The Global North and South: Women’s conferences and feminist debates

In 1984, at the invitation of the Senegalese government, the WHO and other organisations brought together in Dakar representatives from twenty countries concerned about FGM/C. The Dakar-based Inter-African Committee on Traditional Practices Harmful to the Health of Women and Children (IAC) was created here, and adopted a position that regarded the operations not only as acts harmful to health but also as a real attack on women’s rights. It was the time of the second wave of feminism, which focused on the differences between women and men. As a result, the feminism of sexual difference emerged. This is an approach rooted in Europe that seeks to celebrate the feminine essence and specificity of female sexuality. For these feminists, the fight against oppression meant shifting political action to the personal. This was expressed in the slogan ‘the personal is political’.

These issues may have united women in the North, but they divided women in the South. At the 1975 conference in Mexico City, southern women highlighted the various forms of oppression they faced. Notably, the Bolivian activist Domitila Barrios De Chungara spoke about her experiences in a mining camp. In her speech, ‘Let Me Speak’, she criticised northern feminists for ignoring the struggles of poor women, and identified issues in economically depressed regions as a basis for constructing an agenda for international economic reform (Barrios De Chungara 1978; O’Donoghue and Rowe 2021). Feminist movements in the North and South had conflicting theories, resources, and goals, making their dialogue challenging. For the first time, global institutions engaged in dialogue with women’s movements.

International Women’s Year (also in 1975) sparked discussions about women’s experiences, including the effects of genital mutilation. Fran Hosken emerged as an undisputed leader in the feminist movement. She ‘often demanded to know what I’d done before breakfast to end FGM’ (von Gleichen 2019:175), and campaigned for its immediate abolition. The Hosken Report (1979) remains a key text, particularly for its global and politicised perspective (Fusaschi 2023:9). Hosken could not understand why African governments maintained FGM (as it was then called) in the name of tradition, while on other issues they favoured Western systems (Hosken 1980). The term ‘mutilation’ was not coined by her, but the political actions of the hegemonic feminism she embodied at the time legitimised it as a globally recognised term to define various irreversible practices on female genitalia. The term has persisted for decades, despite facing numerous criticisms. Moreover, this global legitimation at this particular historical juncture characterised northern feminism as both moralistic and progressive towards a practice that oppressed women. It is crucial to note that this approach imposed tradition – viewed as an immutable, inherently transmitted phenomenon across generations – onto the concept of harm.

As a result, harm is understood in two different ways: it is used to refer to the health consequences of FGM/C, and as an attack by men on the essence of women (sex and sexuality), which forms the basis of the feminist discourse of the North. According to this perspective, the lasting damage inflicted on women in the Global South, especially in Africa, is rooted in their continued subjugation, which hinders their ability to ‘save’ themselves. According to Abu-Lughod, ‘projects of saving other women depend on and reinforce a sense of superiority by Westerners, a form of arrogance that deserves to be challenged’ (2002:789).

According to this feminist perspective of the time, African women required protection, especially legal protection, provided by their sisters in the North. This paradigm ignored local conceptions on a symbolic level, encompassing aesthetics, morality, the material conditions of the body, and sexuality, as well as the socio-economic conditions associated with a particular status. This perspective is characterised by a monolithic view of women as ‘victims of tradition’ (Fusaschi 2011), based on the ‘rhetoric of salvation’ (Abu-Lughod 2002) and a neocolonial, ethnocentric approach. It has had a disproportionate impact on women in the Global South, perpetuating Hosken’s legacy.

During this period the French journalist Benoîte Groult (1975) and the American feminist Mary Daly (1978) also spoke out against FGM/C, sharing Hosken’s point of view. However, it was only at the 1979 Khartoum Seminar on Traditional Practices Affecting the Health of Women and Girls that a consensus was reached to classify FGM/C first as a public health issue and then as a sexuality issue. This conference provided a strong impetus for the Copenhagen Interim Conference in 1980. At that time, tensions between the feminist movements of the North and South were already evident in the preparatory work. Daniela Colombo, a prominent Italian feminist, wrote on this occasion:

It was on the issue of FGM/C that a bitter clash took place between American and African feminists. The latter saw Hosken’s radical abolitionist position as an intolerable intrusion into their lives and another form of imperialism over their bodies, to the extent that the very term ‘female genital mutilation’ was considered openly racist. This attack came from Marie Angelique Savané, a Senegalese sociologist who took aim at Hosken’s cultural imperialism by explicitly asking northern feminists not to interfere in cultural matters that did not concern them (von Gleichen 2019:175). Awa Thiam, another Senegalese anthropologist, had been stressing the importance of self-determination, the right to decide over one’s own body and culture, since the late 1970s (Ahmadu and Kamau 2022). In her book Parole aux Negresses (1978), Thiam noted that the struggle against discrimination faced by Black African women is different from that of their European counterparts. She argued that while European women had resisted their oppression by men (patriarchal domination) and capitalist exploitation, Black African women also faced colonial and neocolonial burdens (Thiam 1978:189). Furthermore, they experience triple oppression due to their gender, class, and ‘race’. She argued that a political approach that recognises these three aspects is necessary to achieve equality.2 Thiam can be seen as a precursor of intersectionality, a concept that would be formally defined a decade later by Crenshaw (1989). According to Thiam, the concept of African feminism, which she pioneered, encompasses a political movement dedicated to abolishing all three forms of subjugation. In this way, she distinguishes herself from Western feminist movements that primarily address sexism. In her quest for a more egalitarian society, Thiam sought to establish a distinctive position within the discourse of the Global South, avoiding the use of the Global North’s language while maintaining dialogue. However, precisely because of these positions, she was denounced as a traitor by some African women leaders (Sow 1998). At the Copenhagen conference, these same women from the Global South vehemently protested Thiam and the demands of northern women to end FGM/C, saying, ‘Give us money and leave us alone.’3 This may be read as meaning that the women welcomed funding for anti-FGM/C work and development but rejected external interference and patronisation. Some African women at the conference voiced their opposition to FGM/C, acknowledging some of the issues, but were hesitant to confront the abolitionist arguments of their Western counterparts, which were perceived as racist and the domain of privileged classes. The conference thus highlighted the communication challenges that Western feminists face when engaging with women from developing countries, and the persistent inequalities. At that time, the predominant attitude, which persists to some extent today, was to talk about African women, not with them. The term ‘mutilation’ also sparked a heated and long-lasting cultural debate in the feminist world.4 On terminology, see the Introduction to this book. African-origin feminists saw it as a clear sign of Western superiority and a colonial matrix, as well as an imposition of rules that, by emphasising individual rights, did not consider other concepts linked to ethnic identity, kinship, and reproduction.

The European feminist movement of this period, later labelled ‘white feminism’ or ‘capitalist feminism’, was a key driver of the anti-FGM/C campaign. Its leaders, including Simone de Beauvoir, defined FGM as ‘genocide’ or ‘butchery’ (Saurel 1981:3). They presented patriarchy as an unquestionable and ahistorical fact, while addressing traditional cultures from a primitivist perspective. These principles have been used as a basis for many subsequent conventions and beliefs, which are now being questioned and challenged.

This definition of traditional cultural practices has been the subject of criticism due to its reflection of outdated ideas about women’s status and transnational modernity, which emerged in the 1950s–70s (Merry 2006). The definition is further criticised for its lack of enforcement mechanisms, with the responsibility for compliance placed on governments. This definition primarily conceptualises culture as an adversary, and perceives cultural practices as ancient and allegedly oppressive, immutable, and rooted in fixed ideas that determine behaviour. This suggests a lack of agency, with individuals seemingly compelled to adhere to traditional cultural norms deemed to be pre-modern. This perspective lends weight to the assertion that ‘such practices persist because they are not questioned’. This claim resonates with feminist perspectives articulated by Hosken and Colombo. The language of the CEDAW is characterised by a fluidity between victimisation and empowerment. The objective is to overcome FGM/C by utilising the human rights register, which recognises FGM/C as criminal, yet presents itself as a deterrent action to disseminate universal core values (e.g. bodily integrity). The notion of a universal core value is employed to emphasise the importance of this endeavour. However, it is important to acknowledge that the realisation of such a society remains elusive due to a widespread inability to accommodate the diverse needs and contexts of all individuals, as evidenced by the challenges posed by genital cosmetic surgery (Boddy 2020; Fusaschi 2011, 2023; Van Bavel et al., Chapter 10 this volume).

The 1986 African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights, adopted by the Organisation of African Unity, now the African Union, requires states to ‘provide for the elimination of all forms of discrimination against women …’ (Article 18). In 1990, the CEDAW adopted two General Recommendations. The first, No. 14, referred to FGM/C. The second, No. 31, was aligned with the eighteenth recommendation of the Committee on the Rights of the Child, and included FGM/C among other traditional practices harmful to women. By doing this, the CEDAW aligned itself with the global discourse on FGM/C. It shifted its focus from the medical consequences, particularly those affecting reproductive health, to viewpoints expressed at the 1993 Vienna Conference on Human Rights, the 1994 UN Declaration on Violence Against Women, and the CEDAW’s own General Recommendation 19 on Violence. This change in emphasis highlighted FGM/C as a matter of human rights (Shell-Duncan 2008). In 2003, after a meeting in Mozambique, fifty-three African states adopted the Maputo Protocol, known as the Protocol on the Rights of Women in Africa. This was signed by forty-two African Union countries and ratified by twenty. For the first time, it formally condemned all ‘traditional practices’ that harm women’s physical and psychological integrity, such as FGM/C (Article 5). In 2009, in Burkina Faso, the meeting ‘Towards a Global Ban of FGM: A goal that we can achieve’ was organised jointly by the government of Burkina Faso and the NGO No Peace Without Justice, with Italian government support. Governments of the nineteen African countries present agreed to promote the intergovernmental agreements necessary for the drafting and adoption of a resolution of the UN General Assembly for the definitive ban on FGM/C, which was adopted in 2012 (A/RES/67/146, see bibliography at the end of this volume). The WHO hailed the text as ‘groundbreaking’. However, it has also attracted criticism and led to intense debate among feminists, politicians, and humanitarians (Fusaschi 2011).

The impact of these vocabularies on policies merits significant consideration. For instance, the Joint Learning Initiative on Faith and Local Communities conducted a study, funded by the UK government, on working with faith leaders to ‘challenge harmful traditional practices’. The resulting policy brief (le Roux, Bartelink and Palm 2017) focuses on successful approaches to engaging faith leaders in addressing sensitive issues in their communities. It highlights five reasons why the term ‘harmful traditional practices’ is counterproductive: community resistance, simplistic denigration of culture and tradition, use of colonialist discourses, concealment of the gendered nature of practices and violence, and prejudice against religion. This brief does not dispute the notion that harmful traditional practices are counterproductive. Instead, it proposes alternative ways to express this concept without explicitly mentioning it. The document is intriguing for several reasons. Firstly, it identifies sensible approaches that can be implemented in a multicultural historical and political context, but this is not possible everywhere in Europe.7 Italy has taken a clear stance against FGM/C, describing it as a brutal and uncivilised practice. This influenced Italy’s 2006 anti-FGM/C law. The author (Fusaschi 2003, 2011, 2020a) has examined the potential consequences of this approach. The policy brief may be ineffective in addressing religious leaders who are predominantly male. It seems to suggest that religious leaders are unfamiliar with the topic, and that cultural practices are linked to religious tenets, specifically Islam (see textbox on Religion and FGM/C, p. 151. Also Chapter 4, Thomson and Callaghan). This may lead to increased identity polarisation instead of promoting dialogue.

The same CEDAW definition of harmful traditional practices is used in Chapter 9 of the WHO’s Recommendations on Adolescent Sexual and Reproductive Health Rights (2018). However, despite the passage of time, the definition has not been updated or revised, which raises several questions. Has research in different fields produced new evidence? Have theories and practices changed? Has teenage sexual behaviour changed? Why aren’t these changes reflected in the international vocabulary?

This chapter now goes on to examine the crystallisation of definitions and their ahistorical transmission.

The health concerns that led to the WHO’s involvement, and which were the subject of feminist criticism of anthropologists, had already been documented in the early 1940s. Denise Paulme’s 1952 essay, which draws upon her ethnographic research in Upper Guinea from 1945 to 1946, provides further insight into this issue. The French anthropologist examined various forms of genital mutilation among the Kissi people. Analysis of the final ceremonies revealed their influence on the initiates’ future social status. The names given to new (female) initiates reflected their new roles, which were associated with reproduction, motherhood, and femininity. These names served to legitimise women’s bodies within these cultural contexts. The ethnography observed not only cultural diversity but also changes, emphasising the transformation of ‘tradition’ over time and space.

Concurrently, during the late 1940s, women began to raise concerns about androcentrism as a model for knowledge production. This perspective was coined ‘women’s anthropology’. In 1960, Paulme published an important collection of essays which had a profound influence on the development of feminist anthropology, particularly in its challenge to stereotypical representations of African women (Lewin 2006). This seminal work deconstructed the stereotype of male-female relations in terms of a ‘natural’ imbalance, later described as patriarchal, not only in family life but also in economic and political relations. Departing from the victim-centred approach that was pervasive in many studies at the time, the book proposed a decolonial perspective ante litteram, contrasting the feminine image with a perceived ‘unconsciously masculine’ archetype that is considered neutral and universal.

The 1970s marked a pivotal intersection between anthropology and feminism. This relationship was characterised by a complex interaction between anthropology, as a discipline particularly adept at deconstructing the Other, and feminism, which was based on the assumption that one needed to start from the female self in order to define the Other, i.e. men (Abu-Lughod 1991). The relationship between sex/gender systems and FGM/C remains a subject of intense debate. However, it would be an oversimplification to claim, as some feminist activists have done, starting with Fran Hosken, that all anthropologists have remained silent on this issue, or to assume that anthropologists were unaware that the production of knowledge in their discipline was androcentric.

Early ethnographic studies, though possibly influenced by bias, offered valuable insights into the beliefs and rituals surrounding FGM/C. These studies have contributed to our understanding of the history, significance, and social impact of FGM/C. Indeed, it is arguably due to the seminal research in this field that opposition to and scientific analysis of this sensitive issue has been able to take root. However, there are problems with how these ethnographies have been used. The academic community initially underestimated their importance, a real mistake.

Two other anthropologists, Nicole Échard and Nicole-Claude Mathieu, responded to this article, representing the emerging French materialist feminist movement. They argued for a reorientation of anthropological knowledge towards feminist struggles (Échard and Mathieu 1982), and highlighted anthropology’s ability to provide a multifaceted perspective on communities. They warned against minimising the impact of physical mutilation, and defined excision as a political issue for anthropology.

It is important to recognise the existence of different intellectual traditions within the discipline of anthropology, such as structuralists and dynamists, which have diverged in their focus on the symbolic aspects of FGM/C versus the social transformations surrounding it. The same dynamic can be seen within different feminist movements. As a result, there is no consensus on FGM/C. Indeed, there have been historical periods when advocates of one position have sought to discredit another. However, it is crucial to recognise that the cultural hegemony of feminism, particularly from movements in the Global North, has been central to the definition and establishment of the term FGM/C and, by extension, the formula of harmful traditional practices. In summary, the main driving force behind these definitions was a denunciation of the extreme relativism that was perceived to justify such practices. The field of anthropology has been accused of adopting a relativist stance for failing to recognise the implications of these practices, which are said to have serious, often fatal, consequences (Obermeyer 1999). It is further suggested that anthropology considers these practices (rituals) as symbolic acts, and therefore it is not within its remit to condemn them. Finally, there was an extractive activity of anthropology’s own concepts, especially culture, tradition, and gender, which crystallising them in an ahistorical and essentialist way in relation to the Global South. This attitude paid no attention to the differences between women in different cultural contexts. The attitudes of the feminist movement in the Global North, at least until the 1990s, thus facilitated the hegemonic formulations of FGM and FGM/C that were criticised in later years.

However, culture signifies a set of values and practices that are as malleable as they are dynamic and transformative in relation to the aforementioned two concepts. The definition of culture as historically produced locations under the influence of local, national, and global forces and events (Merry 2006:11) is a framework that enables the understanding of culture as a living entity. In this sense, culture cannot be regarded as a static set of unchanging beliefs and values, but rather as a collection of local institutions, behaviours, beliefs, performances, etc. that are inextricably linked to global institutions, behaviours, beliefs, performances, etc. It follows that the ‘narrative ethnographies of particulars’ (Abu-Lughod 1991:171) that have been conducted over the years in the field of anti-FGM/C campaigns highlight the ‘cultural’ power of the agreed-upon language in this field, as well as its omissions (O’Neill 2018; Van Bavel 2023).

FGM/C is often perceived as an insurmountable obstacle, impervious to change. Anti-FGM/C campaigns often portray culture as justifying abuse, citing harmful practices that are deeply rooted in local cultures. FGM/C is also seen as a primitive practice that reinforces patriarchal control over women. The WHO’s definition of FGM/C and its classification into four categories reinforce this view. Indeed, it is imperative to recognise that we are dealing with an overarching definition that encompasses different typologies of FGM/C within a static present, within social logics that appear to remain constant. This, as in the case of culture, ‘does not make it possible to name and understand the differences and transitions between one practice and another, an aspect which, moreover, turns out to be central to understanding the so-called process of social change’ (Fusaschi and Cavatorta 2021:49).

Anti-FGM/C campaigns reflect this stance and are part of global and local human rights governance. Anthropologist Saïda Hodžić (2016) shows that the concept of ‘harmful traditional practices’ plays a key role in the governance of poverty in Ghana, with excision being a major focus. The author argues that this issue has become central to ongoing debates and policy making in the country. Her analysis of development projects shows that they employ a range of strategies to combat FGM/C, including moral appeals, cultural essentialism, and affective discourse. The aim is to raise women’s awareness, but these efforts often overlook the need for infrastructure and economic solutions. She writes:

In this sense, the global glossary intervenes by distinguishing between women who are worthy of attention and those who are not, those who practise FGM/C and those who do not. The former are targets, but only because they are deemed backward, repulsive, and miserable; the latter deserve the care that the former do not receive. ‘While UN agencies and Western NGOs must prove that their care is genuine and distanced from imperialism, Ghanaians must constantly reconstruct their own modernity and distance themselves from a practice that marks them as backward’ (Hodžić 2016:18).

In my research in Rwanda on the gukuna (labial stretching), I found that some humanitarian intervention projects present it within a neoliberal framework of women’s bodily autonomy. The poor girls practising gukuna are represented as victims to be saved (Fusaschi 2011, 2018). They lack subjectivity, since patriarchal tradition would prevent real, informed consent. According to the WHO, ‘labial stretching might be defined as a form of FGM/C because it is a social convention, and hence there is social pressure on young girls to modify their genitalia’ (WHO 2008), even if it does not involve cutting. It remains a form of violence and is therefore seen as a harmful cultural practice. Contrarily, a neoliberal mindset is prevalent in the new generation of Rwandan girls in another way. It manifests as a desire for autonomy in body modification, including the modification of gukuna for sexual pleasure. This local stance renews traditional meaning as a new social and gender norm. Unfortunately, this perspective remains unrecognised by humanitarian discourse, which fails to understand its significance.