAmerican Commission on Human Rights was productive, as it sent their case on to the Inter-American Court, which awards provisional measures. These require the government to report on the actions it takes to investigate crimes and to bring perpetrators to justice. However, this is often a measure of last resort. A human rights lawyer in Bogotá who represent victims in national and international courts observed that the Colombian government tends to provide only generic, unhelpful information in its feedback to the court.109 In summary, defenders who have approached state institutions for redress share common, negative experiences. For many, functionaries and judicial institutions are unduly influenced by inaccurate discourses, lack sensitivity and are highly unlikely to produce results. In some circumstances, approaching them can even lead to further risk. Though some defenders highlighted the steps they have taken to change this, many seemed resigned to a system that showed itself to be tolerant of crimes against them, and in which calls for a proactive, preventive approach, backed up by political guarantees, fall on deaf ears.

Conclusion This chapter has explored the risks that Colombian human rights defenders face, and their experiences of protection measures. As discussed above, although the protection infrastructure in Colombia is extensive, it often fails to meet the practical needs of defenders at risk. By focusing on physical security and the provision of material resources such as armed bodyguards and armoured cars, the UNP’s protection measures are often at odds with the day-to-day lives of defenders. Protection measures also tend to focus on individuals (and in some cases, their close relations) rather than communities. Beneficiaries of these measures experience a significantly reduced sense of freedom to go about their normal lives. For this unsatisfactory result, the Colombian state pays out a vast sum annually. Defenders insist on the importance of tackling impunity in order to advance their protection. However, investigatory bodies and the justice system have been severely challenged in terms of capacity, often leaving those who have suffered feeling re-victimised. Defenders believe that without sufficient political will, including cutting ties to corrupt structures – often referred to as “paramilitaries” – significant progress is unlikely to be made in affording them the political and social space to carry out their work safely.

148

Peter Cousins and Emily Schmitz

When communities and individuals at risk do not find the protection they need in state protection measures, they turn to personal and informal networks of support, most often through the close bonds of family and collective relationships. These informal protection mechanisms are nevertheless rooted in an understanding of local needs and socio-cultural traditions and exhibit profound respect and concern for the environment itself. In this sense, communities bypass formal routes for protection altogether, but in so doing sustain the kinds of lifestyles that beneficiaries yearn for. The relatively new Decree 660 reveals a fresh awareness of the need for collective protection measures. The current administration has also committed itself to a policy and road map for protection of human rights defenders more generally – the aforementioned Timely Action Plan for Prevention and Protection of Human Rights Defenders, Social and Community Leaders, and Journalists. The government should also continue to implement those aspects of the peace accords that would reinforce the security of defenders, although scepticism and hostility amongst the current president’s party towards those agreements means that buy-in is compromised. All the same, organisations committed to the wellbeing of human rights defenders find themselves with new and evolving indicators against which to hold the state accountable. A programme of research that focused especially on the efficacy and impacts of Decree 660 would be particularly useful. In this time of post-accord transition, Colombian state authorities could continue to allow increasing numbers of human rights defenders to be killed or attacked, and to perpetuate a bureaucracy that is capable of co-opting human rights discourses even as state institutions maintain a narrow understanding of protection. Or, state authorities could choose to harness the potential of Colombia’s laws, norms and institutions, and to align it with the breadth, energy and insight that defenders bring to their causes and the common good. In this study, we found that human rights defenders faced significant threats and risks as they defended their own rights and the rights of others. However, hope and the support of others brought them strength in the midst of their struggles. As the human rights lawyer in Bogotá mention earlier stated, A human rights defender has to love life. To help others, s/he cannot fall into the trap of scepticism or defeatism. We have to overcome our internal and external limits, and that is only possible if we take care of ourselves. We have to transmit optimism and transformative messages. We can’t be with the victims in order to sow further misery. In general, human rights defenders have an enormous capacity to enjoy each moment in life.110

Territory, community and the efficacy of the state 149 The indigenous jurisdiction In search

of harmony and balance,

in the hands of our elders,

we defend.

This is in danger;

ordinary branches

do not recognize oral traditions.

Laws divinely ordained

by Mother Nature and our gods;

the sun, the moon, water.

If someone commits an offence

we judge

according to our customs.

We don’t have a written description

of the totality of our powers;

our territorial rights;

our right to survival;

to continue living

according to our ways.

We say “no”

to illegal mining,

this is part of the mandate.

The Indigenous Guard supports.

Sworn in by our elders,

they control our space

make sure armed actors do not enter,

the guerrilla or the army

– their presence is damaging. We have our own jurisdiction.

We have our own branches

of power.

Composed by J.A. Mensah

This verbatim poem was created from the interview transcript of a woman human rights defender in Colombia working on indigenous rights.

Notes 1 We thank Alice Nah and Sylvain Lefebvre for comments on earlier versions of this chapter as well as Katrina Maliamauv and Patricia Bartley for their assistance with data analysis.

150

Peter Cousins and Emily Schmitz

2 Participant working on displaced persons’ and campesino rights, man, interviewed in Barranquilla in November 2015. What follows in the opening paragraphs is also based on this interview. 3 The authors maintained contact with the Tamarindo community members at the time of the eviction, and in their later roles working with one of the international organisations providing accompaniment to the community. At the time of writing, only four families from Tamarindo have officially been offered alternative land – in a distant, western province. For an academic treatment of displaced communities in Barranquilla, see Ignacio Ramos-Vidal, “Dinámicas Comunitarias en Desplazados y no Desplazados Residentes en Zonas de Exclusión Social en Barranquilla (Colombia)”, Revista de Estudios Sociales, No. 60 (2017): 49–61. 4 Jonathan Calderón Rojas., “Etapas del Conflicto Armado en Colombia: Hacia el Posconflicto”, Latinoamérica. Revista de Estudios Latinoamericanos, No. 62 (2016): 227–257. For a consideration of the paradoxes in Colombia’s evolution as a nation state, see Jenny Pearce, Colombia: Inside the Labyrinth (London: Latin American Bureau, 1990); David Bushnell, The Making of Modern Colombia: A Nation in Spite of Itself (Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press, 1993); and Marco Palacios (tr. Richard Stoller), Between Legitimacy and Violence: A History of Colombia, 1875–2002 (Durham: Duke University Press, 2006). For a more thematic approach, see Michael J. LaRosa & German R. Mejía, Colombia: A Concise Contemporary History (Lanham, Md.: Rowland and Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 2012). For a thorough examination of Colombia’s peace movement, see Virginia M. Bouvier. (ed.), Colombia: Building Peace in a Time of War (Washington, D.C.: United States Institute of Peace, 2009). 5 Claudia López Hernández., (ed.), Y Refundaron la Patria… de Cómo Mafiosos y Políticos Reconfiguraron el Estado Colombiano (Bogotá: Corporación Nuevo Arco Iris/Random House Mondadori, 2010). 6 The text of the final agreement can be viewed at http://www.altocomisionadopara lapaz.gov.co/procesos-y-conversaciones/Documentos%20compartidos/24-11-2016 NuevoAcuerdoFinal.pdf. For an accessible analysis of the successful novelties of the negotiations, see Kristian Herbolzheimer, Innovations in the Colombian Peace Process (Norwegian Peacebuilding Resource Centre, 2016). 7 Centro Nacional de Memoria Histórica, ¡Basta Ya! Colombia: Memorias de guerra y dignidad (Bogotá: CNMH, 2013). 8 Omar Antonio Herrán Pinzón., “Las Minorías Étnicas Colombianas en la Constitución Política de 1991”, Prolegómenos. Derechos y Valores, Vol. XII, No. 24 (julio-diciembre 2009): 189–212. 9 Senate of the Republic of Colombia, “Pacific Coast Communities and Law 70 of 1993”, Farnsworth-Alvear et al., 2016, 69–74. 10 Arturo J, Carillo., “Truth, Justice and Reparations in Colombia” in, Bouvier, Virginia M. (ed.), Colombia: Building Peace in a Time of War (Washington, D.C.: United States Institute of Peace, 2009), 148–149. 11 Paul A. Chambers, “The Ambiguities of Human Rights in Colombia: Reflections on a Moral Crisis”, Latin American Perspectives, Vol. 40, No. 5 (September 2013): 118–137. 12 Human Rights Council, Report of the Special Rapporteur on Extrajudicial, Summary or Arbitrary Executions, Addendum: Mission to Colombia, March 2010. Available at: http://www2.ohchr.org/english/bodies/hrcouncil/docs/14session/A.HRC.14.24.Add .2_en.pdf. 13 Human Rights Council, Annual Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights on the Situation of Human Rights in Colombia, 23 March 2017, A/ HRC/34/4/Add.3. 14 Human Rights Council, Annual Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights on the Situation of Human Rights in Colombia, 21 March 2018, A/ HRC/37/3/Add.3.

Territory, community and the efficacy of the state 151 15 Human Rights Council, Annual Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights on the Situation of Human Rights in Colombia: Advance Unedited Version, 26 February 2020. A/HRC/43/3/Add.3. 16 WOLA, “At Least 13 Human Rights, Social Leaders Killed in Colombia So Far in 2019”, 7 February 2019. 17 Carlos A, Guevara and Diana Sánchez Lara (eds.), Mas Allá de las Cifras: Segunda Parte (Bogotá, D.C.: Programa Somos Defensores, 2018), 110. 18 Cumbre Agraria Campesina, Étnica y Popular, Marcha Patriótica, & Instituto de Estudios para el Desarrollo y la Paz-Indepaz, Informe Especial de Derechos Humanos (Bogotá D.C.: Heinrich Böll Stiftung, Ideas Verdes series, February 2020). Figures vary by documenting organisation and specific definitional considerations, sometimes with dramatic differences. The overall trend, however, remains the same. For statistics between 2016–2018 in full concerning human rights’ violations (threats, murders and injuries) against the civilian population more generally, see CINEP/Programa por la Paz, Violencia Camuflada. La Base Social en Riesgo, 2019, 4. 19 Human Rights Council, Annual Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights on the Situation of Human Rights in Colombia: Advance Unedited Version, 26 February 2020, 4. 20 Winifred Tate, Counting the Dead: The Culture and Politics of Human Rights Activism in Colombia (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2007). 21 Participant working on the rights of rural communities, victims of state crimes and political prisoners, a woman, interviewed in Bogotá in November 2015. Stigmatisation is rising again, but this exemplifies the overall point: the modalities of violence evolve with the conflict and socio-political realities. 22 The Colombian National Police answers to the Ministry of Defence, and their agents are typically armed. A smaller number of those interviewed highlighted threats from the guerrillas, who nationwide have also been responsible for gross human rights violations. 23 CINEP/Programa por la Paz, Situación de Derechos Humanos y DIH en ColombiaInforme 2015 (April 2016). 24 We are indebted to Sylvain Lefebvre for this observation. 25 Comisión Colombiana de Juristas, Instituto de Estudios Políticos y Relaciones Internacionales-Universidad Nacional de Colombia, and seven others, ¿Cuáles son los Patrones? Asesinatos de Líderes Sociales en el Post Acuerdo (Bogotá, D.C.: October 2018). 26 Departamento Nacional de Planeación, Plan Nacional de Desarrollo 2018–2022; Latin American Post, ‘Colombia: the National Development Plan and the Environment,’ 3rd April 2019. 27 Global Witness, How Many More?, July 2018. 28 Guevara. & Sánchez Lara, Mas Allá de las Cifras: Segunda Parte, 83. 29 Ministerio del Interior, Decreto Número 660 de 2018, April 2018. 30 Gobierno de Colombia, Plan de Acción Oportuna Para Protección de Líderes Sociales, Defensores de Derechos Humanos y Yeriodistas, November 2018. 31 Semana, “Las chuza-DAS”, 19 December 2009. 32 Unidad Nacional de Protección, Comparativo de Apropiaciones 2012–2017, August 2018. 33 Congressional Research Service, Colombia: Background and U.S. Relations (2019), 2. 34 Colombia was one of thirteen countries assessed as having “very high” impunity levels in 2017; see, Le Clercq Ortega & Rodriguez Sánchez Lara, 2017. 35 Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre & Norwegian Refugee Council, Global Report on Internal Displacement 2020 (May 2020). 36 AB Colombia, Self-protection Mechanisms: Colombian Rural Defenders and Communities (London: AB Colombia, August 2016).

152

Peter Cousins and Emily Schmitz

37 Sylvain Lefebvre, “Making” the Territory: The Spatial Politics of Peasant Communities (Working Paper No. 5. University of York, Human Rights Defender Hub, April 2018), 14. For further connotations of this term, including associations with national sovereignty, see Courtheyn, 2017. 38 Lefebvre, “Making” the Territory, 13.

39 Participant working on environmental rights, man, interviewed in Huila in November

2015. 40 Ibid. 41 Gwen Burnyeat, “On a Peak in Darien: Community Peace Initiatives in Uraba, Colombia”, Journal of Human Rights Practice, Vol. 5, no. 3 (November 2013): 435– 445; Christopher Courtheyn, “Territories of Peace: Alter-Territorialities in Colombia’s San José de Apartadó Peace Community”, Journal of Peasant Studies, Vol. 45, No. 7 (2017): 1432–1459. 42 C., Courtheyn, Territories of Peace, 1454. 43 Participant working on land rights, man, interviewed in Barrancabermeja in October 2015. 44 Participant working on the rights of indigenous peoples, man, interviewer in Quibdó in November 2015. 45 Peace Community of San José de Apartadó, ‘Reglamento Interno’, July 1997, http:// cdpsanjose.org/node/122. 46 Participant working on territorial and land rights, man, interviewed in San José de Apartadó in November 2015. 47 Hernández Delgado (2008) links the processes of peace communities to the concept of “imperfect peace” – a peace in constant evolution, never finalised. For more on “imperfect peace”, see Muñoz, Francisco A., La Paz Imperfecta (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 2001). 48 Maria Teresa Uribe de Hincapié, “Emancipación Social en un Contexto de Guerra Prolongada. El Caso de la Comunidad de San José de Apartadó” in Boaventura de Sousa Santos & Mauricio García Villegas (eds), Emancipación Social y Violencia en Colombia (Bogotá: Grupo Editorial Norma, 2004), 75–117. 49 Participant working on territorial rights, man, interview in Buenaventura in December 2015. 50 Burnyeat, “On a Peak in Darien”, 435. 51 Participant working on indigenous rights, woman, interviewed in Popayán in November 2015. 52 Participant working on the rights of indigenous communities, man, interviewed in Quibdó in September 2015; participant working on the rights of indigenous communities, woman, interviewed in Popayán in November 2015. 53 Participant involved in Afro-Colombian and campesino rights, woman, interviewed in Cali in December 2015. Cimarrona refers to those Africans who resisted slavery in Colombia. 54 Participant working on environmental rights, woman, interviewed in Huila in November 2015. 55 A, Boyle., “Human Rights and the Environment: Where Next?” in, The European Journal of International Law, Vol. 23, No. 3 (2012), 613–642. 56 D.R, Boyd., The Rights of Nature: A Legal Revolution that Could Save the World (Toronto: ECW Press, 2017). 57 Participant working on environmental rights, woman, interviewed in Antioquia in November 2015. 58 Participant working on Afro-Colombian collective rights, man, interviewed in Quibdó in November 2015. 59 However, see also a similar mechanism in Mexico discussed in this volume and by D., Joloy, “Mexico’s National Protection Mechanism for Human Rights Defenders: Challenges and Good Practices’, Journal of Human Rights Practice, Vol. 5, Issue

Territory, community and the efficacy of the state 153

60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82

83

3, (2015). See also an examination of the Brazilian Programme for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders by U.T. Neto, Protecting Human Rights Defenders in Latin America: A Legal and Socio-Political Analysis of Brazil (Cham, Switzerland. Springer International Publishing AG, 2018). Participant working on the rights of political prisoners and victims, woman, interviewed in Santander in November 2015. Participant working on the rights of victims of conflict and political prisoners, woman, interviewed in Sincelejo in November 2015. Participant working on political and civil rights, woman, interviewed in Bogotá in December 2015. Participant working on the rights of campesinos and land rights, woman, interviewed in Popayán in December 2015. Participant working on freedom of expression, woman, interviewed by teleconference in March 2016. Participant working on the rights of political prisoners, man, interviewed in Bogotá in July 2015. Participant working on the rights of campesinos, woman, interviewed in Sucre in November 2015. Participant working on political and civil rights, woman, interviewed in Bogotá in December 2015. Participant working on women’s rights and guarantees for human rights defenders, woman, interviewed in Quibdó in September 2015. Participant working on the rights of victims and political prisoners, man, interviewed in Barranquilla in October 2015. Participant working on campesino/land rights, man, interviewed in Cauca in December 2015. Participant working on the rights of the disappeared and the right to truth and memory, woman, interviewed in Bogotá in November 2015. Ibid. Participant working on campesino rights, woman, interviewed in Barranquilla in November 2015. Participant working on political and civil rights and the rights of victims of state crimes, man, interviewed in San Onofre in November 2015. Participant working on the rights of political prisoners, man, interviewed in Bogotá in July 2015. Participant working on the rights of victims and political prisoners, man, interviewed in Barranquilla in October 2015. Ibid. Participant working on the rights of victims and on land rights, woman, interviewed in Barrancabermeja in October 2015. Participant working on the rights of forcibly disappeared and the right to truth and memory, woman, interviewed in Bogotá in November 2015. Participant working on the human rights of LGBTIQA* persons, man, interviewed in Baranoa in November 2015. Participant working on displaced persons’ and campesino rights, man, interviewed in Barranquilla in November 2015. Liam Mahony, “Protection: A Non-Government Organisation Experience, Peace Brigades International”, in The Human Rights Field Operation: Law, Theory and Practice edited by Michael O’Flaherty (Hampshire: Ashgate Publishing, 2007), 250. See also: Liam Mahony & L.E, Eguren, Unarmed Bodyguards: International Accompaniment for the Protection of Human Rights (West Hartford, CT: Kumarian Press, 1997), the seminal text on international accompaniment. Participant working on the rights of victims and political prisoners, woman, interviewed in Sincelejo in November 2015. Another woman defender in this study expe-

154 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97

98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105

106

Peter Cousins and Emily Schmitz rienced specific negative circumstances with international accompaniers, but this was not typical, and she herself referred to the method as “fundamental”. Participant doing human rights research, man, interviewed in Barranquilla in November 2015. Participant working on worker’s rights, woman, interviewed in Barrancabermeja in October 2015. Participant working on the rights of political prisoners, man, interviewed in Bogotá in July 2015. Participant working on the rights of victims and political prisoners, woman, interviewed in Sincelejo in November 2015. Participant working on victim’s rights, woman, interviewed in Barrancabermeja in October 2015. Participant working on the rights of victims and political prisoners, man, interviewed in Barranquilla in October 2015. Participant working on the rights of victims and political prisoners, woman, interviewed in Sincelejo in November 2015. Participant working on campesino rights, woman, interviewed in Barranquilla in November 2015. Participant working on victims’ rights, woman, interviewed in Quibdó in September 2015. Participant working on the human rights of trans* persons, trans woman, interviewed in Cali in December 2015. Participant working on victims’ rights, man, interviewed in Bogotá in July 2015. Participant working on campesino and land rights, woman, interviewed in Popayán in December 2015. S.S, Fulo Regilme., “A Human Rights Tragedy: Strategic Localization of US Foreign Policy in Colombia” in, International Relations, Vol. 32, no. 3 (2018), 351. The Special Jurisdiction for Peace was agreed as part of the peace deal between the previous Colombian government and the FARC. It will try the most representative crimes committed in the course of, and related to, the armed conflict. This is likely to encompass at least some crimes against human rights defenders, though its full caseload is yet to be established. Participant working on the human rights of LGBTIQA* persons, man, interviewed in Baranoa in November 2015. Participant working on women’s rights and guarantees for human rights defenders, woman, interviewed in Quibdó in September 2015. Participant working on state violence and the rights of victims, woman, interviewed in Bogotá in March 2016. Participant working on campesino rights, woman, interviewed in Sincelejo in November 2015. Participant working on campesino rights, woman, interviewed in Barranquilla in November 2015. Participant working on the rights of LGBTIQA* persons and anti-militarism, man, interviewed in Barrancabermeja in October 2015. Participant working on women’s rights, woman, interviewed in Quibdó in September 2015. In cases where defenders consider it necessary to immediately evacuate to another city or region yet would be minded to report the threat, it may ease the process if victims could file the complaint in the police station of their convenience. The Colombian police and public prosecutor’s office have nationwide reach, albeit with regional divisions, so that a structure already exists to pass denouncements between cities or provinces. Participant working on victims’ rights, woman, interviewed in Quibdó in September 2015.

Territory, community and the efficacy of the state 155 107 Participant working on campesino rights, woman, interviewed in Barranquilla in November 2015. 108 Participant working on women’s rights and guarantees for human rights defenders, woman, interviewed in Quibdó in September 2015. We should note that, although these spaces have been attempted, they have met with differing levels of success. 109 Participant working on victims’ rights, man, interviewed in Bogotá in July 2015. 110 Ibid.

References AB Colombia. Self-protection Mechanisms: Colombian Rural Defenders and Communities. London: AB Colombia, August 2016. Bouvier, Virginia M, ed. Colombia: Building Peace in a Time of War. Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace, 2009. Boyd, DR. The Rights of Nature: A Legal Revolution that Could Save the World. Toronto, ON: ECW Press, 2017. Boyle, A. “Human Rights and the Environment: Where Next?” European Journal of International Law 23, no. 3 (2012): 613–42. Burnyeat, Gwen. “On a Peak in Darien: Community Peace Initiatives in Uraba, Colombia.” Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (November 2013): 435–45. Bushnell, David. The Making of Modern Colombia: A Nation in Spite of Itself. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1993. Calderón Rojas, Jonathan. “Etapas del Conflicto Armado en Colombia: Hacia el Posconflicto.” Latinoamérica. Revista de Estudios Latinoamericanos 62 (2016): 227–57. Carillo, Arturo J. “Truth, Justice and Reparations in Colombia.” In Colombia: Building Peace in a Time of War, edited by Virginia M Bouvier. Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace, 2009. Centro Nacional de Memoria Histórica. ¡Basta Ya! Colombia: Memorias de guerra y dignidad. Bogotá: CNMH, 2013. Chambers, Paul A. “The Ambiguities of Human Rights in Colombia: Reflections on a Moral Crisis.” Latin American Perspectives 40, no. 5 (September 2013): 118–37. CINEP/Programa por la Paz. Situación de Derechos Humanos y DIH en Colombia-Informe 2015. April 2016. www.cinep.org.co/Home2/images/bandatos/INFORME_DDHH _2015.pdf. CINEP/Programa por la Paz. Violencia Camuflada. La Base Social en Riesgo. 2019. www .cinep.org.co/publicaciones/wp-content/uploads/woocommerce_uploads/2019/05/20 19509_Informe_ViolenciaCamuflada_2019_DDHH_Completo.pdf. Comisión Colombiana de Juristas, Instituto de Estudios Políticos y Relaciones InternacionalesUniversidad Nacional de Colombia, and Seven Others. ¿Cuáles son los Patrones? Asesinatos de Líderes Sociales en el Post Acuerdo. Bogotá, DC, October 2018. http://ieu .unal.edu.co/images/Informe_asesinato_de_l%C3%ADderes_sociales_2018_IEPRI.pdf. Congressional Research Service. Colombia: Background and U.S. Relations. 2019. https:// fas.org/sgp/crs/row/R43813.pdf. Courtheyn, Christopher. “Territories of Peace: Alter-Territorialities in Colombia’s San José de Apartadó Peace Community.” Journal of Peasant Studies 45, no. 7 (2018): 1432–59. Cumbre Agraria Campesina. Étnica y Popular; Marcha Patriótica; & Instituto de Estudios para el Desarrollo y la Paz-Indepaz, Informe especial sobre agresiones a personas

156

Peter Cousins and Emily Schmitz

defensoras de los derechos humanos y de los acuerdos de paz. Bogotá, DC, February 2020. Departamento Nacional de Planeación. Plan Nacional de Desarrollo 2018–2022. www.d np.gov.co/DNPN/Paginas/Plan-Nacional-de-Desarrollo.aspx. El Espectador. “La mayoría de asesinatos de líderes sociales quedan impunes: ONG Somos Defensores.” November 13, 2018. www.elespectador.com/noticias/judicial/la-may oria-de-asesinatos-de-lideres-sociales-quedan-impunes-ong-somos-defensores-articulo -823451. Fulo Regilme, SS. “A Human Rights Tragedy: Strategic Localization of US Foreign Policy in Colombia.” International Relations 32, no. 3 (2018): 343–65. Global Witness. “How Many More?” July 2018. www.globalwitness.org/en/campaigns/ environmental-activists/at-what-cost/. Gobierno de Colombia. Plan de Acción Oportuna Para Protección de Líderes Sociales, Defensores de Derechos Humanos y Yeriodistas. November 2018. www.mininterior .gov.co/sites/default/files/plan_de_accion_oportuna_de_prevencion_y_proteccion_0 .pdf. Guevara, Carlos A, and Diana Sánchez Lara, eds. Mas Allá de las Cifras: Segunda Parte. Bogotá, DC: Programa Somos Defensores, 2018. www.colectivodeabogados.org/IMG/ pdf/masalladelascifrasespweb.pdf. Herbolzheimer, Kristian. Innovations in the Colombian Peace Process. Norwegian Peacebuilding Resource Centre, 2016. https://noref.no/content/download/168975/7479 18/version/2/Herbolzheimer_NOREF_Innovations%20in%20the%20Colombian%20 peace%20process_June2016_FINAL.pdf. Hernández Delgado, E. “La paz imperfecta que construyen las iniciativas de paz de base social en Colombia.” In Las prácticas de la resolución de conflictos en América Latina, edited by ME Salamanca, 137–52. Bilbao: Universidad de Deusto, 2008. Herrán Pinzón, Omar Antonio. “Las Minorías Étnicas Colombianas en la Constitución Política de 1991.” Prolegómenos. Derechos y Valores XII, no. 24 (julio-diciembre 2009): 189–212. Human Rights Council. Report of the Special Rapporteur on Extrajudicial, Summary or Arbitrary Executions, Addendum: Mission to Colombia. March 2010. www2.ohchr.org/ english/bodies/hrcouncil/docs/14session/A.HRC.14.24.Add.2_en.pdf. Human Rights Council. “Annual Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights on the Situation of Human Rights in Colombia.” March 23, 2017. https:// undocs.org/A/HRC/34/3/Add.3. Human Rights Council. “Annual Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights on the Situation of Human Rights in Colombia.” March 21, 2018. https:// undocs.org/A/HRC/37/3/Add.3. Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre & Norwegian Refugee Council. Global Report on Internal Displacement 2018. May 2018. www.internal-displacement.org/global-rep ort/grid2018/downloads/2018-GRID.pdf. LaRosa, Michael J, and German R Mejía. Colombia: A Concise Contemporary History. Lanham, MD: Rowland and Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 2012. Latin American Post. “Colombia: The National Development Plan and the Environment.” April 3, 2019. https://latinamericanpost.com/27328-colombia-the-national-develop ment-plan-and-the-environment. Le Clercq Ortega, JA, and G Rodriguez Sánchez Lara. Índice Global de Impunidad 2017: Dimensiones de la Impunidad Global. Puebla: Fundación Universidad de las Américas, 2017.

Territory, community and the efficacy of the state 157 Lefebvre, Sylvain. ‘Making’ the Territory: The Spatial Politics of Peasant Communities. Working Paper No. 5. University of York, Human Rights Defender Hub, April 2018. López Hernández, Claudia, ed. Y Refundaron la Patria… de Cómo Mafiosos y Políticos Reconfiguraron el Estado Colombiano. Bogotá, DC: Corporación Nuevo Arco Iris/ Random House Mondadori, 2010. Mahony, Liam. “Protection: A Non-Government Organisation Experience, Peace Brigades International.” In The Human Rights Field Operation: Law, Theory and Practice, edited by Michael O’Flaherty, 243–64. Hampshire: Ashgate Publishing, 2007. Mahony, L, and LE Eguren. Unarmed Bodyguards: International Accompaniment for the Protection of Human Rights. West Hartford, CT: Kumarian Press, 1997. Ministerio del Interior. Decreto Número 660 de 2018. April 2018. http://es.presidencia .gov.co/normativa/normativa/DECRETO%20660%20DEL%2017%20DE%20ABRIL %20DE%202018.pdf. Muñoz, Francisco A. La Paz Imperfecta. Granada: Universidad de Granada, 2001. Palacios, Marco. Between Legitimacy and Violence: A History of Colombia, 1875–2002. Translated by Richard Stoller. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006. Peace Community of San José de Apartadó, Reglamento Interno. July 1997. http:// cdpsanjose.org/node/122. Pearce, Jenny. Colombia: Inside the Labyrinth. London: Latin American Bureau, 1990. Ramos-Vidal, Ignacio. “Dinámicas Comunitarias en Desplazados y no Desplazados Residentes en Zonas de Exclusión Social en Barranquilla (Colombia).” Revista de Estudios Sociales 60 (2017): 49–61. Semana. “Las chuza-DAS.” December 19, 2009. www.semana.com/nacion/articulo/laschuza-das/111197-3. Senate of the Republic of Colombia. “Pacific Coast Communities and Law 70 of 1993.″ In The Colombia Reader: History, Culture, Politics, edited by Anne Farnsworth-Alvear, Marco Palacios, and Ana María Gómez López. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2016. Tate, Winifred. Counting the Dead: The Culture and Politics of Human Rights Activism in Colombia. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2007. Unidad Nacional de Protección. Comparativo de Apropiaciones 2012–2017. August 2018. www.unp.gov.co/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/ejecucion-presupuestal-historica-20122017.pdf. Uribe de Hincapié, Maria Teresa. “Emancipación social en un contexto de guerra prolongada. El caso de la comunidad de San José de Apartadó.” In Emancipación social y violencia en Colombia, edited by B de Sousa Santos and M García, 75–117. Bogotá: Grupo Editorial Norma, 2004. WOLA. “At Least 13 Human Rights, Social Leaders Killed in Colombia So Far in 2019.” February 7, 2019. www.wola.org/2019/02/human-rights-social-leaders-killed-colo mbia-january-2019/.

7

Protection into the future Alice M. Nah

Introduction In contrast to scholars who express pessimistic forebodings about the future of human rights,1 there are studies that show how human rights has made a difference, even if progress has been slow, sometimes stretching over decades.2 For human rights defenders, the struggle for human rights is a provocation for societal change that results in greater freedom, justice and equality. Ordinary people with quotidian lives moved by the issues that confront them, human rights defenders often find themselves resisting power structures in the face of overwhelming odds. Some live in a permanent state of insecurity. Some are venerated as heroes, their actions noted in award ceremonies and the media. Most, however, remain relatively invisible. This chapter draws from the experiences of human rights defenders in Indonesia, Egypt, Kenya, Colombia and Mexico who participated in this study to reflect on how protection actors can come alongside them to support and protect them as they seek to right wrongs where they are. By “protection actors”, I refer to state and non-state actors that act to protect human rights defenders at risk. Protection actors include donors (governmental and philanthropic), government officials, prosecutors, national human rights institutions, universities, NGOs, community-based groups, networks and coalitions. Drawing on previous chapters in this book, I first review key factors that shape the risks that defenders face. In the second section of this chapter, I then set out proposals for the way the protection of defenders should be (re)imagined and practised.3

Factors that shape the risks that defenders experience The significance of changing contexts The risks that defenders face depend on the political, legal, economic and social contexts in which they operate. These contexts are historically embedded, dynamic and multi-scalar – that is, they are shaped by events that have occurred, they are ever changing and developments at one level (local, national, regional, international) affect others. Defenders act in response to political and economic developments that are often situated within histories of colonialism, conflict and political

Protection into the future 159 change. Events of the past affect the present. In Colombia, Álvaro Uribe Vélez’s stigmatisation of human rights defenders cast a long shadow over those we interviewed. In Indonesia, the actions of the defenders we spoke to were interpreted in light of past sectarian violence that resonated for years afterward. The risks that defenders face also depend on the types of actors around them, their interests, relationships and the way they exercise power in society. In Mexico, the defenders we interviewed lived with the insecurities caused by the militarisation of public security and collusion between state agents and organised crime. In Kenya, this study took place as political leaders clamped down on human rights defenders aiding the International Criminal Court’s efforts to investigate those involved in the election violence of 2007–2008. In Egypt, we interviewed human rights defenders who were being stigmatised and criminalised as enemies of the state after being celebrated as heroes of the 2011 Revolution. Defenders are also exposed to generalised violence and insecurity in their own contexts. Aside from direct threats – threats targeted at them specifically to disrupt their activism – human rights defenders are also exposed to incidental threats that other members of society face. As a defender in Egypt opined, “The constant fear is there … in Egypt, you could not be doing any activism and just be a normal person and you could still be at risk of being randomly arrested in the street for no reason”.4 In Colombia, defenders expressed concerns about hostilities between armed actors and paramilitary groups in their territories. Defenders in Mexico were worried about the activities of drug cartels and criminal gangs in their neighbourhoods. Defenders in Kenya spoke about the dangers of being mugged or shot as they went about their daily activities. In some cases, non-state actors, who otherwise had little interest in the work of defenders, were paid and motivated by the adversaries of defenders to threaten and attack them. The economic conditions for human rights activism matter. Across all five countries, defenders highlighted their struggles with financial hardship and economic instability. Defenders from lower socio-economic classes and from marginalised communities had fewer financial resources to marshal for their self-protection. Those who worked in human rights organisations spoke about the challenges of getting long-term, secure, core funding for their work, and the insecurity caused by project-based funding with short timelines. They highlighted how they had to run organisations on tight budgets, and how some funders did not recognise the need for necessities such as pensions, social security, health insurance, safer modes of travel (which were often more expensive) and activities that promoted the wellbeing of staff. In our study, some human rights defenders were volunteers and did not have organisational resources to draw upon. The risks that defenders face have an impact on their economic activities. In some cases, defenders in professions, such as journalists and academics, were demoted, passed over for promotion or fired from their jobs because of their activism. In Colombia, campesino defenders described how they were unable to travel to dangerous areas to harvest or sell their goods. In Kenya, defenders in rural areas spoke about how they lost their livelihoods which were tied to their lands when they were forced to relocate for their safety. Defenders in all countries spoke

160 Alice M. Nah about the additional financial burdens caused by medical bills, legal fees and bail. Though it detracted from their quality of life, some had to spend money on extraordinary security measures such as safer transport (for example, taking private taxis instead of buses), the installation of security equipment and the hiring of security guards. Those from lower socio-economic classes and those who did not have stable employment found it more difficult to afford these additional costs. Needless to say, the extent to which state authorities are willing and able to respect, protect and fulfil the rights of defenders impacts directly on their security. In all five countries, defenders expressed concerns about ineffectual responses by state authorities to threats and attacks against defenders. In some cases, they were threatened again when they made formal reports about the crimes committed against them. They observed the devastating effects of impunity. A defender working on good governance in Kenya highlighted, In Kenya impunity is embedded to a point where to some people it is normalised. So what we normally think about in our duties are fear of arbitrary arrest … being kidnapped, of disappearance – because it has happened to some of our colleagues – assault and assassination. We are very conscious of these issues as we do our work … .5 Impunity not only emboldened perpetrators but resulted in defenders engaging in self-censorship and refraining from public denunciations. The response of state authorities to prominent, well-regarded defenders affects the actions of other defenders. As an LGBTIQA* defender in Colombia observed, “If people see that crimes are not investigated when reported by someone with a high profile, they ask themselves why they should bother potentially running the risk of something happening to them if they reported it”.6 In all five countries, defenders were concerned when they saw high-profile activists being targeted with impunity. When state authorities did respond, in some cases, their actions to protect human rights defenders were so inadequate or inappropriate that they sometimes increased (rather than reduced) the risks faced by defenders and their families. In Colombia and Mexico, for example, defenders expressed frustration about how state-provided protection measures – such as bodyguards, phones, bulletproof vests and armoured cars – not only restricted their movements and increased their visibility as potential targets, but in some cases made them appear suspicious – as if they were potential informants or collaborators. Also, these measures were provided only some of the time, creating heightened moments of vulnerability for the defenders. The acceptability, legitimacy and credibility of defenders and their human rights practice The acceptability, legitimacy and credibility of defenders and their human rights practice shape the risks they face.7 The reputation and actions of defenders are judged both by specific groups of actors (who might be allies or enemies) – such

Protection into the future 161 as the police, national human rights institutions, public prosecutors and neighbours – as well as the broader public. The actions and motives of defenders are interpreted, and sometimes misunderstood, in the light of cultural norms and expectations shaped by social constructions of class, gender, ethnicity, religion, sexual orientation and other axes of identity. Identity matters. As the experiences of women defenders and LGBTIQA* defenders in this study highlighted clearly, the way that the identities of defenders are perceived influence the way their actions are judged. Defenders who work on issues considered socially sensitive or taboo – such as LGBTIQA* rights, sex worker rights, incest, female genital mutilation and some types of women’s rights – experienced greater marginalisation and discrimination, in some cases, even from fellow human rights defenders. The stigmatisation and criminalisation of defenders damage the acceptability, legitimacy and credibility of defenders and their actions. Across all five countries, we found that defenders were subject to name-calling, shaming, insinuation, accusation, the spreading of false rumours and lies, smear campaigns, judicial harassment and criminalisation. Stigmatisation tactics often drew upon nationalist, religious, homophobic, patriarchal, racist and xenophobic sentiments in society. A common approach was to cast doubt on the motives of defenders, for example, by accusing them of seeking personal gain from their activism, being agents of foreign powers or being in the service of terrorists. Defenders are particularly susceptible to the effects of stigmatisation when there is little understanding among the public about what human rights are and what human rights defenders do. Actors who resist the work of human rights defenders – often state actors with the support of state-controlled, mainstream media – fill this void in understanding by stigmatising defenders in culturally and context-specific ways. In Colombia, defenders were accused of being guerrillas. In Indonesia, some were labelled separatists or communists while in Egypt, they were stigmatised for being ‘anti-Egyptian’. Women and gender non-conforming defenders also faced gendered vilification. Women defenders were called “loose women”, “bad mothers”, “prostitutes” or deemed “immoral” or “spiritually corrupt”. The negative impacts of stigmatisation and criminalisation can be invisible, subtle, long-lasting and diverse. They lead to greater insecurity and a higher exposure to violence, the loss of public support, strained relationships, alienation, mental and emotional distress and the loss of funding and resources. Stigmatisation and criminalisation also contribute to the stagnation and fragmentation of collectives, communities and social movements. Relative (in)visibility The relative visibility of defenders shapes the risks they experience. In some cases and at certain moments, visibility can be a source of vulnerability; in other cases and at different moments, it can increase defenders’ security. Organisations such as Front Line Defenders, Peace Brigades International, Amnesty International and bodies that give awards (such as the Goldman Prize, the Martin Ennals Award

162 Alice M. Nah and the Tulip Prize)8 promote the international visibility of defenders deliberately as a protection strategy. Such international recognition is aimed at increasing the political cost of action against defenders at risk, legitimising their actions (in the face of stigmatisation), providing moral (and sometimes material) support and drawing helpful attention to their causes. Defenders also increase their public profiles deliberately as a security strategy. For example, a defender in Indonesia said: “If I meet public figures or senior government officials, I put their photos on my Facebook page. In this way, I inform people that I have access to these figures, so that this can provide some protection for me”.9 However, visibility can also result in negative outcomes for defenders. Firstly, the perceived identities and motives of public allies matter. As an example, it is common for well-meaning embassies to enquire about the circumstances of defenders at risk. The European Union Guidelines specifically encourage EU missions to be proactive in acting for defenders, for example, by maintaining contact with them, providing them with visible recognition and engaging in trial monitoring.10 However, it also recognises that “in certain cases EU action could lead to threats or attacks against human rights defenders”.11 Indeed, there are cases where the support of embassies for defenders in crisis has backfired, causing them greater harm than good. Secondly, visibility can also draw unwanted attention from (potential) perpetrators. Indeed, limiting visibility, and remaining as invisible as possible, are key ways in which some defenders manage their everyday security. When asked about how he stayed safe, a defender working on LGBTIQA* rights in Egypt said “I don’t share information about my work. My approach is about finding ways to work without being known so that I can support others”.12 Similarly, a woman community organiser in Aceh, Indonesia highlighted, I also chose to work in silence and under the radar when working with people in the field. We collected data silently. Our volunteers were common people, such as teachers, peasants and public transport drivers. We invited them to Banda Aceh to have training or to bring data. Then they would go back to their villages with their groceries from the city. It reduced suspicion from security forces.13 Defenders also highlighted how some human rights organisations designated specific individuals to be the public face of the organisation so that others who were less visible could work with greater freedom. The relationship between (in)visibility and security is particularly acute for leaders of collectives, communities and movements. Leaders were often the main point of contact for external parties, and once identified, it was hard for them to use invisibility as a protective strategy. As a woman defender from Colombia observed, As a leader, one is always visible. You are always visible. So the risks are always high. The communities always know who the leaders are, what they

Protection into the future 163 are doing, and where they are going, who they lead or what organisation they are with. In some way, one must have a certain level of precaution.14 Leaders are also expected to be present; to accompany, facilitate and lead communities in their processes; to be interlocutors and representatives with other parties. As a defender from Colombia, a man, observed, Our work involves training communities and people about their rights and making visible the situation that we live [in], specifically regarding megaprojects and companies. This responsibility means that that we, as leaders, must be present every day. It means accompanying the community processes … .15 Concerned about the risks brought to leaders by such forms of visibility, some communities have deliberately taken a different approach, that is, to have collective, rotating and shared leadership, so that individuals are not singled out and targeted. Social connectedness and embeddedness in protective networks The social connectedness of defenders and the extent to which they are embedded in supportive and protective networks matters significantly.16 Defenders experience a greater sense of security when they are connected to others who understand and value their work; it helps them to overcome social isolation, alienation and loneliness. As a defender from Colombia observed, “The act of joining together with other groups in the area gave us more strength and more capacity to be able to mobilise, to be able to do things”.17 In this study, we found that personal networks based on kinship, friendship and work were crucial to the security of defenders. Especially in emergencies, family members, friends, colleagues and neighbours were often the most critical actors in rescuing them from danger. As examples from preceding chapters show, they protected defenders in various ways, including by warning them of attacks, lending them money, helping them to relocate or evacuate and smuggling them out of dangerous situations. Beyond material support, they also gave defenders solidarity and love, enabling them to withstand hardship and crisis. In some cases, such informal supporters included individuals who worked for “the other side” – the perpetrators – but who were concerned about the safety of defenders they knew. Defenders also spoke about how cultural norms and kinship obligations operated in ways that resulted in their personal protection. A woman defender from Maluku in Indonesia described the obligation to protect that arose from the cultural practice of gandong. Similarly, in the context of Egypt, Masa Amir has discussed how women defenders were protected by tha’r, family or tribal solidarity, where the killing of a member of a tribe is considered an assault on the entire group and prompts retaliation.18 Defenders in this study also noted the importance of personal relationships and connections with political and economic elites, who may use their influence and connections – sometimes publicly, sometimes

164 Alice M. Nah privately – to mobilise support for them in times of risk. It is important that such forms of protection, based on kinship, friendship and cultural norms, are not disrupted by the introduction of other forms of protection. Local, national and transnational human rights coalitions, networks and movements are also an important source of protection. More than just amplifying advocacy messages, they affirm and legitimise the work of human rights defenders, provide access to protection resources, and are a vital source of psychological support. Such connections also influence the distribution of protection resources, such as emergency grants, places on relocation initiatives, accompaniment and advocacy efforts. International protection actors usually check the identity, reputation and the claims made by defenders regarding the threats they face with local and national actors in their existing networks before providing protection support. Protection actors are generally able to act more swiftly for defenders who are already known within such circles. As such, the extent to which defenders are connected, respected and known affects their enjoyment of protection initiatives. Those who are more geographically and socially isolated, whose work is disrespected or stigmatised and who have less knowledge about strategies, tactics and resources, are less likely to benefit from protection initiatives and are more vulnerable as a result.

Reimagining protection In this section of the chapter, I highlight eight proposals for the way the global human rights movement should reimagine protection. These are subtle shifts in the way we conceptualise, understand and enact protection practices, but have distinct implications for defenders at risk. Broaden from protecting human rights defenders to protecting the right to defend human rights At present, the dominant approach taken by protection actors is to focus on protecting human rights defenders rather than upholding the right of everyone to defend human rights. As such, great pains have been taken to signify human rights defenders as a particularly unique and special category of persons in society and in international law. The logic that follows this approach is that a person should be protected because the person is a human rights defender – rather than because they have the right to defend human rights as a human being. This is a subtle difference, but results in a number of consequences.19 Firstly, the identification of a person as a human rights defender is a categorical, binary process. A person either is or is not a human rights defender. This puts pressure on protection actors to get such categorisation correct. As mentioned in Chapter One, there have been debates about the criteria used for such identification, with protection actors such as the OHCHR arguing that human rights defenders “must accept the universality of human rights as defined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights” and that “the actions taken by human rights

Protection into the future 165 defenders must be peaceful”, although these are not required in the Declaration of Human Rights Defenders.20 Protection actors who debate whether a particular individual or group should or should not be considered a human rights defender, bring in their own considerations, assumptions and expectations about the “right” ways in which human rights activism should be practised and by whom. In some contexts, activists have argued that government officials can never be considered human rights defenders. According to the Declaration on Human Rights Defenders, this is not true. Secondly, the term human rights defender has been used in very specific ways over the past two decades to identify, celebrate and legitimise certain individuals and their actions. In such discourses, often designed to counter public stigmatisation, human rights defenders are cast as exceptional figures, special, different, extraordinary and worthy not only of protection but of praise. This has resulted in very high expectations being attached to this identity. As we found in this study, where the term “human rights defenders” is well understood (for there are contexts where this term is not meaningful), they are expected to be brave, strong, self-sacrificial and heroic. As Amy Lajoie observes, “Interpretations of ‘human rights defenders’ as individual ‘heroes’ fighting to ‘hold their governments accountable’ are commonplace in [human rights defender] discourses.”21 Some of the participants in this study did not refer to themselves as a “human rights defender” because they associated this term with a “perfect standard” of behaviour22; they did not consider themselves to be sufficiently “qualified”. The “superhuman” expectations attached to the identity of the human rights defender also leaves little room for them to feel and express fear, anxiety, dread and insecurity. Thirdly, the construction of human rights defenders as “exceptional people” creates tension between those who are valorised publicly (most often internationally23) as human rights defenders and their colleagues, disrupting the collective aspect of activism. As Jaraisy and Feldman observe in the case of Palestinian activists, referring to certain individuals as human rights defenders “backfires, by shifting the focus from the action to the activist, indeed from the community of activists to the lone activist, and from the common cause to more individual ones”.24 Broadening the focus from protecting human rights defenders to protecting the right to defend human rights enables protection actors to look beyond the security of a small, select, group of people. As a woman defender in Egypt observed, International NGOs support famous human rights defenders and they are very selective. There are a lot of unknown human rights defenders … if they fall in the hands of security, they will suffer more and no one will know. [We need to know] who is a human rights defender and follow them and help them when they are in danger instead of focusing only on the famous ones.25 Protection actors should instead focus on the ways in which societal institutions, structures, discourses and practices enable everyone to promote and protect human rights.26

166 Alice M. Nah This shift enables protection actors to identify and support actions by individuals and groups that promote and protect human rights, whether or not those persons are heroic or sufficiently “worthy”. It enables us to consider human rights activism as constituted by ordinary actions and responses to events in daily life, not just the dramatic or exceptional, bringing it closer to the realities of defenders’ lives.27 It also enables protection actors to consider how individuals or groups are imperfect beings, with flaws in character, action and judgement that should not be used against them to negate their right to defend human rights.28 Protect collectives along with individuals This study showed that threats and attacks against defenders are experienced collectively. That is, an attack on one person affects a much larger number of people connected to them – often their families, friends, colleagues and fellow defenders. Attacks against defenders are sometimes aimed at instilling fear among their networks and indeed the wider community of defenders in order to dissuade them from their activism.29 Perceptions of (in)security amongst defenders are intersubjective and shared. That is, defenders draw meanings about (in)security from each other; they consider the riskiness of actions with fellow defenders and whether these risks are worth taking. Defenders interpret and understand the significances of incidents and events together. Sometimes, defenders – and especially leaders – may withhold information about threats and attacks from others, concerned that such sharing leads to movement demobilisation. In this study, defenders expressed reservations about accepting protection support that was not extended to their colleagues and families. Serious, multiple, repeated threats and attacks on the same network or community of defenders can weaken and impoverish them. They cause psychological trauma and fatigue among defenders and they quickly consume the limited protection resources available. As such, it is important for protection actors to identify and draw attention to beleaguered communities of defenders, so that additional protection resources can be mobilised for them, especially during intense periods of attacks and sustained acts of repression. While threats and attacks have the power to deter defenders, they can also provide the impetus for renewed mobilisation.30 When feminist environmental rights defender Berta Cáceres was assassinated in March 2016, thousands mourned her death but declared “¡Berta no se murió, se multiplicó!” (Berta did not die, she multiplied!). Anger and indignation at the actions of perpetrators cause defenders to regroup and to continue in their struggles with renewed vigour.31 Sharing their experiences of losing a beloved leader, a woman defender in Colombia said, When we lost [him], we felt very vulnerable. We were working with him at the time, and so we thought that we would suffer the same fate. After that, we were very quiet. I think it was about a year that we were really quiet, and didn’t do a lot. We stayed at home a lot. We would only go out to go to work,

Protection into the future 167 and then go right back home again. But this also made us realise that we had to do something. Someone motivated us and empowered us, and we aren’t going to let it stop, we thought. From one moment to another, we regained strength and “took the flag” as they say. And this is where we are today.32 At present, many protection initiatives – in particular, relocation schemes, awards and advocacy campaigns – are still designed to protect individuals, even though the Declaration on Human Rights Defenders explicitly focuses on the protection of groups and organs of society as well.33 A woman defender working on environmental rights in Colombia was critical of the way human rights defenders were portrayed as heroic individuals. As she explained, It takes away the collectivity of human rights work. In the Inter-American Court, for example, they always say things about how great human rights defenders are and how they are saving people, about how they are famous. But what they don’t recognise is that this work is not accomplished alone—no one does human rights work alone. Human rights work is done collectively. For example, once we tried to get community protection for an indigenous group in Cauca in the Inter-American Commission. In indigenous communities, the leadership roles are always changing, they are rotating. For the Commission they couldn’t understand why we couldn’t identify a few permanent leaders. They wanted to identify heroes. But it’s not about heroes – it’s a network of people. The same thing happens with UNP [the Colombian government’s National Protection Unit] protection schemes – the schemes are organised for individuals, not groups. They don’t understand that it’s a group effort, and the group runs the risks.34 Indeed, there are many cases where threats and attacks are mounted against collectives – whether groups, organisations, communities or networks. Such collectives have also developed innovative ways of protecting themselves. The chapter on Colombia highlighted practices such as the creation of the Indigenous Guard, the Guardia Cimarrona, neutral zones, and partnerships with organisations that provided international accompaniment.35 Collectives are diverse and protection strategies need to be adapted to the circumstances and needs and integrated with their self-protection strategies. Protection International defines collective protection as “a set of strategies, measures and actions that aim at protecting both a collective actor (an organisation, a community, a group) and the individuals who are part of it, and that are or may be at risk due to their human rights defence activities”.36 They emphasise that collective protection goes beyond the protection of leaders, who might be the main target, and also comprises of more than the provision of security measures to individual members of a collective. Proposing the use of relational approaches to study collective protection practices, they highlight the importance of strengthening the organisational capacity of communities, their collective processes, as well as their “social fabric”. They also call for greater recognition of the role of

168 Alice M. Nah women in defending rights and securing their communities, which is often rendered invisible. Protect families and loved ones The protection of families and loved ones is another critical area. In all five countries, defenders expressed great concern about the security of their families. Threats and attacks against their family members – in particular their children – were a great source of worry and anguish. While defenders are willing to pay the cost of activism themselves, they felt a deep sense of guilt when it impacted on their families. As a woman defender working on workers’ rights in Colombia expressed, “[T]he worst threat a defender can receive is when they mess with your family. Because you, as a human rights defender, assume the risk, but your family doesn’t. Your family doesn’t really have any idea why [they are being threatened]”.37 In some cases, family members had to be brought into security strategies and plans. As a woman defender in Mexico explained, We had to change our life, the relationship with our family was impacted, the relationship with my partner… she and my family were the most affected… because [the government] had information about all the schools my nephew had attended … the mobile phone numbers that my father had used in the last seven years … I had to talk with my family … [security] strategies had to be adopted by my family … we did not know if the attack was going to come against the most visible actor [me] or against my family circle. However, we also found that defenders withheld information about their work and the risks they faced from family members, in order not to worry them. This exacerbated feelings of isolation, guilt and fear amongst defenders. In crisis situations, however, defenders rely greatly on their family and friends, for there is often a delay before formal protection actors respond. In summary, one of the key recommendations that defenders made in this study was to include family members and loved ones in protection initiatives. Protection initiatives should not just focus on the physical safety of families and dependents, but on their economic support. This is especially important when the defenders attacked are the primary breadwinners in their households. Build inclusive human rights organisations, networks and movements with an intersectional perspective The defenders in this study spoke about the importance of building and strengthening organisations, networks and movements in order to strengthen their resistance to state repression.38 Networks connect defenders to each other and to those sympathetic to their causes. However, the nature of networks, their configuration, their dependence on individual actors, the relative subject positions between actors and the strength of the social bonds within the network, shape the outcomes

Protection into the future 169 of the networks. As Mara Loveman argues, the configuration of social networks, the types of ties between actors, their density and how they are related with broader institutional and issue networks affect the capacity of activists to resist repression and engage in high risk collective action.39 However, while networks can be enabling, they can also be repressive, for example, if they (inadvertently) replicate and reinforce patriarchy, sexism, racism, homophobia and xenophobia. It is important not to romanticise networks – sometimes being part of them can lead to the reduction of agency and choice.40 As in other social circles, discrimination, harassment and violence occur in human rights communities. These can be a particularly thorny issues to handle because human rights defenders espouse values that oppose these, but it is precisely such “in-movement” dynamics that lead to burnout amongst activists.41 A feminist woman defender from Mexico observed, When violence comes from within, from the closer sphere; such as sentimental partners, colleagues from the same organisations, machismo within social movements, when that happens, there is a peril of fracture, sometimes even more dangerous than with that related to external actors.42 One of the issues raised by women defenders in this study was how men played a dominant role in organisations, diminishing their voice, agency and leadership. As a woman defender in Mexico observed, Like a lot of women I had to confront harassment and a lack of recognition of my work as a women human rights defender, most of all in organisations comprising both men and women…. harassment is pervasive … I had different experiences with men human rights defenders that were close to violence. I had to confront this. And usually there are not mechanisms [to resolve this]; this situation has become normal in organisations.43 The stress, trauma and violence that human rights defenders experience affect their relationships with each other. Examining how Peace Brigades International Mexico provided psychosocial support to staff and volunteers, Maik Müller and Clemencia Correa note, Often conflicts and tensions that occur in the teams are linked to the external context and to the effects of stress and violence…. People working in contexts of political violence are exposed to various impacts from the context itself, from the stress of the work, or from what has been called secondary trauma. This creates various sensations and emotions (guilt, frustration, powerlessness) affecting both their personal wellbeing and the dynamics of the team. Many of these are normal reactions linked to the context and type of work, and people may not be aware of it. Hope Chigudu and Rudo Chigudu draw on the concept of “woundology” to highlight how some activists continue to dwell on what wounded them.44 They define

170 Alice M. Nah this as “the condition of constantly pitying oneself and playing the victim. This happens at individual and collective levels with the collective version of this leading to an unhealthy atmosphere or constant complaining”.45 They highlight the need for healing, to enable activists to “name and let go of old wounds that linger in the organisation”.46 In their analysis of stress, harm and trauma in the human rights field, Meg Satterthwaite and her colleagues discuss challenges to the promotion of wellbeing amongst human rights advocates.47 Noting that discrimination and bias within organisations and movements can be very stressful and traumatic, they observe that “much more needs to be done to dismantle racism, sexism, ableism and other forms of discrimination within organisations and movements”. 48 In summary, the struggle for human rights is long and arduous. Connections with others make a distinct difference in sustaining defenders. However, organisations, networks and movements are not automatically safe spaces for defenders. Critical reflection and work are needed to ensure that such collectives become spaces where defenders’ souls can be restored and where they can gain healing, rejuvenation and strength, as they continue in their journeys. Develop diverse initiatives along the protection continuum Among protection actors, significant resources are allocated for reactive measures to counter or mitigate threats and attacks against defenders. However, it is also important to invest in the development of an enabling environment for the defence of human rights. This should include strengthening human rights movements and embedding wellbeing into human rights practice (further elaborated below); building public support and acceptance for human rights defenders; developing domestic, regional and international legal frameworks and institutions for the promotion and protection of human rights; taking measures to prevent threats and attacks against defenders and to counter the repression of civil society as well as enacting measures to counter impunity. Protection initiatives developed along the continuum must be grounded in the experiences of defenders and in an analysis of their responses. At one end of the protection continuum are practices aimed at dealing with emergencies. In their analysis of the protection support needed for human rights defenders in crisis situations, Ali Gharavi and Fieke Jansen provide insights about the way defenders experience crisis.49 Firstly, they note that “entering into a crisis is often defined by a specific distinct event, and marks the moment after which there is much uncertainty about possible outcomes”.50 They identify six stages of a crisis – pre-crisis, crisis onset, crisis prolongation, crisis resolution, recovery and re-entry – for human rights defenders. They note that it is important for defenders to prepare for crises before they happen,51 and for protection actors to involve defenders as much as possible during crisis response, while recognising that their input will be influenced by their traumatic experiences of the crisis. As they highlight, “[Crisis-related preparedness] is crucial since the subsequent stages of crisis often preclude the [human rights defender] at the

Protection into the future 171 centre of the crisis from leading a response process, and predicates a reliance on trusted individuals and entities to respond on their behalf”.52 They observe that the latter four stages of crisis response are often missing or ignored by protection actors. Another key issue is the length of time that a specific defender is supported. Emergency grants and interventions tend to provide three to six months of support for defenders.53 However, risks often do not dissipate within this time frame and the impacts of a crisis continue long after. In addition, when a crisis hits, it often has multiple impacts on a person or organisation – physical, psychological, economic, digital, legal – and almost always with a significant level of financial burden. It is therefore important not only to address these multiple impacts but to enable defenders to access a comprehensive set of protection measures that does not require them – in the midst of crisis – to be forced to lobby and struggle for complimentary protection measures.54 At the other end of the protection continuum are practices aimed at creating safe and enabling environments for the defence of human rights. Margaret Sekaggya, in her report to the Human Rights Council as the UN Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders, set out eight elements needed for this: A conducive legal, institutional and administrative framework; access to justice and an end to impunity for violations against defenders; strong and independent national human rights institutions; effective protection policies and mechanisms paying attention to groups at risk; specific attention to women defenders; non-state actors that respect and support the work of defenders; safe and open access to international human rights bodies; and a strong and dynamic community of defenders.55 Civil society protection actors have long led initiatives to support the development of these elements. For example, in support of the development of a “conducive legal, institutional and administrative framework”, International Service for Human Rights facilitated a process to develop a Model Law on the Recognition and Protection of Human Rights Defenders, adopted by human rights experts and jurists in 2016.56 This Model Law provides states with guidance on the development of legislation that enables the full and effective implementation of the Declaration on Human Rights Defenders. In relation to “strong, independent and effective national human rights institutions”, members of the Global Alliance of National Human Rights Institutions released the Marrakech Declaration in 2018 in which they resolved to take specific actions to promote and protect the rights of human rights defenders, including contributing to the establishment of national protection systems; monitoring and reporting on civic space; setting up early warning mechanisms that can initiate urgent actions; reporting cases of threats, intimidation and reprisals; and promoting access to justice.57 Building acceptance for human rights defenders and their work is a key security strategy that should not be neglected. In humanitarian studies literature, the

172 Alice M. Nah acceptance security strategy complements the protection and deterrence security strategies. The first focuses on building local support for an organisation’s presence and activities, while the second and third focus respectively on reducing vulnerability and deterring attacks by posing counter-threats.58 In their work on relief and development NGOs, Larissa Fast and colleagues argue that “the failure of organisations to systematise and clearly articulate acceptance as a distinct security management approach and the lack of organisational policies and procedures concerning acceptance hinder its efficacy as a security management approach”.59 The acceptance strategy for each human rights defender – whether a person or organisation – will be different and dependent on the context of their work, their social and political standing and their intersectional identities.60 Human rights defenders subject to systematic stigmatisation will need specific strategies that counter such narratives. Of relevance to the development of practices along the protection continuum are Michel Forst’s seven principles that underpin good protection practices.61 Forst highlights that good protection practices should be rights-based; recognise the diversity of defenders (and that they might not self-identify as human rights defenders); be gender sensitive, recognising intersectionality; take a holistic approach to security; protect those connected to defenders along with the defenders themselves; involve defenders in the design of protection practices and be flexible, adaptable and tailored to the specific needs of defenders.62 Develop formal protection mechanisms based on meaningful collaboration between state and civil society actors, which complement informal and self-protection initiatives One of the key paradoxes in the protection regime for human rights defenders is that state authorities are the principal duty bearers in protecting defenders, but defenders lack trust in them. State actors are often the perpetrators of threats and attacks or complicit in those mounted by non-state actors. The impunity that perpetrators enjoy contribute significantly to this mistrust. Defenders tend to trust civil society actors much more than they trust state actors.63 As such, they are likely to have more faith in state protection mechanisms where trusted civil society actors play a meaningful role. Studies about national protection mechanisms for human rights defenders in countries such as Mexico, Colombia, Guatemala and Brazil highlight key weaknesses in their implementation, such as the lack of political will from public authorities, poor resourcing, weak coordination amongst officials in different state institutions, poor training of staff and high turnover and weaknesses in legal frameworks that undergird these mechanisms.64 Civil society actors have played an important role in the creation and improvements of these mechanisms – advocating for their development, criticising their gaps, and participating in the strengthening of their capacities – however, they are still inadequately represented in these mechanisms.65 In his comprehensive assessment of the Brazilian Protection Programme for Human Rights Defenders (Programa de Proteção aos Defensores de Direitos

Protection into the future 173 Humanos, PPDDH) set up in 2004, Ulisses Terto Neto argues that the best model for the PPDDH is a state-civil society model, rather than a state-only model. He argues that this approach helps to strengthen the partnership between the state and civil society, with the former managing the Programme and the latter operationalising it. It also enables civil society to have a stronger role in the definition and implementation of public policies for defenders. Not only do the NGOs that operate protection programmes have more credibility amongst defenders who distrust state officials, they have experience and expertise that is hard to transfer. As Neto states, These organisations are living archives of the public policy for [human rights defenders’] protection. They have built experience, alliances and networks through about ten years of operating protection programmes. Such technical, political and social capitals are hard to transmit via workshops, seminars and other technical training. Thus, it would be very hard for state actors to acquire those kinds of capital while managing and operating the PPDDH for, as said, they lack trust from [human rights defenders], social movements and vulnerable groups.66 The preference for state-civil society collaboration – rather than state-only approaches – for the protection of defenders is also a strong theme in a recent study that Hannah Dwyer Smith and I conducted to assess the feasibility of the creation of an international support network to strengthen state implementation of the Declaration of Human Rights Defenders at the national level.67 We found that state and civil society actors alike articulated much greater support for a multi-stakeholder approach which involved national human rights institutions and civil society actors along with government representatives in the protection of defenders. All parties, including government officials, considered this to be a better approach for “driving a truly defender-orientated agenda, ensuring accountability on the part of governments and building trust with the wider human rights defender community”.68 However, there is a danger that state authorities involve civil society actors in formal protection mechanisms only to gain legitimacy, and not in ways that enable their meaningful participation.69 There is a need to explore collaborative models of protection between state and civil society actors, and to analyse how such approaches can produce effective outcomes. Formal, institutionalised protection mechanisms should recognise, complement and strengthen defenders’ self-protection as well the informal support they receive from personal networks. In this study, we found that defenders engaged in a wide range of security management practices, some developed instinctively and some employed as a result of security training. These practices affected defenders’ daily routines, movements and privacy. They changed the way defenders interacted with their families, friends, colleagues and neighbours. Some defenders gave up leisure activities because of security concerns. The greater the number of security management practices that defenders adopted, the greater the cost in terms of time, attention, inconvenience, privacy and money. Defenders have to

174 Alice M. Nah choose the extent to which they are willing to pay these costs for their security. Those unwilling are sometimes misunderstood as being too unconcerned about their security. There is a danger that formal protection measures are enacted in ways that weaken the agency of defenders or disrupt the irreplaceable support they get from others. Especially in emergencies, defenders’ actions are rooted in pre-existing trust and relationships and embedded in the everyday. Formal protection measures need to be integrated into everyday practices of defenders – they need to be manageable and within reach for defenders, given their constraints and limitations; they need to be culturally appropriate and enable them to maintain their relationships and networks. Recognise that the flow of protection resources changes power relations between civil society protection actors and human rights defenders Most protection initiatives – such as emergency grants, relocation schemes, awards and accompaniment – are resource intensive and continue to be scarce in comparison to the global scale of the needs of human rights defenders. They can also be time-consuming and expensive to administer. As discussed earlier, defenders tend to get access to these protection initiatives through social networks. Typically, donors (a type of protection actor) provide funds to civil society organisations and state institutions that create and manage protection initiatives for defenders at risk. All protection actors operate with assumptions about defenders at risk and about what they need. Donors, in particular, have the power to shape the agendas and priorities of civil society protection actors. This can result in restricted protection support to certain types of defenders who need it and over-resourcing for other types of defenders, causing distortions in the provision of protection.70 Funding practices can also poison relationships between defenders and between organisations.71 Civil society protection actors tend to have the most fine-grained understanding about the lives and struggles of defenders at risk, especially those who accompany and witness the actions of defenders directly. They play a key role in sensitising donors about local protection-related trends. As experts they also decide on the allocation of protection resources to defenders – what to give, how much, to whom and for how long. In doing so, they gain authority, status and power in relation to defenders; they navigate and mediate between donors and defenders, sometimes acting as interlocuters or brokers. As Irina Ichim observes, in some cases, civil society protection actors and donors can develop a consensus between them about how protection should be enacted which create constraints on the actions of and options for defenders at risk.72 It is important for protection actors and defenders to recognise the reconfiguration of power relations that arise from the distribution of protection resources – otherwise, protection actors who are well meaning and who think that they empower defenders may end up doing the opposite. It is important for protection actors to keep the whole “ecosystem” in view and to pay attention to how actions for specific defenders might deepen inequalities or sow further division

Protection into the future 175 and rivalry amongst defenders.73 Collective capacity building and the fostering of alliances for protection can also help reduce the privileging of one defender over another. Develop holistic understandings and practices of security for and with human rights defenders including their wellbeing As highlighted in Chapter One, there has been increasing recognition amongst protection actors that the security of defenders is multidimensional. Physical security – the security of defenders’ bodily integrity and liberty – continues to be the key focus in most protection initiatives. Over the years, investments have also been made into improving the digital security of defenders – that is, ensuring that they are safe from online attacks and breaches of their privacy and security of data. Recognising that security for defenders is multidimensional and includes their economic security, political security, environmental security, and health security,74 in this section, I focus on a particular aspect of security that defenders in this study identified as being critical but still neglected – their mental and emotional wellbeing, individual and collective.75 In this study, 86 percent of defenders who answered the survey expressed that they were “somewhat concerned” or “very concerned” about their mental and emotional wellbeing; they were as concerned about this as they were about their physical and digital security. However, they also recognised that they did not give this sufficient priority. In the face of high workloads, immense stress and limited resources, they did not have the time or space to address this seriously. There are a number of other reasons why it is challenging to address the issue of mental and emotional wellbeing amongst defenders. Firstly, defenders tend to prioritise their human rights activism above their own wellbeing. When they do contemplate the topic, they tend to focus on the wellbeing of others – in particular, their families and loved ones who suffered from the risks they face as well as the victims of human rights violations. As a woman defender working on campesino rights in Colombia expressed: This is the last measure people take. We start by thinking about our children, our families, our communities; the last person we think about is ourselves. It is because of the love for our art; we are not looking to be protagonists or to serve our own interests.76 Discussions about mental and emotional wellbeing are also challenging because of social stigma and misperceptions about mental health. Some defenders saw such conversations as intimating that they were mad or that they needed to see a psychiatrist. As a defender working on torture and witness protection in Kenya observed, Mental health is generally not prioritised…. It’s the lack of understanding of what it involves and the stigma associated with mental health.... People think

176 Alice M. Nah you are weak, you don’t have the capacity to manage it and that you might go crazy so people hide themselves in “let’s go for the action part of it” and actually people who do that are people who have been wounded before, so the pain of dealing with their wound is so much that they can’t deal with their past. It’s easier to deal with the present and move on.77 We also found that expectations that defenders were strong, brave, committed and selfless made it difficult for defenders to share about their vulnerabilities. Some defenders recognise that notions of self-sacrifice have become embedded in human rights culture, and that considerations of personal wellbeing are seen as going against the “nobility” of sacrifice. Some noted that these notions needed to be challenged for the collective good of the human rights community. Defenders expressed feeling guilty for engaging in self-care; they considered this to be selfindulgent or a luxury in the face of the suffering and needs of others around them.78 Wellbeing is holistic, and therefore is tied to having resources to live a healthy life, beyond just accessing psychological support. As a defender said, “[Wellbeing means] eating healthy, being physically fit, accessing healthcare … but finance is the biggest issue”. Some defenders expressed concerns about their lack of social security and social insurance; some have no savings or financial provision for old age. A number of defenders raised the issue of the financial insecurities related to human rights work. That intersection of socio-economic challenges and wellbeing therefore is a significant point of consideration. Some defenders reflect on how the work they did was important for them to achieve wellbeing. As a trans woman defender from Colombia said, I think if I stopped fighting for this, things would be worse. If I stopped making denouncements and something happened to me, there would never be any justice. I have to keep going so that things advance – so that I can someday get protection measures to protect my life.79 It therefore wasn’t a question of choosing between work and wellbeing – rather the work is done to maintain wellbeing. Such thinking was also reflected by a defender who spoke about how the work to “combat oppression is a healing process …”. Whether the work gave deep meaning to their lives or the process of work with others created spaces for liberation, many participants saw their identity as a defender as central to their experience of wellness. A woman defender from Mexico called it “an uprising against loneliness, a trust network, love politics, subversive love”.80 The work connected them to others in meaningful ways, allowing them to experience what they felt was fundamental to their wellbeing. There is a danger that the emphasis on wellbeing will focus on symptoms more than structural causes, on the mental health of individuals rather than collective wellbeing, and assume that approaches to wellbeing appropriate for some defenders transfer well across cultures, places and genders.81 Approaches to wellbeing should not be narrow, de-contextualised, medicalised and merely individualised; they should not ignore the conditions that produce mental,

Protection into the future 177 emotional and spiritual distress as well as the determination of defenders to resist and overcome them. In recent years, women defenders have proposed the idea of “healing justice”, which “Identifies how we can holistically respond to and intervene on generational trauma and violence, and to bring collective practices that can impact and transform the consequences of oppression on our bodies, hearts and minds”.82 As Loretta Pyles elaborates, healing justice is both a paradigm and a set of practices that invite people to “heal themselves from the same kinds of intergenerational oppressions and traumas that are hurting the world”.83 In summary, holistic approaches to security require the reimagination and restructuring of human rights practice so that it enables the strengthening of individual and collective wellbeing while addressing the structural causes of suffering.84

Conclusion Two decades have passed since the UN General Assembly adopted the Declaration on Human Rights Defenders. During this time, great strides have been made in developing a multi-level protection regime focused on the security of human rights defenders. State and non-state actors have developed a wide array of practices aimed at strengthening the security of defenders. Drawing from the experiences of human rights defenders in Indonesia, Egypt, Kenya, Mexico and Colombia, I highlight four factors that shape the risks that defenders face – namely, the changing contexts in which they operate; the acceptability, legitimacy and credibility of their identity and their human rights practice; their relative (in)visibility and their social connectedness and embeddedness in protective networks. I also set out eight proposals for the way the protection of defenders should be (re)imagined and practised. I argue for the need to broaden focus from the protection of human rights defenders to the protection of the right to defend human rights; protect collectives along with individuals; protect the families and loved ones of defenders; build inclusive human rights organisations, networks and movements with an intersectional perspective, in ways that address discrimination, violence and inequalities; develop diverse initiatives along the protection continuum – with practices aimed at emergency response at one end and the building of enabling environments for the defence of rights at the other; develop formal protection mechanisms based on meaningful collaboration between state and civil society actors, which complement informal and self-protection initiatives; pay attention to how the flow of protection resources changes the power relations between civil society protection actors and human rights defenders; and, last but not least, develop holistic understandings and practices of security for and with human rights defenders that include their wellbeing. This book draws upon the experiences of human rights defenders to understand how they navigate risks, manage their security and receive support. Yet, much remains unknown. We need further studies that critically assess how security and protection are understood and practised by human rights defenders, states, inter-governmental bodies, civil society actors and other stakeholders. We need

178 Alice M. Nah research that analyses the way the protection regime functions and evolves at multiple levels in different countries, not just in the Global South, which has been given more attention by scholars and protection actors alike, but also in the Global North. We need to examine the ideas, assumptions and power relations that undergird and are reproduced through protection practices and analyse the sociopolitical and economic contexts in which they are located. We need to interrogate how state and non-state actors interact to fill key gaps in protection that may lead to unintended effects. Such studies will elucidate not only the diverse ways in which human rights defenders live their lives but shed light on the meaning of human rights itself.

Protection into the future 179 Affective necessities We need to break some beliefs

we were educated

that we should

take care of others

the training is

you need to take care of others

in order to be loved.

We need to deconstruct. This recognition is ephemeral,

a belief,

the origin

saying;

the present is for sacrifice and struggle,

the future

for the working class

and the proletariat,

for us

nothing,

for everyone

everything.1

That is a time bomb.

The challenge

affective necessities;

health,

just salary,

air,

a ten-minute break

each hour

when we have ten hours of meetings.

It was seen as an ornament,

you are measured

for the number of attacks you have suffered

not by the way you survived.

To find the balance make visible the tools which make us survive.

1

Zapatista maxim “Para nosotros nada, para todos todo”

Composed by J.A. Mensah

180 Alice M. Nah This verbatim poem was created from the interview transcript of a woman human rights defender in Mexico working on enforced disappearances and violence against women.

Notes 1 Samuel Moyn, The Last Utopia: Human Rights in History (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2010); Stephen Hopgood, The Endtimes of Human Rights (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2013); Eric A. Posner, The Twilight of Human Rights Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014). 2 Kathryn Sikkink. Evidence for Hope: Making Human Rights Work in the 21st Century. (Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2017); Beth A Simmons, Mobilizing for Human Rights: International Law in Domestic Politics (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009). 3 I thank Patricia Bartley, Hannah Dwyer Smith, Peter Cousins, Ali Gharavi, Martin Jones and Erick Monterrosas for their comments on earlier versions of this chapter. I also thank Katrina Maliamauv and Patricia Bartley for their assistance with data analysis. All mistakes remain my own. 4 Participant working on religious freedoms, man, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. 5 Participant working on good governance, man, interviewed in Nairobi in July 2015. 6 Participant working on the rights of LGBTIQA* persons, interviewed in Baranoa in November 2015. 7 See also Anique Claessen and Piet de Lange, “Lessons for Supporting Policy Influencing in Restrictive Environments”, Development in Practice 26, no. 5 (2016): 549. 8 For a review of the efficacy of awards, see Hans Thoolen, “Human Rights Awards for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders”, Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, 3 (2013): 548. 9 Participant working on freedom of expression, man, interviewed in Jayapura in January 2016. 10 “Ensuring Protection – European Union Guidelines on Human Rights Defenders”, European Union, accessed 25 May 2020, available on: https://eeas.europa.eu/sites/eeas /files/eu_guidelines_hrd_en.pdf. 11 Ibid, paragraph 10. 12 Participant working on LGBTIQA* rights, man, interviewed in Cairo in August 2015. 13 Participant working on civil and political rights, woman, interviewed in Banda Aceh in March 2016. 14 Participant working on the rights of indigenous communities, woman, interviewed in Quibdó in August 2015. 15 Participant working on land rights, man, interviewed in Quibdó in September 2015. 16 Hannah Dwyer Smith. Broadening Local Constituencies: Strategies for Standing Together. (Washington DC: CSIS Human Rights Initiative, Centre for Strategic and International Studies, 2018). There is rich literature on the relationship between social connectedness and wellbeing that is relevant to lives of human rights defenders. See for example: Ashley Austin and Revital Goodman. “The Impact of Social Connectedness and Internalized Transphobic Stigma on Self-Esteem among Transgender and Gender Non-Conforming Adults”. Journal of Homosexuality 64, no. 6 (2017/05/12 2017): 825– 41; Roy F. Baumeister & Mark R. Leary. “The Need to Belong: Desire for Interpersonal Attachments as a Fundamental Human Motivation”. Psychological Bulletin, 117 (1995), 497-529; Richard M Lee. “Measuring Belongingness: The Social Connectedness and the Social Assurance Scales”. Journal of Counselling Psychology 42, no. 2 (1995): 232–41.

Protection into the future 181 17 Participant working on LGBTIQA* rights, man, interviewed in Barrancabermeja in October 2015. 18 Masa Amir, “A Study of the Experience of Women Human Rights Defenders in Eleven Egyptian Governorates”, Journal of Human Rights Practice, 5, No. 3 (September 2013): 464. 19 I am thankful to Martin Jones for his thoughts on this topic. 20 Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, Human Rights Defenders: Protecting the Right to Defend Human Rights, Fact Sheet No. 29 (Geneva, OHCHR, 2004), 9–10. 21 Amie Lajoie, “Challenging Assumptions of Vulnerability: The Significance of Gender in the Work, Lives and Identifies of Women Human Defenders”, PhD Diss, National University of Ireland, 2018, 14. 22 In a study of menstrual activists, Bobel (2007) observed a similar finding - that the identity of an activist was linked to a perfect standard, signifying people who demonstrated deep commitment, sacrifice, humility and rigour. As such, some of the people in her study avoided labelling themselves as activists. Chris Bobel. “‘I'm Not an Activist, Though I’ve Done a Lot of It’: Doing Activism, Being Activist and the ‘Perfect Standard’ in a Contemporary Movement”. Social Movement Studies 6, no. 2 (2007): 147. 23 While the concept of the human rights defender is gaining ground at the local level in some countries, it has most meaning and power in international fora. 24 Raghad Jaraisy and Tamar Feldman. “Protesting for Human Rights in the Occupied Palestinian Territory: Assessing the Challenges and Revisiting the Human Rights Defender Framework”. Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (2013): 432. 25 Participant working on civil and political rights, woman, interviewed in Cairo in September 2015. 26 Protection International’s Global Strategy for 2019–2023 focuses on the right to defend human rights, accessed 25 May 2020, available on https://www.protectionint ernational.org/sites/default/files/downloads-files/global-strategy-final-en-web.pdf. On 10 December 2019, civil society organisations in Colombia presented a tutela action to the Superior Court of Bogotá that demanded that the Colombian State protect their “right to defend human rights”, accessed 25 May 2020, available on https://www.dej usticia.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/12/Tutela-Lideres-Sociales-1.pdf. 27 Amnesty International UK launched a campaign in March 2019 that featured five human rights defenders in Marvel-like comic series, with the introduction “Not all superheroes wear capes. Amnesty UK presents The Human Rights Defenders: Ordinary People doing Extraordinary Things”, accessed 25 May 2020, available on https://www .amnesty.org.uk/press-releases/amnesty-presents-human-rights-defenders. 28 However, as Peter Cousins observes, ultimately, individuals and collectives should not have to defend their own rights, for these rights should be protected by states. Peter Cousins, in discussion with the author, email, May 2020. 29 Fiona Jeffries. Nothing to Lose but Our Fear. London: Zed Books, 2015; Derek Gregory and Allan Pred, eds. Violent Geographies: Fear, Terror, and Political Violence. New York and London: Routledge, 2007. 30 Mara Loveman. “High‐Risk Collective Action: Defending Human Rights in Chile, Uruguay, and Argentina”. American Journal of Sociology 104, 2 (1998): 477. 31 See also James M. Jasper, “Emotions and Social Movements: Twenty Years of Theory and Research”, Annual Review of Sociology 37, 1 (2011), 291; Kathleen Rodgers, “‘Anger is Why We’re All Here’: Mobilizing and Managing Emotions in a Professional Activist Organization”, Social Movement Studies: Journal of Social, Cultural and Political Protest, 9, 3 (2010), 273; Eduardo Romanos, “Emotions, Moral Batteries and High-Risk Activism: Understanding the Emotional Practices of the

182 Alice M. Nah 32 33

34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44

45 46 47

48 49 50 51 52

Spanish Anarchists under Franco’s Dictatorship”, Contemporary European History 23, 4 (2014), 554. Participant working on women’s rights, woman, interviewed in Putumayo in February 2016. General Assembly resolution 53/144, Declaration on the Right and Responsibility of Individuals, Groups and Organs of Society to Promote and Protect Universally Recognized Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms, A/RES/53/144 (8 March 1999), accessed 25 May 2020, https://undocs.org/en/A/RES/53/144. See also: Just Associates, Rethinking Protection, Power and Movements: Lessons from Women Human Rights Defenders in Mesoamerica, Making Change Happen Edition 6 (Just Associates, 2017), 15; Martin Jones, Alice Nah and Patricia Bartley, “Temporary Relocation from the Perspective of Managers”, in Temporary Shelter and Relocation Initiatives: Perspectives of Managers and Participants edited by Maik Müller (Stuttgart: ifa, 2019), 40. Participant working on environmental rights, woman, interviewed in Bogotá in September 2015. See also Gwen Burnyeat. “On a Peak in Darien: Community Peace Initiatives in Urabá, Colombia”. Journal of Human Rights Practice, 5, no. 3 (2013): 435–45. Sara Pastor Alonso, Collective Protection of Human Rights Defenders: A Collective Approach to the Right to Defend Human Rights, (Brussels: Protection International, 2018), 7. Participant working on workers’ rights, woman, interviewed in Barrancabermeja in October 2015. See also Juana Kweitel, James Savage and Oliver Hudson, “Reclaiming Civic Space”, Sur: International Journal on Human Rights, 14, 26 (2017): 5–13. Loveman, “High Risk Collective Action”, 517. Irina Ichim, in discussion with the author, York, May 2017. Paul C. Gorski, “Fighting Racism, Battling Burnout: Causes of Activist Burnout in Us Racial Justice Activists”. Ethnic and Racial Studies 42, no. 5 (2019): 672. Participant working on women’s rights, woman, interviewed in Mexico City in December 2015. Participant working on the rights of women human rights defenders, woman, interviewed in Mexico City in February 2016. Hope Chigudu and Rudo Chigudu, Strategies for Building an Organisation with a Soul, African Institute for Integrated Responses to VAWG & HIV/AIDS, 2017, accessed 25 May 2020, http://airforafrica.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Strategies-for-Buil ding-an-Organisation-with-Soul-WEB.pdf. The concept of woundology was put forward in Caroline Myss, Why People Don’t Heal and How They Can, New York: Harmony Books, 1998. Hope Chigudu and Rudo Chigudu, Strategies for Building an Organisation with a Soul, 7. Ibid, 113. Satterthwaite, Meg, Sarah Knuckey, Ria Singh Sawhney, Katie Wightman, Rohini Bagrodia and Adam Brown, “From a ‘Culture of Unwellness’ to Sustainable Advocacy: Organisational Responses to Mental Health Risks in the Human Rights Field”. Review of Law and Social Justice, 28, 3 (2019), 478. Ibid, 538. Gharavi, Ali and Fieke Jansen, “Crisis Response: Creating Support Structures for a Healthy and Efficient Security and Response Ecosystem”, unpublished white paper, May 2020. Ibid, 6. As Hannah Dwyer Smith observes, a lot of protection work focuses on this, even if they may not be adequate or sufficiently broad in scope and reach. Hannah Dwyer Smith, in discussion with the author, email, May 2020. Gharavi and Jansen, “Crisis Response”, 7.

Protection into the future 183 53 See for example: Human Rights First, “Resources for Human Rights Defenders”, undated, accessed 25 May 2020, https://www.humanrightsfirst.org/sites/default/files/ HRF-Defenders-Resources.pdf. 54 Ali Gharavi, in discussion with the author, email, May 2020. 55 United Nations, General Assembly, Human Rights Council, “Report of the Special Rapporteur on the situation of human rights defenders, Margaret Sekaggya”, A/ HRC/25/55 (23 December 2013), available on https://undocs.org/en/A/HRC/25/55. 56 International Service for Human Rights, Model Law for the Recognition and Protection of Human Rights Defenders (Geneva: International Service for Human Rights, January 2017). 57 Global Alliance of National Human Rights Institutions, “The Marrakech Declaration”, 13th International Conference of National Human Rights Institutions, 10–12 October 2018, Marrakech, Morocco, accessed 25 May 2020, https://nhri.ohchr.org/EN/ICC/ InternationalConference/13IC/Background%20Information/Marrakech%20Declarati on_EN_%2012102018%20-%20FINAL.pdf. 58 Koenraad Van Brabant, Operational Security Management in Violent Environments, HPN Good Practice Review 8. Humanitarian Practice Network, xi-xii (London, Overseas Development Institute, 2000). 59 Fast, L. A., C. F. Freeman, M. O’Neill, and E. Rowley. “In Acceptance We Trust? Conceptualising Acceptance as a Viable Approach to Ngo Security Management”. Disasters 37, no. 2 (Apr 2013): 222. 60 The concept of intersectionality was introduced by feminist scholar Kimberle Crenshaw to explore how gender intersects with other dimensions of difference such as race in the lived experiences of Black women. See: Kimberle Crenshaw, “Demarginalizing the Intersection of Race and Sex: A Black Feminist Critique of Antidiscrimination Doctrine, Feminist Theory and Antiracist Politics”, University of Chicago Legal Forum 1, 8 (1989): 139–167. 61 United Nations, General Assembly, Human Rights Council, “Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders”, A/HRC/31/55, 1 February 2016, accessed 25 May 2020, available on accessed 25 May 2020, available on https:// undocs.org/en/A/HRC/31/55. 62 Ibid, 21. 63 Nevertheless, it is important to note that state actors and institutions are not homogenous, and some state actors are more sympathetic to the situation of defenders than others. In some cases, defenders have been able to receive genuine help and support from state actors, such as the police, public prosecutors, national human rights institutions and protection mechanisms for human rights defenders. 64 Sandra Carvalho; Alice de Marchi Pereira de Souza and Rafael Mendonça Dias, “Protection Policies for Human Rights Defenders”, Sur – International Journal on Human Rights 23, (2016): 179; Ulisses Terto Neto, Protecting Human Rights Defenders in Latin America: A Legal and Socio-Political Analysis of Brazil, Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2018. 65 Daniel Joloy. “Mexico's National Protection Mechanism for Human Rights Defenders: Challenges and Good Practices”. Journal of Human Rights Practice, 5, no. 3 (2013): 489; Protection International, Focus Report: Public Policies for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders: Global Trends and Implementation Challenges, 2017 Update (Brussels, Protection International, 2017), 8; Luis Enrique Eguren, The Time in Now for Effective Public Policies to Protect the Right to Defend Human Rights (Brussels: Protection International and Centre for Justice and International Law, 2017), 28. 66 Ulisses Terto Neto, Protecting Human Rights Defenders in Latin America, 261. 67 This study assessed the appetite and feasibility amongst state and non-state actors for the establishment of a Global Network of National Human Rights Defender Focal Points aimed at facilitating greater implementation of the Declaration of Human Rights

184 Alice M. Nah

68 69 70 71 72

73 74 75 76 77 78

79 80 81 82 83 84

Defenders at the national level. Hannah Dwyer Smith and Alice Nah, “20 Years On: Reinvigorating State Implementation of the Declaration on Human Rights Defenders through a Global Network”, 30 May 2019, unpublished paper. Ibid, 3. Erick Monterrosas, in discussion with the author, email, May 2020. Claudia Samayoa, in discussion with the author, York, May 2017. Andrew Anderson, in discussion with the author, York, May 2017. Irina Ichim. “The Capacity Building of Human Rights Defenders and (Dis) Empowerment: An Analysis of Current Practice”, Working Paper 6, in Human Rights Defender Hub Working Paper Series York: Centre for Applied Human Rights: University of York, February 2019, 8. Erick Monterrosas, in discussion with the author, email, May 2020. Jane Barry and Vahida Nainar, Women Human Rights Defenders’ Security Strategies: Insiste, Resiste, Persiste, Existe (Ottawa: Urgent Action Fund for Women’s Human Rights, Kvinna Till Kvinna, Front Line Defenders, 2008), 87–88. I am particularly indebted to Katrina Maliamauv for her thoughts on this topic. Participant working on campesino rights, woman, interviewed in Sincelejo in November 2015. Participant working on torture and witness protection, woman, interviewed in Nairobi in July 2015. Barry, J., & Đorđević, J. What’s the Point of Revolution if We Can’t Dance? (Boulder, CO: Urgent Action Fund for Women’s Human Rights, 2007); Barry and Nainar, Women Human Rights Defenders’ Security Strategies, 87; Gorski, Paul C. and C. Chen. “‘Frayed All Over:’ The Causes and Consequences of Activist Burnout Among Social Justice Education Activists”. Educational Studies, 51, 5, (2015): 385; Rodgers, “Anger is Why We’re All Here”, 278. Participant working on the rights of LGBTIQA* persons, trans woman, interviewed in Bogotá in December 2015. Participant working on civil and political rights, woman, interviewed in Mexico City in November 2015. Feminist Republik Festival: Launch of the African Women’s Human Rights Defenders’ Platform Concept Note, unpublished. Cara Page and Kindred Southern Healing Justice Collective, “What is Healing Justice”, accessed 25 May 2020, https://www.healingbychoicedetroit.com/what-is-healing-justice. Loretta Pyles, Healing Justice: Holistic Self-Care for Change Makers (New York: Oxford University Press, 2018), 256. For specific guidance on how to integrate wellbeing into temporary international relocation initiatives for defenders at risk, see the Barcelona Guidelines on Wellbeing and Temporary International Relocation of Human Rights Defenders at Risk, available on https://www.hrdhub.org/wellbeing. For detailed analysis about the effects of stress and trauma in the human rights field and specific recommendations of these can be addressed in organisations, see Meg Satterthwaite et al, “From a ‘Culture of Unwellness’ to Sustainable Advocacy”, 509.

References Alonso, Sarah Pastor. Collective Protection of Human Rights Defenders: A Collective Approach to the Right to Defend Human Rights. Brussels: Protection International, 2018. Amir, Masa. “A Study of the Experience of Women Human Rights Defenders in Eleven Egyptian Governorates.” Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (September 2013): 460–77, 465.

Protection into the future 185 Austin, Ashley, and Revital Goodman. “The Impact of Social Connectedness and Internalized Transphobic Stigma on Self-Esteem Among Transgender and Gender Non-Conforming Adults.” Journal of Homosexuality 64, no. 6 (2017): 825–41. Barry, Jane, and Jelena Djordjevic. What’s the Point of Revolution if We Can’t Dance? Boulder, CO: Urgent Action Fund for Women’s Human Rights, 2007. Barry, Jane, and Vahida Nainar. Women Human Rights Defenders’ Security Strategies: Insiste, Resiste, Persiste, Existe. Ottawa, ON: Urgent Action Fund for Women’s Human Rights, Kvinna Till Kvinna, Front Line Defenders, 2008. Baumeister, Roy F, and Mark R Leary. “The Need to Belong: Desire for Interpersonal Attachments as a Fundamental Human Motivation.” Psychological Bulletin 117 (1995): 497–529. Bobel, Chris. “‘I'm Not an Activist, Though I've Done a Lot of It’: Doing Activism, Being Activist and the ‘Perfect Standard’ in a Contemporary Movement.” Social Movement Studies 6, no. 2 (2007): 147–59. Burnyeat, Gwen. “On a Peak in Darien: Community Peace Initiatives in Urabá, Colombia.” Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (2013): 435–45. Carvalho, Sandra, Alice de Marchi Pereira de Souza, and Rafael Mendonça Dias. “Protection Policies for Human Rights Defenders.” Sur - International Journal of Human Rights 23 (2016): 175–84. Chigudu, Hope, and Rudo Chigudu. Strategies for Building an Organisation with a Soul. Johannesburg: African Institute for Integrated Responses to VAWG & HIV/AIDS, 2017. Claessen, Anique, and Piet de Lange. “Lessons for Supporting Policy Influencing in Restrictive Environments.” Development in Practice 26, no. 5 (2016): 549. Crenshaw, Kimberle. “Demarginalizing the Intersection of Race and Sex: A Black Feminist Critique of Antidiscrimination Doctrine, Feminist Theory and Antiracist Politics.” University of Chicago Legal Forum 1, no. 8 (1989): 139–67. Dwyer Smith, Hannah. Broadening Local Constituencies: Strategies for Standing Together. Washington, DC: CSIS Human Rights Initiative, Centre for Strategic and International Studies, 2018. Dwyer Smith, Hannah, and Alice Nah. “20 Years On: Reinvigorating State Implementation of the Declaration on Human Rights Defenders Through a Global Network.” May 30, 2019. Unpublished paper. Eguren, Luis Enrique. The Time in Now for Effective Public Policies to Protect the Right to Defend Human Rights. Brussels: Protection International and Centre for Justice and International Law, 2017. Fast, LA, C Faith Freeman, M O'Neill, and E Rowley. “In Acceptance We Trust? Conceptualising Acceptance as a Viable Approach to Ngo Security Management.” Disasters 37, no. 2 (April 2013): 222–43. Global Alliance of National Human Rights Institutions. “The Marrakech Declaration.” 13th International Conference of National Human Rights Institutions, October 10–12, 2018. Marrakech, Morocco. Accessed May 25, 2020. https://nhri.ohchr.org/EN/ICC/ InternationalConference/13IC/Background%20Information/Marrakech%20Declarati on_EN_%2012102018%20-%20FINAL.pdf. Gorski, Paul C. “Fighting Racism, Battling Burnout: Causes of Activist Burnout in Us Racial Justice Activists.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 42, no. 5 (2019): 667–87. Gorski, Paul C, and C Chen. “‘Frayed All Over:’ The Causes and Consequences of Activist Burnout Among Social Justice Education Activists.” Educational Studies 51, no. 5 (2015): 385–405.

186 Alice M. Nah Gregory, Derek, and Allan Pred, eds. Violent Geographies: Fear, Terrorism and Political Violence. New York: Routledge, 2007. Hopgood, Stephen. The Endtimes of Human Rights. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2013. Human Rights First. undated. “Resources for Human Rights Defenders.” . Accessed May 25, 2020. www.humanrightsfirst.org/sites/default/files/HRF-Defenders-Resources.pdf. Ichim, Irina. “The Capacity Building of Human Rights Defenders and (Dis)Empowerment: An Analysis of Current Practice.” Working Paper No. 6. Human Rights Defender Hub Working Paper Series. Centre for Applied Human Rights: University of York, York, February 2019. International Service for Human Rights. Model Law for the Recognition and Protection of Human Rights Defenders. Geneva: International Service for Human Rights, January 2017. Jaraisy, Raghad, and Tamar Feldman. “Protesting for Human Rights in the Occupied Palestinian Territory: Assessing the Challenges and Revisiting the Human Rights Defender Framework.” Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (2013): 421–34. Jasper, James M. “Emotions and Social Movements: Twenty Years of Theory and Research.” Annual Review of Sociology 37, no. 1 (2011): 285–303. Jeffries, Fiona. Nothing to Lose but Our Fear. London: Zed Books, 2015. Joloy, Daniel. “Mexico's National Protection Mechanism for Human Rights Defenders: Challenges and Good Practices.” Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (2013): 489–99. Jones, Martin, Alice Nah, and Patricia Bartley. “Temporary Relocation from the Perspective of Managers.” In Temporary Shelter and Relocation Initiatives: Perspectives of Managers and Participants, edited by Maik Müller, 18–45. Stuttgart: IFA, 2019. Just Associates. Rethinking Protection, Power and Movements: Lessons from Women Human Rights Defenders in Mesoamerica. Making Change Happen Edition 6. Washington, DC: Just Associates, 2017. Kweitel, Juana, James Savage, and Oliver Hudson, “Reclaiming Civic Space.” Sur – International Journal of Human Rights 14, no. 26 (2017): 5–13. Lajoie, Amie. “Challenging Assumptions of Vulnerability: The Significance of Gender in the Work, Lives and Identifies of Women Human Defenders.” Ph.D. Diss., National University of Ireland, 2018. Lee, Richard M. “Measuring Belongingness: The Social Connectedness and the Social Assurance Scales.” Journal of Counseling Psychology 42, no. 2 (1995): 232–41. Loveman, Mara. “High‐Risk Collective Action: Defending Human Rights in Chile, Uruguay, and Argentina.” American Journal of Sociology 104, no. 2 (1998): 477–525. Moyn, Samuel. The Last Utopia: Human Rights in History. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2010. Myss, Caroline. Why People Don’t Heal and How They Can. New York: Harmony Books, 1998. Neto, Ulisses Terto. Protecting Human Rights Defenders in Latin America: A Legal and Socio-Political Analysis of Brazil. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2018. Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights. Human Rights Defenders: Protecting the Right to Defend Human Rights. Fact Sheet No. 29. Geneva, OHCHR, 2004. Posner, Eric A. The Twilight of Human Rights Law. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Protection International. Focus Report: Public Policies for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders: Global Trends and Implementation Challenges, 2017 Update. Brussels,

Protection into the future 187 Protection International, 2017. Accessed May 25, 2020. www.protectioninternational .org/sites/default/files/092017%20Focus%20Report%20PI_EN_web.compressed.pdf. Pyles, Loretta. Healing Justice: Holistic Self-Care for Change Makers. New York: Oxford University Press, 2018. Rekosh, Edwin. Gaining Ground: A Framework for Developing Strategies and Tactics in Response to Governmental Attacks on NGOs. Geneva: International Network of Civil Liberties Organizations, 2017. Rodgers, Kathleen. “‘Anger is Why We’re All Here’: Mobilizing and Managing Emotions in a Professional Activist Organization.” Social Movement Studies: Journal of Social, Cultural and Political Protest 9, no. 3 (2010): 273–91. Romanos, Eduardo. “Emotions, Moral Batteries and High-Risk Activism: Understanding the Emotional Practices of the Spanish Anarchists Under Franco’s Dictatorship.” Contemporary European History 23, no. 4 (2014): 545–64. Satterthwaite, Meg, Sarah Knuckey, Ria Singh Sawhney, Katie Wightman, Rohini Bagrodia, and Adam Brown. “From a ‘Culture of Unwellness’ to Sustainable Advocacy: Organisational Responses to Mental Health Risks in the Human Rights Field.” Review of Law and Social Justice 28, no. 3 (2019): 443–554. Sekaggya, Margaret. “Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders, Margaret Sekaggya.” UN General Assembly, Human Rights Council, A/ HRC/25/55. December 23, 2013. Sikkink, Kathryn. Evidence for Hope: Making Human Rights Work in the 21st Century. Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2017. Thoolen, H. “Human Rights Awards for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders.” Journal of Human Rights Practice 5, no. 3 (2013): 548–55. United Nations, General Assembly, Human Rights Council. “Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders, Margaret Sekaggya.” A/ HRC/25/55. December 23, 2013. https://undocs.org/en/A/HRC/25/55. United Nations, General Assembly, Human Rights Council. “Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders.” A/HRC/31/55. February 1, 2016. https://undocs.org/en/A/HRC/31/55. Van Brabant, Koenraad. Operational Security Management in Violent Environments. HPN Good Practice Review. 8. Humanitarian Practice Network. London: Overseas Development Institute, 2000.

Index

Abdel Fattah, Alaa 61–62 Abu-Odeh, Lama 69

acceptability of risk 12–14, 160–161 acceptance: as a security strategy 113–114, 118, 171–172 Aceh Islamic Criminal Code 43

ACHPR (African Commission on Human

and People’s Rights) 91

activism, acceptability of risk 12–14 Adalah Centre for Rights and Freedoms

(Egypt) 61

Administrative Security Department

(DAS), Colombia 132

Affective necessities (Mensah) 179

African Commission on Human and

Peoples’ Rights (ACHPR) 8, 91

Afro-Colombian territories 132, 137

Ahok (Basuki Tjahaja Purnama) 36

Alston, Philip 4

Amir, Masa 65, 163

Amnesty International UK 181n27

areas of limited statehood 5

attacks on human rights defenders

1, 4–5; Colombia 132–133; Egypt 64–65; Kenya 88–89; Mexico 106–108; Indonesia 40–42; see also violence AUC (United Self-Defence Forces of

Colombia) 131

Ayotzinapa, Guerrero, Mexico 107

backlash 5–6 Bakke, Kristin 6

Barraza Bocanegra, Sergio 104

Barry, Jane 15

Bill of Rights, Kenya 88, 90

Bobel, Chris 45, 181n22

bodyguards, Colombia 140–142 boomerang model 114

BPK (Indonesian National Financial

Auditor), Indonesia 39

Brazilian Protection Programme for Human Rights Defenders (PPDDH) 172–173 Cáceres, Berta 166

Calderón, Felipe 106

campesinos (small farmers), Colombia

130, 135–136, 142, 146, 159, 175

Centre for Egyptian Women Legal

Assistance (CEWLA) 65

CEWLA (Centre for Egyptian Women

Legal Assistance) 65

Chigudu, Hope 169

Chigudu, Rudo 169

Cimarrona Guard 137

CIPEV (Commission of Inquiry into the Post-Election Violence) 100n12 CIVICUS 3

collective protection: definition 167; Decree 660, Colombia 138, 148

Colombia 130–131, 159; defending land and territories 134–138; FARC (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia) 133; investigations 144–145; justice system 145; “Navigating Risk” research project 16–20; political background and human rights practice 131–133; preventative approach to security 144–147; state institutional protection for human rights defenders 133–134; state protection measures 139–144; Tamarindo Community 130 Commission for Truth and Access to

Justice for Ayotzinapa, Mexico 106

Commission of Inquiry into the PostElection Violence (CIPEV) 100n12

190

Index

Communication Forum of Indonesian

Veterans Children 34

communities, consent 17; risk 135–138 community relationships, as protection 93

consent 17

Constitution of Indonesia (1945),

Indonesia 37

corporations 7; Egypt 64; land-grabbing,

Indonesia 37; perpetrators, Indonesia 39

credibility, of defenders 160–161 Crenshaw, Kimberle 28n90

criminal activity, reporting (Colombia) 146

criminalization of human rights defenders

1, 64, 106, 108

crisis, stages of 170

DAS (Administrative Security

Department), Colombia 132, 134, 140

declaration of neutrality, defending land in

Colombia 135–136 Declaration on Human Rights Defenders (Declaration on the Right and Responsibility of Individuals, Groups and Organs of Society to Promote and Protect Universally Recognised Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms) 2, 8, 10–11, 165, 167, 173, 177

Decree 660, Colombia 134, 138, 148

defending land and territories, Colombia

134–138 Defensoria del Pueblo (Human Rights

Ombudsman), Colombia 147

depression 7, 14, 19, 71–74

digital security 14, 17, 41, 74, 118, 175

Duque, Ivan 132–134 Eguren, Enrique 12, 142

Egypt 159; aftermath of Revolution

(2011-present) 62–63; gender and intersectional experiences 69–71; human rights activism 63–66; LGBTIQA* 66; media 67–69; “Navigating Risk” research project 16–20; perceptions of human rights defenders 66–69; Revolution 61; wellbeing 71–74 El-Baker, Mohamed 61–62 elections: Indonesia 36; Egypt 61, 63;

Kenya 87–88; Mexico 108

Electronic Information and Transactions

Law 34, 38

ELN (National Liberation Army),

Colombia 131

Escobedo, Rubi Fraye 104

Espacio de Organiszaciones de la Sociedad

Civil para la Proteccion de Personas

Defensoras de Derechos Humanos y

Periodistas (Espacio OSC) 113

European Instrument of Democracy and

Human Rights 8

European Union Guidelines on Human

Rights Defenders 8, 162

Fact Sheet No. 29 10

factors that shape risks defenders experience: acceptability, legitimacy, and credibility 160–161; changing contexts 158–160; relative visibility 161–163; social connectedness and embeddedness in protective networks 163–164 “false positives” scandal, Colombia 132

families: affected by risks 69; the need to

protect 111, 118, 166, 168; protecting

defenders 92; Colombia 143

FARC (Revolutionary Armed Forces of

Colombia) 131, 133

Fast, Larissa 172

Federal Mechanism for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders and Journalists (FPM) 104–105, 109–110 Feldman, Tamar 11, 165

feminist: reforms of family law, Egypt

69; perspective on protection 116;

perspective on violence within

movements 169

financial insecurity 49; Kenya 92

Fiscalia, Colombia 145–146

Forst, Michel 1, 9, 172

forum shopping 5

FPM (Federal Mechanism for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders and Journalists), Mexico 109–110 Front Line Defenders 1, 8, 161; Kenya

90, 96

Front of Defence for Egyptian

Protesters 61

Gado (Godfrey Mwampembwa) 100n15 Galava, Denis 100n15 GALCK (Gay and Lesbian Coalition of

Kenya) 89, 94

gandong 47, 163

Gay and Lesbian Coalition of Kenya

(GALCK) 89, 94

gender: intersectionality and, Mexico 115–116; risk and security, Egypt

Index 69–71; related to bodyguards,

Colombia 141–142

gender non-conforming defenders

4, 16, 161

gender-based violence: Egypt 65, 69–71; Mexico 107

General Victims’ Law 106

Gharavi, Ali 13, 170

Global Alliance of National Human Rights

Institutions 171

Global North 29n95

Global South 29n95

GONGOs (government-sponsored NGOs)

6; Egypt 65

government protection, Mexico 109–112 government-sponsored NGOs (GONGOs)

6; Egypt 65

Greater than love (Mensah) 22–23 guerrillas, Colombia 131–132 guilt 72

Hadiz, Vedi 36

Haki Africa 84

harassment: Egypt 69; Indonesia 40;

women human rights defenders, Mexico 116

healing justice 177

holistic security approach 14

homophobia, political homophobia 4

Hopgood, Stephen 5, 6

human rights: critiques of 5–7; defending, Kenya 97–98; Mexico 105–109 human rights activism: Egypt 63–66; Indonesia 35–37; relationship with risk 12–14 human rights defender protection regime 2–3, 7–9 human rights defenders: definition 10–12; perceptions of in Egypt 66–67; usage in Indonesia 44–45 Human Rights Ombudsman’s Office, Colombia 133, 147

human rights practice, Kenya 86–89 Human Rights Watch 63

ICC (International Criminal Court) 88

Ichim, Irina 174

identity 161, 165; Indonesia 42–44

impunity 170–171; Colombia 133–134,

144–147; Indonesia 37, 38, 42; Kenya

160; Mexico 104–108, 114, 118

indigenous communities, defending land in Colombia 136–137

191

Indigenous Guard, Colombia 137

The indigenous jurisdiction (Mensah) 149

Indonesia 159; challenges defending

human rights 39–42; human rights activism 35–37; human rights defenders 44–45; institutionalism of human rights 37–39; intersections of identity 42–44; “Navigating Risk” research project 16–20; risk 42–44; social support and self-protection 47–50; tanpa pamrih (selflessness) 45–47 Indonesian Communist Party (Parti

Komunis Indonesia, PKI) 37

Indonesian National Financial Auditor

(BPK), Indonesia 39

insecurity 14–15, 17, 166; financial

insecurity 49; Kenya 92; “Navigating

Risk” research project 17;

normalisation 19

Institute for Policy Research and

Advocacy 37

Institute for Protection of Witnesses and

Victims, Indonesia 38

Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI),

Mexico 105

institutional state protection: Colombia 133–134; Mexico 109–112 institutionalism of human rights, Indonesia 37–39 Inter Parties’ Parliamentary Group (IPPG), Kenya 100n7 Inter-American Commission on Human

Rights 8, 147

Interior Ministry, Colombia 145

international accompaniment 143

International Criminal Court (ICC) 88

International Service for Human

Rights 171

Intersectional 15, 42, 50, 168, 172,

177; experiences of risk, Egypt

69–71; intersectionality 28n90; Mexico

115–117

invisibility, as a protective strategy 161–162 IPPG (Inter Parties’ Parliamentary Group), Kenya 100n7 Islam, conservative Islam 36

Islamic Defenders Front 34

Islamic law, Egypt 69

Islamic populism, Indonesia 36

Jansen, Fieke 13, 170

Jaraisy, Raghad 11, 165

192

Index

Jokowi (Widodo, Joko) 42

Just Associates and the National Network

on Women Human Rights Defenders 113

justice system, Colombia 145

Kanyinga, Karuti 87

Kenya 84–85; Bill of Rights 90; defending

human rights 97–98; formal protection

mechanisms 93–97; informal protection

practices 91–92; LGBTIQA* 89;

“Navigating Risk” research project

16–20; political background and human

rights practice 86–89; protecting human

rights defenders 90–91; security 92–93;

threats 159

Kenya Information and Communication

Bill, Kenya 88

Kenya National Commission on Human Rights (KNCHR) 90, 101n23 Kenya National Dialogue and Reconciliation (KNDR) 100n10 Kenya Revenue Authority 84

Kenyatta, Jomo 86

Kiai, Maina 4

kinship, security 47, 50, 96, 163–164

KNCHR (Kenya National Commission on Human Rights) 90, 101n23 KNDR (Kenya National Dialogue and Reconciliation) 100n10 Koman, Veronica 34

Komnas HAM (National Commission on

Human Rights), Indonesia 38

Komnas Perempuan (National

Commission on Anti-Violence against

Women), Indonesia 38

KPAI (National Commission for Child

Protection), Indonesia 38

land, defending in Colombia 134–138 Law for the Protection of Human Rights

Defenders and Journalists, Mexico 109

Law of Black Communities,

Colombia 132

Law on Human Rights, Indonesia 37

Law on Mass Organisations (Ormas),

Indonesia 37

Lefebvre, Sylvain 134

legitimacy of defenders 3, 21, 62, 105,

160–161; strategies for building

112–114, 118

LGBTIQA* defenders 162; Colombia

142; Egypt 66, 71, 75; identity 161;

Indonesia 37, 43; Kenya 89, 93–94, 96

López Obrador, Andrés Manuel 105–106 Lorde, Audre 14

loved ones, affected by risks and needing

protection 41, 48, 50 111, 118, 168, 175

Loveman, Mara 169

LPSK (Institute for Protection of

Witnesses and Victims), Indonesia 38

Mahony, L. 142

malware, Mexico 112

Mansour, Adly 63

Marrakech Declaration 171

Matthies-Boon, Vivienne 73

McAdam, Doug 12–13

media: Egypt 67–69; Kenya 88

Media Council Bill, Kenya 88

Media Council of Kenya 94

Media Stakeholders Working Group 90

mental health see wellbeing

Merry, Sally Engle 6

Mexico 104–105; civil society networks of protection 112–115; gender-based violence 107; human rights 105–109; institutional state protection 109–112; MORENA (National Regeneration Movement) Party 108; “Navigating Risk” research project 16–20; socio-cultural gender norms 117; wellbeing 116–117; women human rights defenders 115–116 Military Criminal Code, Mexico 106

Mitchell, Neil 6

Model Law on the Recognition and

Protection of Human Rights Defenders

171

Moi, Daniel Arap 86–87 MORENA (National Regeneration Movement) Party, Mexico 106, 108

Morsi, Mohamed 63

mothers 111, 117, 161

movements, building inclusive 168–170; discrimination within 116; dynamics 19; feminist 116; infiltration 65

Mubarak, Hosni 61

MUHURI (Muslims for Human Rights

(MUHURI) 84

multiple modernities 6

multipolar world order 7

murder: of human rights defenders 1,

Colombia 132–134; Mexico 104, 108

Muslim Brotherhood 63, 67

Muslims for Human Rights (MUHURI) 84

Mwai, Kibaki 87

Mwampembwa, Godfrey 100n15

Index Nainar, Vahida 15

NARC (National Rainbow Coalition),

Kenya 87

National Coalition of Human Rights

Defenders-Kenya (NCHRD-K) 8,

29n96, 89–90, 94

National Commission for Child Protection

(KPAI), Indonesia 38

National Commission on Anti-Violence

against Women (Komnas Perempuan),

Indonesia 38

National Commission on Human Rights

(Komnas Ham), Indonesia 38

National Council of Women,

Egypt 69

National Development Plan,

Colombia 133

National Human Rights Network: All

Rights for All (RED TDT) 113

National Liberation Army (ELN),

Colombia 131

National Protection Unit (UNP), Colombia 133–134; assessing 139–144 National Rainbow Coalition (NARC),

Kenya 87

National Regeneration Movement

(MORENA) party, Mexico 106

“Navigating Risk, Managing Security, and Receiving Support” (“Navigating Risk”) research project 3, 16–20 Nazra for Feminist Studies 65

NCHRD-K (National Coalition of Human

Rights Defenders--Kenya) 8, 29n96,

89–90, 94

Neto, Ulisses Terto 173

networks: building inclusive organisations, networks and movements with intersectional perspective 168–170; social connectedness and embeddedness in protective networks 163–164 networks of protection, Mexico, civil society 112–115 The New Woman Foundation 65

NGO Coordination Board, Kenya 84, 88

NGOs 8; Egypt 68; Kenya 88–89;

wellbeing 72

non-state actors 4; defending human rights,

Indonesia 40

non-violet entrenchment 5

NSO Group software company 112

Occupied Palestinian Territory 12

Odinga, Raila 87

193

ODM (Orange Democratic Movement), Kenya 100n10 Office of the Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights Defenders 8

Office of the United Nations High Commissioner of Human Rights (OHCHR) 10, 164

Ombudsman, Indonesia 38

operating environment in Kenya for human

rights defenders 88–89 Orange Democratic Movement (ODM), Kenya 100n10 organisations, building inclusive organisations 168–170 Ortiz, Marisela Escobedo 104

Pancasila Youth 34

Parawangsa, Kofifah Indar 34

Party of National Unity (PNU), Kenya 100n10

Patel, Champa 12

patriarchal 4, 70, 161; hetero-patriarchal

117; logic 115

patriarchy 69, 169

PBO (Public Benefits Organisations) Act, Kenya 88

Peace Brigades International 8, 90, 161;

Kenya 90; Mexico 113, 169

Peace community of San José de Apartadó,

defending land in Colombia 135–136 Peña Nieto, Enrique 105–107 perfect standard 45, 50, 165

PKI (Indonesian Communist Party) 37

PNU (Party of National Unity), Kenya

100n10 poems: Affective necessities (Mensah) 179; To die for my work (Mensah) 120–121; Greater than love (Mensah) 22–23; The indigenous jurisdiction (Mensah) 149; The price of choices (Mensah) 77; Safe insecure (Mensah) 99; A temporary place of worship (Mensah) 52–53 police, Kenya 94

political polarisation, Egypt 67

political guarantees 143, 147

political homophobia 4

Political Terror Scale 24n22

power relations, flow of protection resources 174–175 Preservation of Public Security Act, Kenya 100n7 preventive approach, Colombia 143–147 Prevention of Terrorism Act 2012, Kenya 84

194

Index

PRI (Institutional Revolutionary Party), Mexico 105

The price of choices (Mensah) 77

ProtectDefenders.Eu 8, 9

protecting: collectives 166–168; family members, Colombia 143; human rights defenders 2–3, 7–9, 90–91 protection: defined 9–10; protection mechanisms, Kenya 93–97; reimagining see reimagining protection; selfprotection (Indonesia) 47–50

protection actors 2–3, 12, 158; civil society

protection actors 174

protection continuum 170–172 Protection International 8, 29n96, 167;

Kenya 90

protection initiatives, developing 170–172 protection mechanisms, by civil society

8, 89, 90, 94; Federal Mechanism

(Mexico) 104–105, 109–110;

formal 85, 97, 172–174; informal,

Colombia 148, Kenya 93–97; regional

protection mechanisms 91; UNP

(Colombia) 142

protection practices 9; informal, Kenya

91–92, 95–97; Protection Working Group (PWG), Kenya 90, 94

psychosocial support 116, 169

Public Benefits Organisations (PBO) Act, Kenya 88

Public Prosecutor’s Office, Colombia 133

Puente Nayero Humanitarian Space 136

Purnama, Basuki Tjahaja (Ahok) 36

PWG (Protection Working Group),

Kenya 90, 94

Pyles, Loretta 177

Quimbo hydroelectrical project,

Colombia 137

rape: documenting 74; Egypt 65;

Mexico 107

REDTDT (National Human Rights

Network: All Rights for All) 108, 113

Reformasi (reformation), Indonesia 35

regional protection mechanics, Kenya 91

regionalism 5

Regulation in Lieu of Law (Perppu) No.

2 of 2017 amending the Law on Mass

Organisations (Ormas), Indonesia 37

reimagining protection: building inclusive

organisations, networks and movements with intersectional perspective 168–170;

developing diverse initiatives along protection continuum 170–172; developing holistic practices including wellbeing 175–177; formal protection mechanisms 172–174; protecting collectives along with individuals 166–168; protecting families and loved ones 168; protecting the right to defend human rights 164–166; recognising flow of protection resources changes power relations 174–175 relational agents 12

relative visibility 161–163 religious freedom, Indonesia 43

reporting (Colombia), criminal activity 146

repression: Colombia 133; Egypt 74–75; Kenya 86; Mexico 108, 116; resisting

167–168; rise of 3–5 resources for protection, Colombia 145

Revolution (Egypt) 61; aftermath of

Revolution (2011-present) 62–63 Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia

(FARC) 131

risk: acceptability of risk 12–14, 160–161; changing contexts 158–160; defending land in Colombia 135–138; gender and intersectional experiences, Egypt 69–71; for human rights defenders, Egypt 73–74; in human rights practice, Colombia 131–133; Indonesia 42–44; Mexico 116

risk-taking in activism 12–14 Risse, Thomas 5

Rodriguez-Garavito, Cesar 7

Rompe el Miedo 113

Safe insecure (Mensah) 99

Sallam, Yara 74

same-sex relations, Kenya 89

Santos, Juan Manuel 131–133, 145

Satterthwaite, Meg 170

SCAF (Supreme Council of the Armed

Forces), Egypt 61–62 security 14–15; gender and intersectional experiences (Egypt) 69–71; Kenya 92–93; Mexico 112; preventative approach to security, Colombia 144– 147; relationships 163; self-protection (Indonesia) 47–50; UNP (National Protection Unit), Colombia 139–144; see also protection

Security Laws Bill, Kenya 89

seguridad 139

Index Sekaggya, Margaret 171

self-care 14, 19, 115–116, 176

self-protection 47–50; Colombia 135–138,

142; Egypt 74; Mexico 113–114

Setijadi, Charlotte 36

sexuality-baiting 65, 69; definition

80n62

sexual violence, Egypt 64, 70

sex work, Kenya 89, 94

sex worker rights: Indonesia 40; Kenya 94;

socially sensitive topic 161

Shore, Eran 24n24

Sikkink, Kathryn 6

Sisi, Abdel Fatah el- 63

SLAPP suits (strategic lawsuits against

public participation) 5

Smidt, Hannah 6

snowball sampling 17

Snyder, Jack 5

social connectedness163–164 social support 47–50; Egypt 73–75 socio-geographies of security, Kenya 92–93 Special Jurisdiction for Peace, Colombia

154n97

Special Rapporteur on Extrajudicial

Executions 91

Special Rapporteur on Human Rights

Defenders in Africa 8, 91

Special Rapporteur on the Freedom of

Association and Assembly 91

Special Rapporteur on the Situation of

Human Rights Defenders 91

stages of crisis 170

state protection measures, Colombia

139–144 state-civil society collaboration 173

stategic legalism 5

stigmatization 108, 133, 145, 159,

161–162 stigmatisation tactics: Egypt 66;

Mexico 108

strategic lawsuits against public

participation (SLAPP suits) 5

Suharto, President 35

support for human rights defenders 171;

Egypt 73–75 Supreme Council of the Armed Forces

(SCAF), Egypt 61

Tactical Tech Collective 14

Tamarindo Community 150n3;

Colombia 130

195

tanpa pamrih (selflessness) 35; Indonesia 45–47 Tate, Winifred 132

A temporary place of worship (Mensah)

52–53 territories, defending in Colombia 134–138 tha’r 163

threats 159; Indonesia 40–42 Timely Action Plan for Prevention and

Protection of Human Rights Defenders,

Social and Community Leaders, and

Journalists 134, 148

To die for my work (Mensah) 120–121 UDHR (Universal Declaration on Human Rights) 2, 164

ulama (Muslim scholars) 36

ummah (community of believers) 36

UN Special Rapporteur on the Situation of

Human Rights Defenders 9

Unified Action Groups for Personal Freedom, Colombia 140

Unit for Human Rights Defenders 8

United Self-Defence Forces of Colombia

(AUC) 131

Universal Declaration on Human Rights

2, 164

universality of human rights 10–11, 164

UNP (National Protection Unit), Colombia 133–134; assessing 139–144

Uribe, Álvaro 131–132, 134

Vera, Nadia 108

Victim’s Attention Unit, Mexico 110

Vinjamuri, Leslie 5

violence: Colombia 131; Egypt 65; against

human rights defenders, Colombia 132–133; sexual violence, Egypt 69; Indonesia 40–41; see also attacks on human rights defenders violent entrenchment 5

visibility 115; relative visibility 161–163 Waki Commission 100n12 wellbeing: developing holistic understandings and practices 175–177; Egypt 71–75; Mexico 116–117; as protection 49–50 Widodo, Joko (Jokowi) 35

Witness Protection Act (2006), Kenya 90

Witness Protection Agency (WPA),

Kenya 90

Woman and Memory Forum 65

196

Index

women human rights defenders: bodyguards, Colombia 141; building inclusive organisations, networks and movements with intersectional perspective 169; Egypt 65, 69–71,

74–75; Kenya 89; Mexico 115–116; risk

and security, Egypt 69–71; security 15

woundology 169–170

WPA (Witness Protection Agency),

Kenya 90