Bridging Faith and Rights: Promoting Women’s Rights in Taliban-Controlled Afghanistan 

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This paper analyzes the Taliban’s repression of Afghan women as a violation of international human right standards under the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the Convention of the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women. It questions how the international community should respond without imposing Western-centric human rights frameworks that disregard Afghan cultural and religious contexts. Recognizing that coercive, Western-led interventions have failed to produce sustainable change and have worsened instability, this paper contends that effective support must integrate progressive Islamic jurisprudence with universal human rights principles while centering Afghan women’s voices and local advocacy.  

In Afghanistan, the Taliban have effectively erased women and girls from the public sphere by imposing severe human rights restrictions and violations. A recent Human Rights Watch report flags Afghanistan’s worsening human rights conditions under Taliban authority. Specifically, the report highlights atrocious violations against women and children, including the banning of receiving secondary and university education, heavy restrictions on employment, barriers to receiving healthcare, the barring of participation in sports and recreational activities, and the implementation of strict hijab and male guardianship regulations (Human Rights Watch, 2025). However, despite widespread acknowledgement of human rights violations, there has been little responsive concrete action taken by the international community.  

The lack of action by the international community stems from a place of mistrust: “The Afghan government is deeply mistrusted, viewed as lacking legitimacy and as a puppet of international actors,” yet meanwhile in the Middle East there exists “an absent tolerance for these ‘Western’ notions of rights” (Hozyainova, 2014). As a result of the stark ideological tension and the growing human rights crisis, the following ethical challenge arises: How should the international community respond to the Taliban’s gender-targeted policies without imposing Western-centric norms and values based human rights framework that disregards Afghan culture and religious contexts? Throughout this paper, I contend that the international community should promote Afghan women’s rights through an approach that integrates Islamic jurisprudence and universal human rights principles by emphasizing engagement with the Afghan women themselves and local advocacy organizations rather than coercive measures. By working within Afghanistan’s religious and cultural frameworks while upholding fundamental human rights, this approach can foster sustainable change without reinforcing Taliban resistance or imposing Western-centric norms.

To support this argument, this paper will first engage with key debates in the literature surrounding universal human rights and cultural relativism. Additionally, it will examine the tendencies of past international interventions in Afghanistan and their shortcomings, particularly focusing on how Western-centric approaches have undermined local legitimacy and reform efforts. Finally, the paper will propose a solution rooted in progressive Islamic jurisprudence and local engagement while centering Afghan women’s voices as essential to any ethical and effective international response.     

Literature Review  

Since the Taliban’s return to power in 2021, Afghanistan has witnessed a dramatic deterioration in women’s rights, as sweeping gender-targeted policies have eradicated women and girls from public life. Despite widespread acknowledgement of human rights abuse, the international community has largely failed to create a coordinated or effective response. This lack of action reflects deeper ethical and cultural tensions that challenge conventional intervention strategies. These tensions are addressed by scholars in a variety of fields including political science, philosophy, Middle Eastern studies, legal studies, and anthropology.  

One of the most discussed and pertinent debates in global human rights advocacy is the tension between universalism and cultural relativism. Advocates of universality, such as political scholar Jack Donnelly, argue that human rights like freedom from discrimination, access to education, and bodily autonomy are inherent to all human beings regardless of geography or culture (Donnelly, 2013).  However, some critics point out that applying universal norms without regard for cultural or religious context risks reproducing colonial dynamics and alienating local populations. This tension is especially pronounced in Muslim-majority states, where Western liberal ideas often clash with Islamic traditions or communal values (Na’im, 2008). Sally Engle Merry (2006), an anthropologist, responds to this notion by defining culture as:

Repertoires of ideas and practices that are not homogenous but continually changing because of contradictions among them or because new ideas and institutions are adopted by members. They typically incorporate contested values and practices. Cultures are not contained within stable borders but are open to new ideas and permeable to influences from other cultural systems, although not all borders are equally porous. Cultural discourses legitimate or challenge authority and justify relations of power (p. 1982).

Donnelly (2013) agrees that while particularity and implementation may vary, cultural relativity must operate within the boundaries set by the universal human rights standard. Additionally, Islamic scholars like Abdullahi An-Naim (2008) join Engle Merry (2006) and Donnelly (2013) in cautioning against viewing Islam and human rights as fundamentally opposed, and instead advocate for genuine culturally rooted interpretations that uphold human dignity from within religious frameworks. Specifically, An-Naim (2008) goes on to suggest that a purely secular, Western-centric rights agenda is unlikely to succeed in places like Afghanistan, where religious authority plays a dominant role in shaping public norms and legitimacy. At the center of this debate lies the question of agency: who has the power to define what counts as a human right, and whose voices are elevated or marginalized in that process? Together, these human rights scholars work to discuss the relationship between universality and cultural relativism. They collectively challenge the idea that human rights must be externally imposed, but rather argue for inclusive standard frameworks that empower local actors to shape rights discourse in contextually meaningful ways.   

Contrary to stereotypes that present Islam as inherently opposed to gender equality, a growing number of scholars challenge patriarchal interpretations of the religion and assert that Islam can support a robust vision of women’s rights. Heiner Bielefeldt (2000), a philosopher and historian, warns that, “to divide the idea of human rights in ‘Western; and ‘Islamic’ and other culturally defined conceptions would be the end of universal human rights. The language of human rights would simply be turned into a rhetorical weapon for intercultural competition” (p. 92). In critical agreement, legal studies scholar Ann Elizabeth Mayer (1998) highlights that there is no supranational Islamic law that all Muslim countries abide by; some Islamic countries uphold CEDAW and are in compliance with human rights standards. Building upon this notion, scholars likepolitical scientist Masoumeh Rad Goudarzi (2025) and Bielefeldt (2000) argue that many of the gendered restrictions seen currently in Afghanistan are not grounded in divine command but rather in historically contingent, male-dominated readings of Islamic texts. Both scholars call upon contemporary Islamic jurisprudence to reinterpret religious teachings in ways that are compatible with gender justice. Islamic jurisprudence is defined as the human understanding and interpretation of Islamic law; it involves the process of driving and applying Islamic legal principles found in the Quran and Sunnah (Goudarzi, 2025). In correspondence with this practice, Bielefeldt (2000) demands criticism and careful reading of the Islamic Shariah to begin gender-equality reforms. He argues that through means of critical examination and therefore a progressive interpretation of Islamic jurisprudence, the deeper and genuine meaning of the texts can be brought back to light, rather than the “bulk of medieval legal casuistry that has unfairly overshadowed the essential normative message of the Qur’an and Sunna” (Bielefeldt, 2000, p. 108). In particular, Goudarzi (2025) demonstrates how Bielefeldt’s argument works in practice by discussing how prominent Islamic jurisprudents often create new contemporary understandings through a comprehensive critique of Hadiths in connection with the Sunna and Quran.^[1] These scholars work together to provide a crucial foundation for understanding how religious discourse, particularly Islamic jurisprudence, can be mobilized in support of women’s rights, rather than in opposition to them.

Still, the international community has frequently failed to engage with these internal traditions and has instead relied on Western-centric intervention models that often prove ethically and strategically counterproductive. In post-2001 Afghanistan, international organizations and governments promoted a liberal institutional framework that included gender quotas, women’s non-governmental organizations (NGOs), and legal reforms. While Western intervention actions could be seen as well-intentioned, the organizations’ top-down approach made them disconnected from local realities, as they often failed to account for religious, cultural, and political complexities. Anthropologist Lila Abu-Lughod (2015) critiques this “saving Muslim women” narrative and argues that it masks Western political agendas and undermines the agency of the very women it claims to support. Similarly, international law scholars Sebghatullah Qazi Zada and Mohd Ziaolhaq Qazi Zada (2024) point out international actors’ tendencies to prioritize symbolic representation over institution-building and grassroots engagement, which often results in fragile, temporary gains. Western-centric dynamics have contributed to the failure of past interventions in Afghanistan to create lasting change. These critiques reveal that sustainable progress requires more than moral condemnation, external pressure, or commitments to Western-framed rights agendas.      

In response to these critiques, a growing number of scholars advocate for strategies that promote cultural legitimacy and local agency. Rather than imposing rights from the outside, sustainable change requires engagement with local actors, like religious scholars, grassroots women’s organizations, and civil society networks, who hold moral authority within their communities. Middle Eastern Studies scholars like Salaiman Haqpana and Maria Tsouroufli (2023) recognize the need for the integration and collaboration of local, grassroots perspectives and NGOs in order to make an intervention by large international organizations more effective. In addition, Qazi Zada and Qazi Zada (2024) note the importance of the influence of “women-led movements” within Afghanistan on the international community and advocates for the collaboration with the Ulama from progressive Muslim countries.^[2] Haqpana and Tsouroufli (2023) agree and continue the discussion by adding that “policymakers should involve local women in policymaking processes. This will enable local women to own their agendas and discourses, prioritize their needs accordingly, and to raise their voices in order to address those needs.” An increasingly sustainable approach points towards a model of human rights advocacy that is based in dialogue rather than coercion. Ultimately, this approach builds from shared values and local credibility rather than external power.

While the existing literature offers important critiques of Western intervention and alludes to culturally grounded alternatives, few studies have fully addressed the ethical challenge of balancing respect for culture with the moral imperative to confront systematic gender oppression. Afghan women’s voices are often sidelined in both policy debates and academic discourse. Yet, it is these women who have the greatest insight into what sustainable progress looks like within Afghanistan. This makes their agency ethically essential. The challenge is clear: How can the international community respond to the Taliban’s gender-targeted policies without imposing Western-centric norms and values based human rights framework that disregards Afghan culture and religious contexts? This paper seeks to address that gap by proposing an approach that integrates Islamic jurisprudence with universal human rights principles and emphasizes collaboration with local actors, especially Afghan women themselves. Such a model that combines ethical sensitivity and strategic realism will offer a more credible and culturally legitimate path forward in supporting Afghan women’s rights under Taliban rule. 

Toward an Ethical Framework for Supporting Afghan Women’s Rights

The Taliban’s systematic erasure of Afghan women from public life is a blatant violation of fundamental human rights and a deepening humanitarian crisis. Human Rights Watch, the United Nations, and other major international organizations have documented a wide range of violations. These violations include bans on secondary and university education for girls, the restriction of employment opportunities, requirements for male guardianship, limitations on healthcare access, and strictly enforced hijab mandates (Human Rights Watch, 2025).  In reflection and protest of the grotesque bans, a member from the Spontaneous Movement of Afghan Women writes: “They (Taliban) told me to be silent and threatened me with death, but I said even though I am breathing, I feel like you have already killed me…We refuse to accept being jailed in our homes, we refuse to be discriminated against, we refuse to be repressed” (Amiri, 2023). These actions violate international human rights standards, including Afghanistan’s past commitments under treaties like the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR). Both documents set forth progressive human rights standards that all states are expected to meet and seek to protect human rights (see United Nations, 1948; United Nations, 1979). CEDAW specifically focuses on ending discrimination against women, which the document defines as, “any distinction, exclusion or restriction made on the basis of sex which has the effect or purpose of impairing or nullifying the recognition, enjoyment or exercise by women, irrespective of their marital status, on a basis of equality for men and women, of human rights and fundamental freedoms in the political, economic, social, cultural, civil, or any other field” (United Nations, 1979, Article 1). The Taliban’s policies directly counteract these international standards agreed upon by the international community.

Despite widespread global condemnation, the international community has failed to take coherent or effective action. In a recent United Nations Security Council resolution, the organization “expresses deep concern” over the worsening economic and humanitarian situation in Afghanistan and “condemns” a Taliban policy that worsens gender inequality (United Nations Security Council, 2023).  However, the Afghan women themselves plead that the United Nations words are not sufficient by saying, “the international community[3] cannot address the injustice against women and girls in Afghanistan by the Taliban by only issuing some statements and tweets” (Amiri, 2023). However, this designation is not without complications as many past interventions, particularly in Muslim-majority countries, are often driven by Western liberal frameworks, which means that they have historically been coercive, top-down, and detached from local cultural realities (Abu-Lughod, 2015). As a result, they have failed to create sustainable change in gender equality and, in some cases, have truly exacerbated instability and delegitimize human rights as Western impositions. Furthermore, given Afghanistan’s modern history – including its independence in 1919, its liberalization under the 1964 Constitution, the 1979 Soviet Invasion, and the 2001 American led intervention – any external actor’s legitimacy must be critically examined (Abu-Lughod, 2015). While both the Soviet and American military forces have at times invoked human rights rhetoric, their roles in Afghanistan’s instability mean that they cannot be seen as neutral or ideal leaders in today’s advocacy efforts. A reimagined international community must instead prioritize legitimacy through alignment with Afghan women’s leadership. Therefore, a more ethical and effective international response must integrate human rights principles with progressive Islamic jurisprudence, while centering Afghan women’s voices and advocacy networks as the basis for change.

Historically, coercive Western intervention and framework approaches to advancing women’s rights in Muslim majority countries have produced damaging consequences. This can be seen on the ground in Afghanistan, as illustrated by this firsthand account from an Afghan woman:

The Taliban brought dozens of military forces onto the streets and used violence against us. They beat us, used tear gas, fired shots in the air, gave us electric shocks, and arbitrarily detained us. The Taliban shouted at us to be silent, aimed their gun at us, threatened us with death and asked: “How much money has been given to you Western bitches for creating this riot?” We froze with fear, but I asked the protestors not to get frightened. We continued our protest by sitting on the ground (Amiri, 2023).

Furthermore, in post-2001 Afghanistan, intervention prioritized superficial symbolic representation of gender equality reforms without considering long-term, community-driven infrastructure for change. The ever-present “saving Muslim women” narrative reduces Afghan women to passive victims in need of rescue, rather than acknowledging them as political actors with their own agency, goals, and strategies (Abu-Lughod, 2015). The savior complex fuels Taliban rhetoric that human rights are foreign attacks; therefore, it undermines any local reform effort. While the global community bears a shared responsibility to uphold human rights under the UDHR and CEDAW, it is important to note that ethical leadership in this context requires facilitating platforms and conversation, Afghan women-led advocacy, resourcing local networks, and providing diplomatic support. Agreeing with this sentiment, persecuted Afghan women ask the international community not to save them but to stand with them because, as one woman powerfully writes, “the women here [in Afghanistan] are heroes, not just because of their work or their success, but because they are women in Afghanistan, and that will make them heroes for eternity” (quoted in United Nations in Afghanistan, 2023). 

These recurring intervention failures stem in part from the structure and history of Western liberalism itself. While claiming to promote universal human rights, it has often operated through top-down, interventionist methods that are entangled within colonial legacies. Western liberalism is not inherently colonialist, but its dominant frameworks – like emphasizing individualism, institutional reform, and a universalized model of freedom – often become colonial in practice when imposed without regard for local histories, religions, and cultures (Abu-Lughod, 2015). The “saving Afghan women” narrative, which gained traction during the post-9/11 United States foreign policy agenda, demonstrates how liberal feminist ideals can be twisted to justify military intervention and thereby frame Afghan women as passive victims in need of rescue (Abu-Lughod, 2015). Although powerful in many contexts, externally applied Western liberalism and feminism often fails to account for the lived experiences, religious values, and communal structures that shape women’s agency in Muslim-majority countries. Its lens flattens the diverse and dynamic forms of resistance practice by Afghan women and dismisses the possibility that Islamic values can coexist with or enhance women’s rights (Abu-Lughod, 2015). As a result, an ethical international response cannot rely on exporting Western feminist and liberal ideals, but rather must support Afghan women in articulating and pursuing rights in ways that resonate with their own values. This is why integrating Islamic jurisprudence, which affirms women’s right from within a religious tradition, offers a more grounded and legitimate framework for sustainable gender justice in Afghanistan.         

A promising foundation for addressing the growing human rights crisis in Afghanistan is a progressive reinterpretation of Islamic jurisprudence. While the Taliban claim to enforce Islamic law, many scholars and women activists argue that their interpretations are narrow, politicized, and inconsistent with the genuine meaning of Islamic legal tradition. In a statement, an Afghan woman powerfully proclaims, “women’s rights are recognized and protected in Islam…Women should not be sentenced to confinement between the four walls of their homes” (quoted in United Nations Afghanistan, 2023). Together, these actors work to combat cultural relativist arguments that claim Afghanistan’s Islam and gender equality naturally do not coincide. However, while cultural relativism is often used to justify human rights abuses, it also serves as a critical reminder that legitimate advocacy for women’s rights within Afghanistan must engage meaningfully with religious contexts. Universal human rights can and must be upheld, but their perceived legitimacy in the Afghan context depends on how they are communicated, interpreted, and implemented; when universal human rights are paired with religious and cultural frameworks already present in Afghan society, human rights principles appear less “Western-centric” and more resonant (Na’im, 2008).

Modern and progressive Islamic jurisprudence utilizes these notions and provide alternative interpretations, rooted in core Islamic texts, that support women’s rights to education, work, and participation in public life (Bielefeldt, 2000). For example, when the Taliban’s former Minister of Education, Syed Ghaisuddin, was asked why women needed to be confined to the home, he responded: “It’s like having a flower, or a rose. You water it and keep it at home for yourself, to look at it and smell it. It [a woman] is not supposed to be taken out of the house to be smelled” (quoted in U.S. Department of State, 2001).^[4] Progressive Islamic jurisprudents like Ayatollah Ebrahim Jannaati respond to these types of claims by reviewing Islamic Hadiths and showing that core Islamic texts do not promote the lack of women’s autonomy. Specifically, Jannati reviewed Islamic Verse 33 of Surah Al-Ahzab, which was addressed to the wives of prophets and states, “And abide in your houses and do not display yourselves as [was] the display of the former times of ignorance” (see Goudarzi, 2025). This verse is often used by Taliban leaders like Ghaisuddin to remove women from the social sphere and deprive them of equal opportunity. Jannati provides a reinterpretation of this verse by rejecting the generalization of the verse to other women, as it was specifically addressed to the Prophet’s wives. Additionally, he further discusses that even if this verse is extended to all other Muslim women, it serves as a guide rather than a command. Lastly, he specifically notes the many Hadith narrations of the Prophet’s wives moving freely around society (see Goudarzi, 2025). Overall, rooting advocacy in progressive Islamic jurisprudence allows international efforts to support women’s rights in ways that align with local religious values rather than appearing as an external imposition.

The dynamic where Islamic tradition is not inherently opposed to women’s rights can also be observed in other Muslim-majority societies. For instance, Indonesia and the United Arab Emirates (UAE) have made significant strides in advancing women’s participation in education, public life, and government within frameworks that draw upon Islamic principles. Indonesia is one of the world’s largest Muslim-majority nations (Pew Research Center’s Forum on Religion & Public Life, 2011). Indonesian Muslim women have held high ranking political positions and female ulama have played active roles in promoting gender justice within an Islamic framework (Pew Research Center’s Forum on Religion & Public Life, 2011). Similarly, in the UAE, recent developments include growing state support for women’s higher education and public leadership and are framed as consistent with Islamic culture and national development goals (Pew Research Center’s Forum on Religion & Public Life, 2011). However, Indonesia and the UAE do not serve as direct models for Afghanistan, especially given profound political, cultural, and historical differences. Instead, they illustrate that Muslim-majority societies can employ progressive Islamic jurisprudence and interpret Islamic values in ways that affirm rather than restrict women’s rights. Such precedents reinforce the realistic possibility of rights-based change emerging from within Islamic contexts and challenge the notion that Islam must be at odds with gender equality.   

While other ethical frameworks could theoretically be used to advocate for Afghan women’s rights, this paper argues for the use of Islamic jurisprudence because of its cultural, religious, and political relevance in Afghanistan. Because the Taliban’s oppression is framed in religious terms, any advocacy that fails to engage with Islam risks being dismissed as illegitimate or foreign (Goudarzi, 2025). While universal human rights remain vital, their implementation in deeply religious societies often lacks local legitimacy unless they are grounded in accepted cultural or religious norms (An-Naim, 2008). Progressive Islamic jurisprudence offers an ethical foundation that both affirms women’s rights and resonates with local understandings of justice. Furthermore, it enables a form of resistance that is internal to the Islamic tradition and therefore empowers Afghan women as authoritative interpreters of their own religious and moral roots.     

Ultimately, it is most important that the international community’s role should be to amplify Afghan women’s existing efforts and voices rather than dictating solutions. Afghan women have been organizing, resisting, and advocating for decades from both within and outside of Islamic frameworks. In light of the great amount of action taken by Afghan women, an anonymous women activist encourages protesters and resistance members to continue their push for equality with the following: “To all women remember: the tree that survives the rumble will become the strongest tree in the ground” (quoted in United Nations Afghanistan, 2023). A consequentialist lens further develops this idea. If we evaluate human rights improvement strategies by their outcomes rather than their intentions, it becomes clear that many past approaches by the international community have failed Afghan women. Therefore, the goal must be to utilize strategies that lead to real, measurable improvements in women’s lives. To accomplish this, the international community must engage in approaches that Afghan women themselves deem viable. These approaches will resonate with their communities, protect their safety, and allow for sustainable progress in gender equality. Any ethical and effective international response must take its cues from the women themselves, support their safety and capacity, and create diplomatic spaces that enhances rather than overshadows their work. Mahbouba Seraj, an activist and director of the Afghan Women’s Skills Development Center, specifically calls upon the international community to stand with Afghan women by pleading: “Do not forget the Afghan women, be our voice and raise your voice with your governments. The rest of the struggle is on us and we will continue” (quoted in Amnesty International, 2023). Sustainable and meaningful change will only emerge when Afghan women’s voices are not overshadowed or merely included, but centered as the international community follows their lead in navigating both the moral agency and cultural complexity of the Afghanistan women’s rights crisis.

Conclusion  

Due to the Taliban’s ongoing attack against human rights, the international community must develop an increasingly ethical, sustainable, and culturally resonant approach to supporting Afghan women. Historically, Western liberalism driven interventions and approaches have proven ineffective with several long-term harmful consequences. However, a strategy rooted in progressive Islamic jurisprudence while also attentive to the voices and leadership of Afghan women themselves offers a more legitimate and effective framework for action. By aligning human rights advocacy with local cultural and religious realities, the international community can foster meaningful and sustainable change in Afghanistan’s gender equality norms. The path forward will not be easy, but as Afghan women have shown time and again, hope and resistance persist even in the face of unimaginable oppression. Lasting gender equality progress in Afghanistan will not come through rescuing, but rather through standing in solidarity and amplifying Afghan women’s courage by ensuring that their visions for a just future take center stage.     

References

Abu-Lughod, L. (2015). “Do Muslim Women Need Saving?” Ethnicities, 15(5): 759-777.

Amiri, W. (2023). ​​“Women, Protest and Power- Confronting the Taliban.” Amnesty International. March 7, 2023.https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/campaigns/2023/03/women-protest-and-power-confronting-the-taliban/.

Amnesty International. (2023, March 7). “Reaffirming Our Commitment to the Brave Women of Afghanistan.” Retrieved from https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/campaigns/2023/03/reaffirming-our-commitment-to-the-brave-women-of-afghanistan/.

Bielefeldt, H. (2000). “‘Western’ versus ‘Islamic’ Human Rights Conceptions? A Critique of Cultural Essentialism in the Discussion on Human Rights.” Political Theory, 28(1): 90-121.

Donnelly, J. (2013). Universal Human Rights in Theory and Practice. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

Engle Merry, S. (2006). Human Rights and Gender Violence: Translating International Law into Local Justice. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Goudarzi, M. R. (2025). “Advancing Women Social and Political Rights Through a Reinterpretation of Islamic Law: Ayatollah Jannaati’s View of Female Political Authority in Shiite Islam.” Digest of Middle East Studies.

Haqpana, S., & Tsouroufli, M. (2023). “‘Powerless, Poor and Needy?’: Reproducing Colonial Discourses of Gender and Muslim Women through Educational Interventions by I-NGOs in Afghanistan.” Women’s Studies International Forum, 98.

Hozyainova, A. (2014). “Sharia and Women’s Rights in Afghanistan.” United States Institute of Peace. Retrieved from https://ciaotest.cc.columbia.edu/wps/usip/0031263/f_0031263_25303.pdf.

Human Rights Watch. (2025). “Human Rights Watch World Report 2025: Afghanistan.” Retrieved from https://www.hrw.org/world-report/2025/country-chapters/afghanistan.

Mayer, A. E. (1998). “Islamic Reservations to Human Rights Conventions A Critical Assessment.” RIMO. Recht van de Islam: Human Rights and Islam. https://www.verenigingrimo.nl/wp/wp-content/uploads/recht15_mayer.pdf.

Na’im, A. A. A. (2008). Islam and the Secular State: Negotiating the Future of Shari’a. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Pew Research Center’s Forum on Religion & Public Life. (2011). “The Future of the Global Muslim Population.” Retrieved from https://www.pewresearch.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/20/2011/01/FutureGlobalMuslimPopulation-WebPDF-Feb10.pdf.

Qazi Zada, S., & Qazi Zada, M. Z. (2024). “The Taliban and Women’s Human Rights in Afghanistan: The Way Forward.” The International Journal of Human Rights, 28(10): 1687-1722.

United Nations. (1979). Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women. Retrieved from https://www.ohchr.org/en/instruments-mechanisms/instruments/convention-elimination-all-forms-discrimination-against-women.

United Nations. (1948). Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Retrieved from https://www.un.org/en/about-us/universal-declaration-of-human-rights.

United Nations Afghanistan. (2023). “As Afghan Women and Girls Are Erased from Society, the UN in Afghanistan Stands with Them.” Retrieved from https://afghanistan.un.org/en/222053-afghan-women-and-girls-are-erased-society-un-afghanistan-stands-them.

United Nations Security Council. (2023). S/RES/2681. Retrieved from https://www.securitycouncilreport.org/atf/cf/%7B65BFCF9B-6D27-4E9C-8CD3-CF6E4FF96FF9%7D/N2312149.pdf.

U.S. Department of State. (2001). “Quotes By and About Women in Afghanistan.” Report on the Taliban’s War Against Women. Retrieved from https://2009-2017.state.gov/j/drl/rls/6186.htm.

© Copyright 2026 Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights. All rights reserved. 

Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights is an academic journal that provides space for undergraduate students to explore human rights issues, challenge current actions and frameworks, and engage in problem-solving aimed at tackling some of the world’s most pressing issues. This open-access journal is available online at www.webster.edu/rightingwrongs.

^[1] Hadiths are the sayings, actions, and approvals of Prophet Muhhamad.

^[2] Ulama are religious leaders and official scholars of Islam.

[3] In this paper, the international community refers to multilateral organizations, like the United Nations, regional actors, non-governmental organizations, and states with the diplomatic and material capacity to engage in rights advocacy.

^[4] Although this quote is older and from the former Minister of Education, Syed Ghaisuddin, it still represents current teachings and beliefs.

Ideals Left Behind: Illuminating Gaps in Western-Centric Human Rights Through Indigenous and African Perspectives

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Human rights are meant to be universal, belonging to all people. Yet foundational human rights documents such as the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) often fail to account for the perspectives of marginalized and/or non-Western peoples, including those negatively impacted by colonialism and those whose cultures prioritize collective rights over individual rights. This paper considers two non-Western human rights documents – the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) and the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights (also known as the Banjul Charter) to explore what ideals are left out of traditional, Western-centric human rights norms.

Under international frameworks and binding international law, human rights are meant to be universal and inalienable. Every person – no matter their race, sex, or nationality – has a right to these fundamental protections. However, the recognition of modern human rights has not been an inclusive process because it privileges a predominantly Western worldview. Modern human rights norms emerged in the mid-twentieth century with the creation of the United Nations and the adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) in 1948. Despite waves of decolonization after World War II, the groups most affected by colonialism had little input in the creation of the UDHR and modern rights. While the UDHR certainly still applies to them, Indigenous and African worldviews were generally not part of the conversation.

Instead, the UDHR and ensuing human rights law is heavily influenced by Western, Euro-centric thinking with roots in Enlightenment philosophy. Many Enlightenment thinkers condoned the exploitation of Indigenous and African cultures for the advancement of new knowledge, vis-à-vis Western imperialism and colonialism. Through imperialism and colonialism, the Western world created a hierarchy, putting itself at the forefront of international discourse. With this power, Western discourse influenced many aspects of early international law and international relations. Indigenous and African cultures were not a predominant part of this discourse – in part because they were often presented as less than human, or “savages” who needed civilized Western societies to save them (Mutua, 2001). Relatedly, Western norms center on individual rights rather than collective rights. Individual rights stem from the importance of liberalism to the West; liberalism focuses on individual autonomy and self-interest (Smith, 2006). Collective rights focus on the rights of a group as a collective community, and these rights are important priorities for many Indigenous and African cultures. Notably, modern international human rights center on individual rather than collective/group rights, with the Western world cautious to protect collective rights for fear they could be used to infringe on individual freedoms.

This paper does not seek to argue that certain human rights norms are wrong or bad, but rather to highlight how differences in worldviews are not adequately considered in the formation of modern human rights. Indigenous and African perspectives, which are greatly influenced by the effects of colonialism and respect for collective rights, are not fully represented in the UDHR and ensuing international human rights law. Two alternative frameworks – the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) and the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights (also known as the Banjul Charter[1]) – offer non-Western approaches to human rights that prioritize self-determination and provide protections against colonialism. The UNDRIP and the Banjul Charter are key frameworks to consider if we are to create a truly universal system for recognizing and protecting human rights.

Western Focus of Human Rights

The modern human rights we know of today came about through the creation of the United Nations and the International Bill of Human Rights.[2] Prior to World War II, human rights lacked political support because they conflicted with accepted norms of state sovereignty and the principle of nonintervention between states; a state’s treatment of its citizens was considered “a matter of protected domestic jurisdiction” (Donnelly & Whelan, 2020, p. 4). However, the mass atrocities of World War II – including the genocide of European Jews, as well as the persecution of LGBTQ+ individuals, the Roma, political dissidents, people with disabilities, and a variety of other marginalized groups – called the acceptance of protected domestic jurisdiction into serious question. Six million Jews died during the Holocaust while the international community made little effort to stop the killing, even failing to target the railway lines that brought hundreds of thousands to slaughter at extermination campus (Donnelly & Whelan, 2020, p. 5). After the war ended, the international community was forced to face the outcomes of its inaction; there needed to be a path toward repairing international relations and holding sovereign states accountable.

In 1945, the United Nations (UN) was founded to help deal with the aftermath of World War II and to foster international peace and security. The UN was born out of the United Nations Conference on International Organization in San Francisco, California. The UN Charter was drafted and signed by 51 states, and the UN was officially established on 24 October 1945. The UN was not only a new way of engaging in international diplomacy, but it also introduced human rights norms as part of global governance. The preamble of the UN Charter lists principal objectives of the UN, including “to reaffirm faith in fundamental human rights, in the dignity and worth of the human person, in the equal rights of men and women and of nations large and small” (United Nations, 1945). These statements were groundbreaking and vital for the creation of legal human rights. At the same time, human rights actions following the Holocaust established new precedents; the Nuremberg Trials, which began just after the ratification of the UN Charter in 1945, introduced the charge of “crimes against humanity” and held individuals legally accountable for their actions against citizens (Donnelly & Whelan, 2020, p. 5). In addition to the Nuremberg trials in 1946, the UN created the Commission on Human Rights with its first task to establish an International Bill of Human Rights. Other human right documents have followed – including legally binding human rights law such as the 1989 Convention on the Rights of the Child – but the documents within the International Bill of Human Rights are largely viewed as the basic building blocks for the modern human rights regime.

The Enlightenment Influence

The countries leading the creation of the UDHR and modern human rights norms (such as the United States and the United Kingdom) were deeply influenced by Enlightenment thinkers from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries – including their doctrines related to individual liberty, representative government, the rule of law, and religious freedom. Enlightenment thinkers engaged in early discussions about individual rights and government duties; Jean-Jacques Rousseau and other “social contract” theorists like John Locke and Thomas Hobbes argued that citizens give up their absolute liberty so that a government will protect fundamental rights to life, liberty, and property. In exchange for protection from the government, citizens must adhere to certain rules to create a civilized society (see Brittanica, 2026). Enlightenment ideas were instrumental to the creation of the United States’ Declaration of Independence in 1776, as well as the 1789 French Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen. Later, Enlightenment thinking spurred the creation of new knowledge and ensuing technologies – from the discoveries that fostered the Industrial Revolution to academic advancements within scholarly disciplines.

Yet some scholars contend that the Enlightenment also supported practices of colonial domination and exploitation. Linda Tuhiwai Smith (2006) writes that Enlightenment ideas “provided the spirit, the impetus, the confidence, and the political and economic structures that facilitated the search for new knowledges” (p. 91). For example, the study of science and culture was a vital interest of Enlightenment thinkers, and many “discoveries” involved the study of non-Western cultures in fields such as “orientalism.” These studies frequently created hierarchies of peoples and cultures, ranking groups based on whether they were perceived as having a “soul” and were worthy of salvation. These rankings implied that one could be “nearly-human, almost-human, and sub-human” (Smith, 2006, p. 93). These studies were often used to justify imperialism and dominating lower-ranked peoples. Smith (2006) explains: “Imperialism and colonialism are the specific formations through which the West came to ‘see,’ to ‘name,’ and to ‘know’ [I]ndigenous communities” (p. 93). Colonial powers used scientific “discovery” as justification for distinguishing themselves from Indigenous and African cultures, and then for dominating those communities.

Today, Western conceptions of human rights rely on a black-and-white understanding that does not account for cultural and historical complexities. Makau wa Mutua (2001) explains that “a historical understanding of the struggle for human dignity should locate the impetus of a universal conception of human rights in those societies subjected to European tyranny and imperialism” (p. 205). Mutua (2001) also defines a dangerous concept known as the Savages-Victims-Saviors (SVS) trope, which portrays non-Western societies and governments as savages whose citizens are victims requiring Western salvation. Mutua (2001) explains: “’Savage’ cultures and peoples are seen as lying outside the human rights orbit, and by implication, outside the regime of political democracy. It is this distance from human rights that allows certain cultures to create victims” (p. 205). This trope justifies the Western savior, who may provide unwanted “aid” or occupation; Mutua (2001) believes that the human rights movement seeks above all to spread the political ideology of Western liberal democracy.

Enlightenment thought privileges individual rights, which often do not fit the cultural norms of non-Western societies. Individual rights are woven into modern human rights documents, including first-generation rights (civil and political rights, which protect individuals from governments abusing certain rights – such as the freedom from torture) and second-generation rights (social, economic, and cultural rights that the government must provide, such as rights to health and education) (Tomuschat, 2014). However, there is a third-generation of rights – collective, or group rights – that are largely ignored because they do not align with the first two generations of individual rights (Tomuschat, 2014). In the West especially, states worry that respecting collective rights will come at the expense of individual rights. For instance, if a group were to have internal restrictions that restrict the individual rights of some of its group members – such as a restriction that infringes on an individual’s right to religion or expression. While first- and second-generation rights are protected by the International Bill of Rights, third generation rights are not. An individual’s right to property is protected, for example, but group-owned Indigenous land is often not.

Indeed, some Western-centric thinkers assume that Indigenous peoples do not value autonomy or respect individual liberty – a concept that is central to Western governance. Janet M. Derrick (2021) explains that the concept of self-rationality is central to Indigenous life and “the Self and the family co-exist with strong support for individual autonomy and independence” (Derrick, 285). From this view, autonomy is still a vital aspect of Indigenous culture; it is the concept of liberty and liberalism in Western societies that highlights the importance of the individual and their self-interests and therefore creates a divide. Advocates of collective rights argue that they protect vulnerable groups from marginalization and erasure. Will Kymlicka (2001) explains that “in many cases, group rights supplement and strengthen human rights, by responding to potential injustices that traditional rights doctrine cannot address” (p. 446). By upholding Enlightenment ideas that privilege first- and second-generation rights at the expense of collective third-generation rights, the UDHR and other human rights documents create a hierarchy of rights protection that leaves little space for alternate worldviews.

Indigenous Perspectives of Human Rights

It is important to acknowledge that Indigenous peoples exist around the world, and their worldviews can differ in different places; there is not one official Indigenous worldview that is shared by all Indigenous peoples. In this discussion, I consider Indigenous cultures in North America. These groups have been targeted by governments with attempts to eradicate their culture and exploit their resources. Indigenous worldviews in North America are heavily influenced by histories of forced assimilation, colonization, and discrimination. Government policies in the U.S. and Canada centered on forced assimilation – including the use of residential schools, where Native children were prohibited from speaking their languages, practicing their traditions, and even communicating with their families. These policies and practices assumed that white people were superior to Indigenous people, who were viewed as “uncivilized” and in need to saving/correcting (Bombay et al., 2014). Residential schools taught Indigenous children to be ashamed of their cultures, and many children suffered severe physical and mental abuse; others were reported missing and never found (Bombay et al., 2014).  Following decades of rights abuse, Indigenous people in the Americas seek ways to create a unified platform from which they can promote healing and rights protection (Derrick, 2021).

While there is not a single “Indigenous worldview,” there are common elements in many Indigenous societies that can be compared to Western belief systems. Janet Derrick (2021) explores these variations – often centering on concepts such as beliefs around relationships, Oneness, spirituality, circularity, and balance – and explains that many tensions between cultures stem from a worldview difference. For instance, Derrick (2021) explains that Oneness from an Indigenous perspective is the “values of relationship with the cosmos” (p. 286). Spirituality is a core part of Oneness, and the spirit is in everything – including plants, trees, animals, and rocks; more than simply a respect for nature and the cosmos, many Indigenous cultures have a relationship to all parts of the earth (Derrick, 2021). This is one of the reasons why Indigenous land is so vital for communities; land is often necessary for participating in Indigenous cultural life. The earth and land must be treated with “kindness and gentleness, the same kind that is required in human relationships” (Derrick, 2021, p. 287). When Indigenous cultures have been stripped of their land or moved to other places, they lose spiritual connection to their ancestral lands, and they lose traditions that predate colonial society. Without this connection, they are unable to fully experience their culture.

The UDHR and other human rights documents offer useful rights protections, but it is notable that those protections center on individual rather than collective rights. The right to culture exists in the UDHR. Article 27(1) states that “Everyone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the community, to enjoy the arts and to share in scientific advancement and its benefits” (United Nations, 1948). Indigenous people who are restricted from of their ancestral lands and prohibited from engaging in their traditions do not enjoy their right to freely participate in the cultural life of the community. Furthermore, the historic eradication and removal of Indigenous groups have also been detrimental to the preservation of Indigenous culture. From an Indigenous perspective, however, this is not a matter of individual rights being violated; these are collective rights that threaten the existence of their group identity. The collective or the group is vital to Indigenous culture. Whereas Western culture emphasizes an individual life, community connections and collective living are vital to Indigenous societies – “the well-being of the family, band, or community is central, and members live as mutually collaborative beings” (Derrick, 2021, p. 291). When individuals and their communities are split up by outside forces, the collective suffers.  

United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP)

Efforts to create today’s UNDRIP began in the 1980s, when six Indigenous groups from around the world began working on a combined effort to establish protections for Indigenous peoples. It took over two decades for a Declaration to be introduced and adopted by the UN. This process was slow for several reasons, including the fact that there are different Indigenous worldviews and the international document needed to represent a myriad of Indigenous perspectives (see Aboriginal Ministry of Justice, 2024). Another reason for the slow process was that some states took issue with core components of what would become the UNDRIP, especially the right to self-determination of Indigenous peoples and the control over natural resources existing on Indigenous peoples’ traditional lands (see Aboriginal Ministry of Justice, 2024). The right to self-determination is one of the most crucial parts of the Declaration because it allows Indigenous peoples the self-autonomy to govern as a group. Finally, the UNDRIP was adopted by the UN General Assembly on 13 September 2007 with 143 states voting in favor of the document, 4 states voting against it, and 11 abstentions. The four states that voted against the UNDRIP were Australia, Canada, New Zealand, and the United States – all countries with large Indigenous populations. (These states later changed their stance on the Declaration and supported it.)

The UNDRIP contains 46 articles and, at first glance, follows a similar style to the UDHR. Upon closer examination, however, we see key differences between the two documents. One instance where we see a deviation from the UDHR is with the language that includes both Indigenous individuals and groups. The use of the word “peoples” throughout the document highlights the importance of collective rights, as well as individual rights. Indeed, “collective right” is largely ignored by the UDHR but is a prevalent theme within the UNDRIP. This term appears in Article 7 of the UNDRIP, which outlines Indigenous individuals’ right to life, physical and mental integrity, liberty, and security. Article 7(2) stipulates: “As well as the collective right to live in freedom, peace, and security as distinct peoples. They shall not be subjected to any act of genocide, violence, or forcible removal” (United Nations, 2007).

Self-determination plays a vital role in the UNDRIP, as well. This term refers to an individual or group that possesses the power to make decisions about themselves without the influence or control of an outside party. Self-determination in Indigenous societies allows them control over their governance and cultural traditions without fear of state intervention. Self-determination is first outlined under Article 3 of the UNDRIP (“Indigenous peoples have the right to self-determination”) and continues with Article 4: “Indigenous peoples have the right to self-determination and the right to autonomy/self-governance in their local and international matters” (United Nations, 2007). Self-determination exists at both an individual and group level. Individuals have self-autonomy, which is still a vital part of Indigenous societies because individuals make up a collective body. Derrick (2021) writes, “the Self and the family co-exist with strong support for individual autonomy and independence” (p. 285). In this understanding of group rights and self-autonomy, the group is not oppressing or restricting the individual. Rather, the group is meant to uplift and support individual autonomy. This is an example of how collective rights and individual rights can support each other. From a state perspective, self-determination is a controversial right because it can conflict with state sovereignty and a state’s territorial jurisdiction. Self-determination for Indigenous peoples is important because it allows them to have control over their lands, and in turn practice their traditions and protect their culture. However, for many states, the recognition of Indigenous nations and their right to self-determination challenges the predominant, Western nation-state model that is embraced by the United Nations.

African Perspectives of Human Rights

The enjoyment of human rights in Africa would not exist without freedom from colonization. This simple truth is central for understanding the process of creating the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights, also known as the Banjul Charter. The Banjul Charter both recognizes and accepts the UDHR as an important foundation of human rights. It was not created to work against the UDHR, but rather to work in conjunction with the Declaration to compensate for its shortcomings. When the UDHR was created in 1948, the majority of Africa was still under colonial rule. Many of the state parties that were members of the UN Commission of Human Rights and helped create the UDHR were also colonial powers in Africa. At the time, there was no proper representation from African nations in the creation of the UDHR and no acknowledgement of the colonial domination in the final draft. This lack of representation or acknowledgement inspired African nations to create a document that highlighted the importance of freedom from colonial powers in the human rights space (African Commission on Human and Peoples Rights, n.d.).

The world slowly began decolonization efforts during the twentieth century, especially following World War II. Many African nations began to reclaim independence from colonial powers; Namibia was the last African country to be freed of its colonial power on 21 March 1990. (It can be argued that many island nations continue to feel the direct effects of colonization, but the large-scale colonization of mainland Africa ended in the late twentieth century.) However, independence after colonization is not easy; many of these countries were economically, politically, socially, and culturally depleted by their colonial powers and later suffered consequences such as civil war, economic crisis, apartheid, and genocide. In May 1963, the Organisation of African Unity (OAU) was created to focus on battling decolonization and apartheid on the continent. The OAU was under intense pressure from the beginning to address human rights abuses on the continent, and it decided at a 1979 conference in Liberia to begin drafting an African Charter on human rights. A draft of the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights was presented and unanimously adopted at a 1981 OAU Heads of States and Government meeting in Kenya. The document entered force on 21 October 1986 and has been ratified by 54 of the 55 African Union member states, with Morocco being the exception (African Commission on Human and Peoples Rights, n.d.).

The Banjul Charter

The Banjul Charter consists of a preamble and three parts. The first part outlines the rights and duties that individuals are afforded in 26 different articles. The second part covers the duties individuals must adhere to; these duties are laid out in three different articles and cover individual duties towards family, local and national community, fellow beings, security, independence, taxes, and culture. The third part discusses safeguard measures, which focus on the implementation and organization of the first two parts and the creation of an African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights (African Union, 1981).

Part I of the Banjul Charter follows a similar format to the UDHR with its protections to liberty and security of person, but we begin to see differences with Article 20. Here the concept of self-determination arises – a concept that we also see in the UNDRIP, as discussed above, but which does not play a role in the UDHR. Article 20(1) of the Banjul Charter contends: “All peoples shall have the right to existence. They shall have the unquestionable and inalienable right to self-determination” (African Union, 1981). Article 20(2) states that “colonized or oppressed peoples shall have the right to free themselves from the bonds of domination by resorting to any means recognized by the international community” (African Union, 1981). Article 20(3) outlines how all people have the right to state assistance to help with the liberation struggles. This article is unlike anything we see in the UDHR, as it brings up two important components: (1) Self-determination, which is vital to both Indigenous and African cultures; and (2) the right for oppressed and colonized peoples to free themselves by any means recognized by the international community. The recognition of colonization and the rights of colonized people is an important aspect of human rights that is missing from Western documents. One of the major criticisms of the UDHR is that it failed to recognize colonialism, even though colonialism was prevalent in Africa when the UDHR was created and adopted.

Part II of the Banjul Charter also contains an interesting deviation from what we see in the UDHR and other human rights frameworks: duty to community and culture. Generally, many Western human rights documents outline the protections individuals have in reference to their state duty bearer; these are first- and second-generation rights, as outlined above. However, Part II of the Banjul Charter outlines duties that individuals have in accordance with the Charter. Articles 27, 28, and 29 outline duties that individuals must uphold. Many of the duties revolve around the theme of community, with duties to family, society, common interest, and confederation for fellow beings (African Union, 1981). While Article 27 of the UDHR protects one’s right to participate in the cultural life of a community and Article 29 states that “everyone has duties to the community in which alone the free and full development of his personality is possible” (United Nations, 1948), there is a stark difference between this and the Banjul Charter. The UDHR does not outline specific protections or discuss individual duties in any specific manner; the focus centers on protecting individuals rather than communities, prioritizing one’s ability to achieve “free and full development of his personality” (United Nations, 1948). Whereas the three articles in the Banjul Charter outline duties an individual must do to protect the community and continue to advance its culture. The UDHR’s reliance on individuality, from an African perspective, can be very dangerous to the cultural life and community life that is vital for enjoying fundamental human rights.

Conclusion

The creation of the United Nations and its foundational human rights documents were revolutionary in the post-war era, in part because global recognition of human rights did not have a genuine place in the global order before World War II. After the Holocaust, it became clear that new systems of protection were needed, especially for the world’s most vulnerable. While the UDHR paved the way for binding international human rights law, these norms were missing important components. By asserting “universal” human rights without considering non-Western perspectives, including Indigenous and African worldviews, the modern human rights regime has failed to be truly representational and inclusive.  

The United Nations Declaration of the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) and the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights (Banjul Charter) were created in response to these glaring protection gaps. Not only do these documents highlight what is missing from modern human rights, but they also offer guideposts for better protecting some of the world’s most vulnerable people and cultures. They bring new ideas to the table and contribute to human rights discussion in important ways, stressing the value of self-determination and collective rights. The UNDRIP and Banjul Charter are not meant to cancel or disregard the UDHR and international human rights law, but rather offer ways to widen protection and spur dialogue. Continued attention to non-Western perspectives is vital for advancing human rights and developing a more universal approach to their protection.

References

Aboriginal Ministry of Justice. (2024). The History of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP). Retrieved from https://aboriginalministryofjustice.org/2024/12/the-history-of-the-united-nations-declaration-on-the-rights-of-indigenous-peoples-undrip.

African Commission on Human and Peoples Rights. (n.d.). “History.” Retrieved from https://achpr.au.int/en/about/history.

African Union. (1981). African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights. Retrieved from https://au.int/en/treaties/african-charter-human-and-peoples-rights.

Bombay, A., Matheson, K., & A., Hymie. (2014). “Residential Schools: Implications for the concept of historical trauma.” Transcultural Psychiatry, 51(3): 320-338.

Brittanica. (2026, March 26). Social contract. Retrieved from https://www.britannica.com/topic/social-contract.

Derrick, J. M. (2021). “My World Is Not Your World: Sit and Listen and We Can Learn Together.” Journal of Intercultural Studies, 42(3): 281-299.

Donnelly, J., and Whelan, D. J. (2020). International Human Rights, 6^th Edition. New York: Routledge.

Kymlicka, W. (2001). “Minority Group Rights: The Good, The Bad and the Intolerable.” In P. Hayden (Ed.), The Philosophy of Human Rights (pp. 445-461). Saint Paul, MN: Paragon House Press.

Mutua, M. (1995). “The Banjul Charter and the African Cultural Fingerprint: An Evaluation of the Language.” Virginia Journal of International Law, 35(339): 339-380. Retrieved from https://digitalcommons.law.buffalo.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1578&context=journal_articles.

Mutua, M. (2001). “Savages, Victims, and Saviors: The Metaphor of Human Rights.” Harvard International Law Journal, 42(1):201-245.

Smith, L. T. (2006). “Colonizing Knowledges.” R. Maaka & C. Andersen (Eds.), Indigenous Experience: Global Perspectives. Toronto: Canadian Scholars Press.

Tomuschat, C. (2014). “From ‘Negative’ to Positive Duties: The Different ‘Generations’ of Human Rights.” In C. Tomuschat (Ed.), Human Rights, Between Idealism and Realism, Third Edition (pp. 136-154). Oxford: Oxford University Press.

United Nations. (1945). United Nations Charter. Retrieved from https://www.un.org/en/about-us/un-charter/full-text.

United Nations. (1948). Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Retrieved from https://www.un.org/en/about-us/universal-declaration-of-human-rights.

United Nations. (2007). Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. Retrieved from https://www.un.org/development/desa/indigenouspeoples/wp-content/uploads/sites/19/2018/11/UNDRIP_E_web.pdf.

© Copyright 2026 Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights. All rights reserved. 

Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights is an academic journal that provides space for undergraduate students to explore human rights issues, challenge current actions and frameworks, and engage in problem-solving aimed at tackling some of the world’s most pressing issues. This open-access journal is available online at www.webster.edu/rightingwrongs.

[1] This document is also called the Banjul Charter because the final draft was produced in Banjul, the capital of the Gambia (see Mutua, 1995).

[2] The International Bill of Human Rights consists of the UDHR and two key UN treaties adopted in 1966: the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) and the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR). The UDHR is not legally binding, but the two Covenants represent binding international law and serve to reinforce the norms outlined in the UDHR.

COMMENT – Myanmar and Vietnam: Why Authoritarian Regimes Violate Human Rights

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The political environments in Myanmar and Vietnam stem from a long history of tyranny and violence. This comparative study examines how both countries with different struggles react under an authoritarian regime. This essay analyzes the human rights violations committed by governments to seize and maintain power, including restrictions on religion, speech, expression, and protest. As authoritarian governments seek to create a controlled and orderly environment, this essay argues that violent oppression and human rights abuse are used as a tool for authoritarian survival.

Human rights violations are frequently viewed as acts of tyranny and domination, but they are also used as deliberate strategies tied to political power, ideological control, and economic interests. In Southeast Asia, the authoritarian states of Myanmar and Vietnam have both engaged in human rights abuses that serve their regimes, even despite different political structures. They are both governed by authoritarian regimes, meaning that personal freedom in these countries is very limited. Authoritarian regimes have become more efficient at getting rid of the institutions that are meant to support basic civil liberties (see Repucci & Slipowitz, 2022). This type of government is designed to maintain order and control, but at the expense of freedom and fundamental rights. The military government of Myanmar frequently targets ethnic minorities, especially Rohingya Muslims, to assert dominance and display power. In Vietnam, citizens who oppose the government often have their civil rights infringed upon. The governments of Myanmar and Vietnam deliberately use repression as a tactic to stay in power, subduing groups that threaten their regime and enforcing tyranny to prolong their rule. These authoritarian systems are a foundation for political unrest, and frequently keep power by eliminating resistance through censorship, violence, and imprisonment.

Country Background: Myanmar

Since its independence in 1948, Myanmar has struggled with poverty, military rule, and civil war. Myanmar came under military rule following a 1962 coup, and the junta refused to recognize the results of a 1990 general election in which National League for Democracy (NLD) leader Aung San Suu Kyi won by a landslide (Council on Foreign Relations, 2026). A variety of repressive election laws and prohibitions on citizenship – including a 1982 law that stripped Rohingya of their Burmese citizenship – were hallmarks of military rule, even as they eventually embarked on some power sharing initiatives with the NLD. Most recently, the military regained control of the country when the democratically elected president was ousted in a 2021 coup, leading to increased poverty and a collapsed healthcare system (Council on Foreign Relations, 2026). The military, known as the Tatmadaw, has been pushing back on opposition from civilians and ethnic armed organizations, escalating tension and violence. On 1 February 2021, Myanmar’s military arrested the country’s national and state-level civilian leaders and announced a one-year state of emergency. President Win Myint and Suu Kyi were among the group members gathering to discuss the NLD’s victory in the 2020 election when they were arrested (Council on Foreign Relations, 2022). The military also jailed NLD officials and activists for their opposing views. The declared state of emergency allowed the military to seize control of all three branches of government and push for new elections. The military also cut telecommunications and the internet, cutting the country off from the outside world in direct violation of human rights (Yeung, 2021).

It is notable that Burmese society places great importance on social hierarchy. Buddhist Monks, spiritual elites, men, and highly educated persons are regarded with respect and importance compared to women and non-Buddhist religious groups. Ethnic conflicts within this diverse country have contributed heavily to conflict and struggle; more than two thirds of people in Myanmar are Bamar (ethnic Burmans), who have historically held high social positions in both government and military – creating a divide between the other ethnic minority groups. Minority groups are minimally represented in government and have faced abuses at the hands of the military. However, an increasingly important factor that determines social status is one’s association with power structures (Belak, 2002). People that have built a good rapport with the military are generally respected, “though it remains unclear how much military personnel are genuinely respected and how much of this apparent respect is simply prudence related to fear or benefit. Connections with those in positions of power in the military government are very important in today’s Burma, since they greatly affect one’s real-life opportunities,” writes Brenda Belak (2002). Positive relations with the Tatmadaw are seen as important and extremely beneficial within society.

The Tatmadaw’s recent governance marks the reversal of significant political, economic, and social progress made in Myanmar with the rise of power-sharing. Civil leaders were able to share power with the military under the revised 2008 constitution, which helped secure Suu Kyi’s release from house arrest in 2010. In this constitution, the government was broken up into judicial, executive, and legislative branches with the president elected by the parliament. There also existed a bicameral House of Representatives, with specific seats allotted to the military, and partisan competition was strong. Although political parties have continued to function after the coup, distinguished political leaders have been persecuted by the regime (Freedom House, 2024a). The coup of 2021 also prompted widespread protests and unrest, with large-scale protests demanding the release of detained political leaders and the recognition of the 2020 election results (BTI Project, 2024). The military has responded to nonviolent protest – including methods of civil disobedience, strikes, noise demonstrations, and boycotts – with brutal force, such as indiscriminate killings (BTI Project, 2024). Peaceful protests calling for democracy are quickly crushed by the Tatmadaw, suppressing dissent and maintaining military influence over all aspects of Burmese society.

The Tatmadaw’s human rights abuses have been especially grave in areas populated by ethnic minority groups, with reports of rape, torture, use of child soldiers, and killings (Human Rights Watch, 2022). In a 2017 interview, Abdul Halim, a Rohingya refugee in Bangladesh, spoke about his experiences: “Myanmar authorities brutalized us…They burned down our houses, raped our mothers and sisters, burned our children. We took shelter in Bangladesh to escape that brutality. Now I’ve been living in Kutupalong camp for five years” (quoted in Human Rights Watch, 2022, para 5). Denied Burmese citizenship since 1982 and framed as “illegal immigrants” by the state, Rohingya Muslims have been denied rights to education, healthcare, and religion while being targeted for ethnic cleansing and genocide (Council on Foreign Relations, 2020, para 4). Their lack of recognition as members of society is frequently used to justify their repression, making them susceptible to exploitation, sexual and gender-based violence, and various forms of abuse (Islam, 2019) – rights violations that have prompted their forced migration, with a majority of stateless Rohingya (98%) now living in Bangladesh and Malaysia (United Nations, 2024). The Council on Foreign Relations highlights the pervasive state discrimination against Myanmar’s Rohingya population:

The Myanmar government has effectively institutionalized discrimination against the ethnic group through restrictions on marriage, family planning, employment, education, religious choice, and freedom of movement. For example, Rohingya couples in the northern towns of Maungdaw and Buthidaung are only allowed to have two children. Rohingya must also seek permission to marry, which may require them to bribe authorities and provide photographs of the bride without a headscarf and the groom with a clean-shaven face, practices that conflict with Muslim customs. To move to a new home or travel outside their townships, Rohingya must gain government approval (Albert & Maizland, 2023).

Country Background: Vietnam

Vietnam was colonized by the French and endured a long struggle for liberation and unification. The country was separated into North and South, with the South supported by the United States and the communist North supported by the Soviet Union and China. The Vietnam War (1955-1975) was an armed conflict in Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia that served as a Cold War “proxy war” between capitalist and communist nations, and it eventually ended with the Paris Peace Accords and the withdrawal of American troops (see Pritzker Military Museum & Library, n.d.).

The Communist Party of Vietnam (CPV) has maintained a strong presence in the country’s political system for decades. The top government positions in Vietnam are divided into four pillars to ensure that no single individual has too much power: the General Secretary, President, Prime Minister, and Chairman. However, all the members are part of the CPV, which means the Communist Party has a monopoly on government control. Elections do exist, but only CPV approved candidates are able to run for office. The CPV is committed to silencing any opposition, despite pressures from international forces like the United Nations and the European Union.  In fact, the CPV has instilled systems to make sure that no other political parties are able to operate. According to Freedom House (2024b): “The electoral laws and framework ensure that the CPV, the only legally recognized party, dominates every election. The party controls all electoral bodies and vets all candidates, resulting in the disqualification of those who are genuinely independent.” These elections are predetermined and exclude the public from having any influence over policy, ensuring that all the power is concentrated within the CPV.

The military force of the CPV, known as the People’s Army, enforces the strict regulations propagated by the government. According to researchers with the United States Institute for Peace (2024), the rights-abusive People’s Army has “significant influence” in the political system; while rights like freedom of expression, opinion, and speech are guaranteed in the constitution, they are not implemented in practice. In 2024, the CPV-led government seized and imprisoned over 150 people for exercising their basic civil and political rights (Human Rights Watch, 2024). The police monitor and often violently reprimand those who speak out against the CPV, especially human rights activists. Human Rights Watch (2024) describes government punishments against prisoners Dang Dinh Bach and prominent political prisoner Tran Huynh Duy Thuc, who were intimidated and threatened; Dang Dinh Bach was reportedly hit on the head from behind for trying to tell his family on a phone call how he was being treated in prison.

Vietnam’s presidency is a useful example of how the country uses rights abuse to stifle dissent. The current president is Luong Cuong, but his predecessor was To Lam – now the current secretary general of the Communist Party. Lam was a prominent figure in Vietnamese politics, holding several positions of power that enabled him to implement policies that were cruel and restrictive. Namely, his previous experience as the Minister of Public Security has allowed him to exert his power. Early in his tenure, Vietnam experienced a toxic spill that devastated local fishing communities, and Lam’s response was to implement a major police crackdown to intimidate and silence activists who protested for victims’ rights (Pearson, 2024). Lam also ordered the arrest of activists who promote democracy and human rights, and anyone who has dared to criticize the government.

Censorship in Vietnam is also high, with activists arrested if they protest or speak out. Radio, social media, and blogs that are deemed politically unacceptable are barred from the country. According to the BTI Project (2024), an international think tank that analyzes democratic transitions, Vietnam’s political leadership strives to convince outside countries like the United States that their political regime is legitimate – but they have a “terrible record of human rights violations” that makes their commitment to rights treaties “superficial.” Vietnam’s civil society and social media face increasing restrictions affecting everyone from informal bloggers to registered non-governmental organizations (NGOs) (United States Institute of Peace, 2024).

The CPV has sought national unity under a centralized government, yet it has historically viewed some ethnic and religious groups as threats. Many minority groups fought against the Communist Party and with the United States during the Vietnam War, which resulted in frequent retaliations against those groups even after the war. While 85% of the Vietnamese population is of the Kinh group, there are 53 other ethnic minorities that make up the country (Open Development Vietnam, 2019). After the Vietnam War in 1975, the CPV saw the Montagnards (several ethnic groups native to the Central Highland provinces) as traitorous, which has led to identity persecution and land confiscation (see Human Rights Watch, 2011). Tensions between the two groups increased during the war when the government promoted deforestation, commercial agriculture, and infrastructure projects that displaced the Montagnards under the Land Development Program in 1954. Maintaining cheap labor conditions and urban expansion adds to the government’s economic interests. Profits gained from exploiting the Montagnards fuel the economy and allow the Vietnamese government to continue despite regional and international criticism. The government remains in strict control of the Central Highlands, subjecting the Montagnards to political suppression and religious persecution; the state maintains that Montagnards who belong to unregistered house churches outside the control of the official Southern Evangelical Church of Vietnam are “Dega Protestants,” an alleged cover for an independence movement (see Provera, 2011). In Vietnam, people may only join those religious groups sanctioned by the government – forcing hundreds of Montagnard Catholics and Protestants to renounce their religion in public criticism sessions. Those who resist and insist on their right to independent worship face beatings, arrest and imprisonment (Provera, 2011).

Human Rights Abuse as a Political Tool

Human rights violations are ongoing problems in both Myanmar and Vietnam, combined with decades of political and social turmoil. The ethnic cleansing of Rohingya Muslims in Myanmar and the suppression of basic rights in Vietnam are a direct result of the actions of the government, which is willing to violate human rights as a tool for governance. In these fragile political environments, repression is used to maintain power and assert dominance. These human rights violations typically arise from the need to suppress political opposition to ensure authoritarian survival, economic growth, and political supremacy.

The authoritarianism in Myanmar and Vietnam differ on some levels, but they are both extremely effective at suppressing dissent. Vietnam’s government is structured by a one-party communist system while Myanmar falls under a military rule, for instance, yet both are governed by authoritarian regimes. Myanmar is dominated by the Tatmadaw military group, which rules without a structured political party; in Vietnam, power is centralized and only members of the CPV can be a part of the government. The main difference between these two forms of authoritarian government is that Vietnam’s one-party system allows for more internal stability, while Myanmar’s military rule often leads to sudden coups and disruptions in power (Thang, 2023). Elections are completely prohibited in Myanmar, as opposed to Vietnam where elections take place – even though CPV candidates are only able to run. Restrictions on freedom of speech, expression, religion, and opinion are under heavy surveillance and are monitored to maintain state control. Vietnam and Myanmar use their repressive regimes to consolidate power and eliminate any opposition.

While both countries govern through human rights abuses, Vietnam centers its actions on censorship and surveillance while Myanmar has engaged in “mass atrocity” crimes. Vietnamese journalists and photographers have been jailed and prosecuted for spreading information that may allow the government to be perceived in a negative light, and laws limiting free speech support these crackdowns. In these circumstances, it is unsurprising that many people engage in self-censorship out of fear of state punishment, thereby squashing protests before they start. In Vietnam, for example, the CPV is notorious for limiting online content to silence any expressions of social unrest, political dissent, human rights advocacy, or criticism of government decisions (Freedom House, 2021). Authoritarian regimes create a foundation of political unrest through their inherent governing nature, as expressed with surveillance and censorship. Meanwhile in Myanmar, the government’s actions in ethnic conflict – especially related to their engagement with Rohingya Muslims – has been internationally condemned by the United Nations and the International Criminal Court (ICC), among others. The ICC requested an arrest warrant in November 2024 for Myanmar’s Senior General Min Aung Hlaing for crimes against humanity related to the deportation and persecution of the Rohingya between August and December 2017 (Amnesty International, 2025). During that time, the government used extreme violence, including mass killing, rape, and the restriction of basic freedoms; more than 2.8 million civilians were displaced (United Nations, 2024) and many experts contend that this violence constitutes ethnic cleansing and genocide.

The ethnic and religious conflicts in Myanmar and Vietnam are direct results of historical and political factors in both countries. While both states have minority groups that have come into conflict with the government, their responses differ. Myanmar’s military views ethnic groups as a threat to its control and acts violently to suppress any opposition. While the Rohingya do not pose a direct threat to the Tatmadaw, the military perceives any ethnic minority as detrimental to the cultural framework of Myanmar. The military has targeted religious and ethnic minorities to eradicate differing views and prevent separatist movements. Through the displacement of millions of people and the use of severe direct violence, the government aims to exert power and stay in control. Vietnam also aims to minimize opposing views and separatist movements, which provokes tensions with groups such as the Montagnard religious minority. These conflicts help the governing bodies of Myanmar and Vietnam consolidate power and maintain the dominance of the ruling ethnic majority, despite widespread international criticism.

The Tatmadaw in Myanmar and the CPV in Vietnam have received immense criticism from the international community. Vietnam’s Communist Party is criticized for its authoritarian governance and suppression of dissent, focusing specifically on labor unions, freedom of expression, and political repression. Vietnam has been pressured by the EU and UN to repeal the laws that infringe on civil freedoms and labor union organizing (see The Vietnamese Magazine, 2025). There has been limited action taken on an international scale to directly intervene due to larger economic interests, however. Myanmar’s genocide against the Rohingya has been widely condemned by international organizations (United Nations, 2024). In 2019, the International Court of Justice opened a genocide case brought forward by Gambia (see Independent Investigative Mechanism for Myanmar, n.d.). Various countries followed suit and filed declarations of intervention to the International Court of Justice, where oral hearings for the case started in 2025 (United Nations, 2024), and global corporations have withdrawn from Myanmar in protest (Amnesty International, 2023). Unfortunately, superpowers such as China, Russia, and India have expressed support for the Tatmadaw, continuing business for economic and geographic benefit (Al Jazeera, 2022).

Conclusion

The human rights violations of Vietnam and Myanmar are a collective result of the authoritarian forces that control each country. Through decades of ethnic oppression, censorship, and limited freedoms, the governments can maintain power. Vietnam and Myanmar have exploited ethnic and religious divides to prevent unified opposition and collective uprising. By putting one group above another, loyalty is built among certain populations while suppressing dissent. The Buddhist majority in Myanmar and the Kinh majority in Vietnam are supported by the regimes, “othering” minority groups and promoting superiority. Media censorship is another way to control the population and eliminate any disagreements. The spread of opposing or critical views is stopped, while media that paints the government in a positive light is pushed (Freedom House, 2022). International media is also blocked in some situations, which prevents citizens from accessing alternative viewpoints. Limited freedoms in Myanmar and Vietnam include restricted freedom of speech, religion, and movement amongst several more. Widespread surveillance and extreme punishment foster a fearful environment, discouraging people from speaking out. By creating division, controlling knowledge, and restricting civil liberties, authoritarian regimes make it difficult for organized resistance to be successful. This allows the government to suppress opposition and maintain a facade of power and stability. 

References

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“Saving Muslim Women”: How Language Justifies Intervention through USAID Family Planning Programs in Pakistan Between 1965-1979 and 2001-2018

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While the “saving Muslim women” rhetoric employed in the so-called U.S. “War on Terror” has been widely studied, the origin of this narrative is less understood. This article argues that this rhetoric partly stems from the purported agendas of the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) in its early decades – especially those related to family planning and population control, which were reinvigorated as part of humanitarian interventions post-9/11. Using critical discourse analysis of 20 primary source publications by USAID, this research focuses on programming in Pakistan during two historical eras: 1965-1979 and 2001-2018. This analysis reveals how the “saving Muslim women” narrative justified foreign aid intervention through family planning for more than 50 years. 

“It is problematic to construct the Muslim woman as someone in need of saving. When you save someone, you imply that you are saving her from something. You are also saving her to something.”

– Lila Abu-Lughod (2013, p. 46)

Humanitarian intervention programs sponsored by Western countries such as the United Stats have long been criticized for employing the “saving Muslim women” trope – that is, framing all Muslim women as inherently oppressed, as opposed to the liberated Western (non-Muslim) woman. This rhetoric allows non-Muslim/Western voices to speak for Muslim women, whose lived experiences and opinions are often ignored or under-valued. These projects centered on “saving” other women “depend on and reinforce a sense of superiority, and are a form of arrogance that deserves to be challenged” (Abu-Lughod, 2013, p. 47). While the post-9/11 “War on Terror” is often cited as the moment “saving Muslim women” became central to U.S. foreign policy, the legitimization of intervention as a means of “saving” has deep roots. The U.S. has consistently tried to “save” foreign nations for decades, and the centrality of women to this agenda is nothing new. To what extent has this “saving women” frame contributed to the U.S. neo-imperial agenda since World War II and how has it evolved? In this paper, I will argue that programs pertaining to “population control” and “family planning” in the 1960-70s also exemplify the discursive logic of the “saving Muslim women” rhetoric. For non-U.S. women, these programs were not just about health or empowerment, but a means of exerting political and social control with their reproductive bodies as the battleground. Constructed narratives of need and overpopulation positioned non-U.S. women as requiring the salvation of the West, often through relationships with the Western woman. These narratives targeted Muslim-majority countries, which were also seen as “less developed.”

The agency that employed this Western salvation and development rhetoric more than any other was the United States Agency of International Development (USAID). The U.S. State Department began formally managing foreign assistance programs in 1955 with the establishment of the International Cooperation Administration. This predecessor to USAID was dissolved in 1961 by the Foreign Assistance Act, which established USAID. Where, how, and to whom economic and developmental assistance was given reflects U.S. foreign relations and agendas. The Food for Peace Act of 1966 was the first official declaration of a U.S. “War on Hunger” by President Lyndon B. Johnson (1966), for instance. Emerging from a period of decolonization, “developed” countries feared there would not be enough food, and the burden would fall on their nations to support the “less developed” countries’ hungry populations – furthering the divide between “the West” and the “rest” (Hall, 2018, p. 209). Also during this time, the U.S. and the Soviet Union fought to establish alliances during the Cold War and to retain some of the social control lost by decolonization, fueled with increases in foreign aid and military support (Council on Foreign Relations, 2023). While some programs sought to expand the world’s food supply and enhance the country’s soft power, other programs sought to minimize global populations and therefore lessen the projected burden of care. To this end, the U.S. Population Council was established in 1952 and the Family Planning Association of Pakistan in 1953 – both of which partnered closely with USAID since its founding.

Pakistan has been a consistent recipient of U.S. foreign assistance since the creation of USAID in 1961 until its dissolution in January 2025. Pakistan gained independence from the United Kingdom in 1947 through the Indian Independence Act, which created India and Pakistan as separate, independent nation-states (see UK Parliament, 1947). The Act separated the land into dominions based on religion, resulting in a mass forced migration of Muslim, Hindi, and Sikh peoples. Since its independence in 1947, Pakistan has relied on U.S. military and economic assistance and the U.S. has relied on Pakistan’s geographic location for its counterterrorism efforts, but the diplomatic relationship lacks trust or transparency. India and Pakistan have gone to war in 1947, 1965, 1971, and 1999. Each time, the U.S.’s response as an alleged ally has been viewed as less than adequate by Pakistan, fostering a relationship of abandonment and distrust. As Daniel Markey (2013) notes, “the U.S. has been the fickler partner, its approach to Pakistan shifting dramatically across the decades. Pakistan, however, has been guilty of greater misrepresentation, claiming support for American purposes while turning U.S. partnership to other ends. Consequently, both sides failed repeatedly to build a relationship to serve beyond the immediate needs of the day.” The American perception of Pakistan changes under each administration, swinging like a pendulum between “extremes of ungrounded exuberance and overstated fear” (Markey, 2013). While the reason for U.S. involvement has changed over time, it remains that Pakistan has been a site of U.S. development for decades.

USAID programming in Pakistan offers a revealing case study for examining how the “saving Muslim women” rhetoric has operated and evolved – as a means of controlling women, but also as a link between development assistance and U.S. strategic interests. With some of the highest birth and poverty rates in the 1960s, Pakistan was a target for policymakers concerned with overpopulation. In the early 2000s, Pakistan was an important actor in the U.S. “War on Terror” as a Muslim-majority country and neighbor to Afghanistan. The financial assistance Pakistan received through USAID during these two eras – the Cold War (1965-1979) and the War on Terror (2001-2018) – shows how Muslim women’s bodies became the rationalization for intervention framed as humanitarian necessity. Their experience demonstrates that the language of empowerment, health, and education that justified invasive family planning programs functioned as a tool of control and established rhetorical patterns that would emerge into the explicit “saving Muslim women” discourse decades later.

Theoretical Framework

This historical comparative analysis examines USAID publications from two specific eras: 1965-1979 and 2001-2018. I employ critical discourse analysis to systematically analyze how language frames Pakistani Muslim women as subjects in need of saving and how humanitarian aid acts as a form of social control. This methodological approach reveals both how language functions and its effectiveness as a method of control and power. Critical discourse analysis offers a methodological approach for identifying how language, explicit and implicit, creates both the problem and solution. I can illuminate how the “saving Muslim women” discourse is applicable to both eras, not just during the “War on Terror” as previous scholars have noted. By asking the same questions of each source and looking for the same language or functionality, I explore continuities and changes in control mechanisms across the two eras.

My first question asks what problems USAID identified and constructed related to the issue of “population control,” and what solutions they proposed to solve this issue. Under the auspices of USAID, the problem was often framed as a lack of development, and the solution was modernization. Michael Latham’s (2011) work on “modernization” as a Cold-War ideology prompts this question and provides the necessary framework for understanding underlying geopolitical agendas that prompted family planning agendas. My second question asks about the positionality of the women as they are framed in USAID publications. Often the subject of population control, women represent and experience different “problems”; how they are described, or fail to be mentioned, reveals their assumed role in family planning advancement. Lila Abu-Lughod’s (2013) theory of “gendered orientalism” frames this question, as she speaks to the positionality of Muslim women and how control has operated in practice. Exploring these questions help reveal how the language used by USAID in their family planning programs positioned Muslim women in a way that legitimized intervention, before and during the U.S. “War on Terror.”

Modernization theory begins to explain the guiding beliefs behind USAID and its manifestations in social welfare programs, which recast older imperialistic ideologies into purportedly value-neutral, secular, scientific vernacular. The sociological theory first emerged during the Cold War as theorists sought ways to hinder the Soviet spread of communism in “developing” countries and to control newly independent states. In U.S. Cold War strategy, modernization became central to planning by determining how Americans would fight in a dangerous struggle – including making identity inseparable from how they defined security and strategy (Latham, 2011). As modernization expanded out of sociology and into political science, it brought with it a way to understand society as a series of patterns, an integrated system. It identified linear steps in societal and state development based on historical patterns used to order societies in accordance with their modernity. If the pattern could be identified, then a state’s progression of development could be impacted by more modern countries such as the United States. Thus, modernization theory not only justified overseas intervention, but required and supported it. If contact with modern societies was the only way to make traditional societies achieve “progress,” then the U.S. saw it as an obligation to turn other states toward democracy and away from communism. With its high birth rates and poverty in the 1960s, Pakistan fit perfectly into this framework as a “tradition-bound” society requiring Western rationalization, specifically through family planning programs designed to modernize reproductive practices. Community development programs relied on the personal relationships between American volunteers and aid recipients, which were implemented “not through large scale infrastructure projects but through interventions in the private domain of the family – in the lives of parents and children” (Fieldston, 2015, p. 144).

Since the 1960s, an area of intense concern for development agencies has been the growing global population and the need for it to be controlled. If over population and under development go hand in hand, then the birth rates of developing countries need to be decreased. Modernization justified this as a natural step of progress, spurred by widespread fears of starvation and anarchy that drove the creation of population control programs (Bureau for Technical Assistance, 1969, p. 104). Matthew Connelly (2008) criticizes the imperial roots of these programs and argues: “The great tragedy of population control, the fatal misconception, was to think that one could know other people’s interests better than they knew it themselves” (p. 378). This was the overarching logic of modernization: it is the duty of the most modern people to help those who cannot reach modernity. However, this logic was flawed because it assumed that everyone wanted to be “modern,” that those that did not want to be modern did not know better, and there was an obligation to correct the “backwards” ways of the “underdeveloped.” The modern woman had a manageable number of children and used contraceptives, while the traditional woman had too many children because she was uneducated about contraceptives and birth spacing (Connelly, 2008, p. 138). It was quickly decided: “Only massive birth control operating effectively throughout the world, can possibly restore the balance and save what is a deteriorating situation” (Bureau for Technical Assistance, 1969, p. 105).

Women were now positioned as the problem in overpopulated (underdeveloped) countries and their acceptance of birth control was the solution. To solve overpopulation, the country had to be developed – and no agency other than USAID was prepared to take on this task. Ultimately, the core issue was framed as a matter of “family planning.” This is a means of population control which advocated for birth spacing and contraceptive use, and it encourages women to believe “they were better off with fewer children” (Merrill, 2002). These programs often use empowerment language or position the issue alongside health, seemingly in line with feminist goals, but: “Was contraception a part of comprehensive healthcare or was healthcare a vehicle for population control?” (Connelly, 2008, p. 200).

Decolonial feminist theory reveals how a Western feminist rhetoric can serve as a means of control when applied to Muslim women. It requires an understanding of gendered orientalism and Western feminist complicity in imperial projects. “There is a long tradition of representing Muslim women in the West: Gendered Orientalism. Pictorial as well as literary, what is constant is that Muslim women are portrayed as culturally distinct, the mirror opposites of Western women,” writes Abu-Lughod (2013, p. 88). This representation has shaped U.S. foreign policy for decades, and U.S. opinion for centuries. Orientalism at its core is belief in Western superiority, and non-Western (Oriental) inferiority (Said, 1978, p. 42). This Western-constructed dichotomy justified colonization and developmental assistance in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries by creating a need for saving that only they provide. Gender orientalism takes this further, analyzing the unique experience of “Eastern” womenand how they are depicted by the “West.” They are constructed as oppressed not just by their culture, but also by the men around them. Building on Edward Said’s (1985) analysis of how the West constructed the “Orient” as culturally inferior to justify colonial domination, Abu-Lughod (2013) demonstrates how this Orientalist logic operates with particular force when applied to Muslim women.

Research Methods

For this project, I identified two specific eras using historical markers within nearly 80 years of relations between the United States and the independent state of Pakistan. Era I begins in 1965, with the creation of the Office of Population within USAID, under the direction of Reimert (Ray) Ravenholt. Ravenholt remained a key actor in family planning programs until he left the agency in 1979. His “contraceptive inundation” approach had lasting effects on hundreds of thousands of women in Pakistan and surrounding countries. This approach meant flooding the nations with birth control and condoms, through as many outlets as possible, to as many people as possible. From 1965 to 1979, population planning programs were implemented in dozens of countries in the “developing world” with the goal of lowering birth rates. Ravenholt’s departure from USAID signified the decline of the agency’s aggressive population control campaign (Gillespie, 2000). In the same year, the administration of U.S. President Jimmy Carter suspended all aid upon confirmation of Pakistan’s nuclear enrichment program, (This suspension of aid was in accordance with the 1976 amendment to the Arms Export Control Act, which barred the U.S. from providing economic and military assistance to any state involved in “nuclear-enrichment activities; Cookman & French, 2011). Era I ends in 1979.

Era II begins in 2001, with the declaration of a “War on Terror” by the U.S. President George W. Bush after the 9/11 terrorist attacks. Counterterrorism efforts were aimed at destroying al-Qaeda and driving the Taliban from power in Afghanistan, but affected many facets of U.S. foreign policy in neighboring countries – including Pakistan. Assets of known or suspected terrorists and terrorist organizations were closed, and the Foreign Terrorist Tracking Task Force was created to prevent terrorists from entering U.S. territory (Bush, G. W., 2001). Military operations increased on the ground, and so did humanitarian aid; the new “war” justified military, political, and social intervention overseas. U.S. First Lady Laura Bush was especially concerned about the experiences of women under the Taliban and placed them at the center of the war effort, stating: “The fight against terrorism is also a fight for the rights and dignity of women” (Bush, L., 2001). Here, Afghan women were positioned as needing to be saved from a harmful regime. This further justified military and social intervention in Afghanistan. In the U.S. National Security Strategy, development was placed alongside defense and diplomacy as key pillars, which called for new responsibilities for USAID. The agency already operated and had connections in many states considered “at risk” for terrorism (Baltazar, 2007, p. 39). Enhancing development programs meant enhancing national security, and the existing relationships that USAID had in these “at risk” countries provided a way in. Aid to Pakistan – a neighbor to Afghanistan and also a Muslim majority state – also spiked immediately following the attacks, after receiving no aid the previous decade (Center for Global Development, 2013). This meant more workers on the ground and a resurgence of funding for new and existing programs. In line with Laura Bush’s concerns about saving Muslim women, programs supporting child and maternal health (including family planning) were given special attention (Bhutta, 2004). Era II ends in 2018, with the cancellation of all military aid by the Donald J. Trump Administration, due to the Pakistani government’s “failure to take action against terrorists” (Sullivan, 2018).

These two, roughly 15-year periods, allow for a critical historical comparison between distinct administrative goals that influenced the allocation of USAID efforts. What problems did these goals address? How did women fit into the solution, or the problem?  To answer my questions, I began researching publications written by USAID employees or financially sponsored by USAID.[1] My goal was to uncover the specific language used by the agency about women’s development and how it evolved over the 64 years of its existence. The recent dissolution of USAID and the subsequent decommission of the Developmental Experience Clearinghouse, an online repository of USAID documents, was the most challenging obstacle in my research for both eras. I relied heavily on the DECFinder database, created by the Institute for Development Impact (I4DI) as a “practical effort to preserve development knowledge and keep it in the hands of the people who need it” (Kacapor, 2025). Containing just over 110,000 of the original 220,000 documents published by USAID since 1961, the collaborative effort of I4DI and the scholarly community to rebuild an inaccessible archive provided me with valuable primary sources in my research. I began by narrowing my search filter to Pakistan, which included 2,935 documents. Filtering one year at a time, I reviewed the documents published from 1960-1980, and 2001-2019, and downloaded those with relevant subject matter. I expanded my search range past my defined eras to include summary reports of projects implemented in years prior. Relevant topics included: women, mothers, family planning, population control, contraceptives, child health, and development. This search returned over 25 relevant publications, which I reviewed and added to my literature collections for both eras. My analysis in this paper focuses on three within Era I (1965-1979) and nine within Era II (2001-2018). These documents employ the best examples of language and provide the best grounds for critical discourse analysis.

Additionally, I conducted archival research at the University of Missouri’s Ellis Library in the Federal Government Document collection. Filtering by the author, “USAID” or “United States. Agency for International Development,” I located a range of publications that included printed pamphlets, reports, and microfiche reports from 1955-1999 and digitized those with relevant subject matter. Again, relevant topics included: women, mothers, family planning, population control, contraceptives, child health, and development. I reviewed several hundred documents in the collection and closely analyzed 18. My analysis in this paper highlights seven of these which best exemplify the specific language pertaining to women that I wanted to investigate. These were placed into ‘Era I,’ which I define as 1965-1979.

Era I: USAID from 1965-1979

Era I begins in the first year of operations for the Population Council, a new division in USAID – an agency which, in 1965, was only in its fourth year. A year prior to the U.S. declaring a “War on Hunger,” concern was growing as the global population reached 3 billion people (Himelfarb, n.d.). Pakistan requested foreign assistance from USAID in 1964, amid struggling with their own family planning programs that began in 1953 (Office of Technical Cooperation and Research Health Service, 1967). Living in a developing country with a high birthrate and low literacy levels, Pakistani women were a target for population control. If the “problem” was too many births, then the target population was the birth givers, and the solution was lower birth rates.

Despite being the target population and the assumed focus of discussion, women are most often defined by their relationships to others in these selected documents. By shifting much of the focus to child health or wellbeing, women are positioned as mothers, and only as mothers. It assumes a failure on the part of the mother; that she cannot provide adequate levels of care for her child, especially when she has so many children. As noted in an American field motivator guide, “often babies die because their mothers were not looking after them well – carelessness and nonchalance” (quoted in Fieldston, 2015, p. 158). This ties infant mortality – an issue almost as prevalent as (yet also intertwined with) family planning – to the failure of the mother. High infant mortality rates were regarded as an “economic waste of manpower” that every country had an obligation to prevent (Extension Service of the Department of Agriculture, 1973, p. 12). Oftentimes, infant deaths were caused by lack of access to healthcare and medical resources for rural women. Family planning programs sought to increase access to healthcare, but prioritized access to contraceptives or sterilization over prenatal and postpartum care. If child rearing methods were considered inadequate, what then constituted a good mother? A 1973 field guide states: “A tired mother cannot make good milk. She also needs to be clean and happy. When she worries, she cannot make enough milk” (Extension Service of the Department of Agriculture, 1973, p. 22). If the mother was unable to keep herself clean and happy, USAID planned to educate her on proper nutrition, hygiene, and child-rearing and teach her how to make “living more satisfying” (Extension Service of the Department of Agriculture, 1973, p. 1). From the perspective of USAID, mothers represented two problems – infant mortality and overpopulation – because they “needed” to be properly educated in homemaking and convinced of the benefits of family planning methods. This implies a need for women to be saved from themselves, for the sake of their children and their happiness.

The burden of convincing and educating was dually placed on women through their roles as field motivators, U.S. home economic workers, and lady health visitors. Pakistani women were, reasonably so, hesitant to agree with family planning messages. A volunteer from the U.S. would arrive in Pakistan and make herself known in the community, getting to know the other women. Building upon her personal relationships, she would be tasked with persuading the women of the “benefits” of family planning. A USAID field report noted: “The field motivator should be the most mature and respected woman in the community. Thus, her dedication to the health care of the women in her community will give the necessary credibility to the program” (Balin & Tyrer, 1977, p. 11). The burden of persuasion creates pressure for the female field worker, who is expected to perform the emotional labor and use her relationships to convince others. She is told to convince herself that any situation can be improved and that any family will want to live more satisfying lives, given the proper incentives (Extension Service of the Department of Agriculture, 1973, p. 143). Her responsibilities included teaching women how to “make every motion count” by showing her what muscles to use when lifting children, preparing food, and making smooth motions with her hands. “Some women find pleasure in working in their houses and fields. Others find it drudgery. Sometimes drudgery comes from wasted time and energy. When a homemaker must care for her house, mind the child, prepare the food for her family and work in the fields, she must make every motion count” (Extension Service of the Department of Agriculture, 1973, p. 60). This reveals an attempt to control not just a woman’s reproductive system, but her body as a whole – down to the movement of her hands. Women are explicitly referred to as “acceptors” or “acceptors of control” across publications, signifying how control, sometimes birth control, was something they denied (see Bureau for Technical Assistance, 1969; Bureau for Population and Humanitarian Assistance, 1972; Fornos, 1976; Hamburg, 1977).  

In a report on the population program in Pakistan in 1969, its remarkable progress is attributed to “incentive payments for village organizers and acceptors of control devices” (Bureau for Technical Assistance, 1969, p. 104). Village organizers, like American fieldworkers, were members of the community targeted for being influential and incentivized to persuade the women in her community. The field worker is given several warnings about her behavior: “She must avoid making any promises that cannot be kept or creating desires that cannot be fulfilled” (Extension Service of the Department of Agriculture, 1973, p. 8). (This report also emphasizes the delicacy of the on-site relationship between the American home economist and her local co-workers.). Those inside USAID knew they could not convince local women themselves, and the success of population control through lower birth rates relied on mutual trust between women.

In the early 1970s, population planning programs began targeting women where they were believed to be most easily persuaded: postpartum programming. The postpartum program was based on “the fact that in the period immediately following delivery or abortion, many women are highly motivated for fertility control and are more than usually responsive to family planning education,” (Bureau for Population and Humanitarian Assistance, 1972, p. 12). This “fact” cites no real evidence, and rests upon persuading women while they are emotionally extremely vulnerable. This logic positions women as subjects to be persuaded with their vulnerability an advantage, rather than being autonomous, educated agents making informed decisions about their bodies. They are passive recipients of contraceptives, who were not given the opportunity for decision, only acceptance. The assumed need for saving is implicitly increased as the woman is positioned as more vulnerable.

Despite being the most important stakeholder for program success, women are rarely the central focus of internal summary reports. While boasting of 2.2 million IUD insertions and 630,000 sterilizations in Pakistan, the only explicit mention of “women” in a 1969 report was the manner in which they were getting in the way: “Handicap to achieving birth rate reduction continues to be the shortage of women doctors to insert IUDs” because Muslim women traditionally are reluctant to be examined by male physicians (Bureau for Technical Assistance, 1969, p. 104). For USAID, this problem meant requiring more women actors and more funding to medical training programs. Little regard was given to the specific religious concerns of these women: “Fears based on religious beliefs arose from a staunch belief in predestination and in God’s wrath for those who attempted to interfere with His plans…In this way, all side effects, diseases, cases of insanity, deaths, or the birth of twins or triplets were seen as punishment from God and a warning for the people to refrain from entering into such confrontations with Him” (Fornos, 1976, p. 5).

By the mid-1970s, 74% of Pakistani women interviewed expressed “irrational” fears surrounding modern methods of birth control (Fornos, 1976, p. 5). Researchers noted: “Fear expressed ranged from ‘all women die or, at best, become invalid for life and susceptible to many diseases’ to ‘why should we pay to become ill?’ to ‘vasectomy means impotency, an attack on masculinity’” (Fornos, 1976, p. 5). Factors attributed to aversion of family planning included religion, irrational fears, illiteracy, economic consideration, and exaggeration of unfortunate experiences, reinforced by an inadequate service system (Fornos, 1976). The problem for USAID was that women were not being convinced fast enough. Why hadn’t they accepted birth control? If their fears were irrational, then it must be the fault of the field motivating force, who “lack the motivation to do their jobs” (Fornos, 1976, p. 3). Either way, motivators and acceptors were preventing the population control efforts of USAID. By framing women’s health concerns and religious beliefs as obstacles rather than a legitimate reason for caution, more funding and new programs were justified.

For some women, reluctance went beyond expressing fear. They recognized how fundamentally harmful family planning programs were to their communities and ways of life. One Pakistani woman described the efforts as a “murderous venture aimed at eradicating women and children” (quoted in Fornos, 1976, p. 6). This voice is absent from official reports but exists in the summary advice report, which was written in agreement with USAID but published by the American Public Health Association. Women who articulated their reluctance serve as recognition of harm being done. The gap between their own framing of their experience and how they were represented by USAID reveals whose knowledge played the larger part in shaping family planning programs, and who believed they were doing the “saving.”

The response to this resistance was to essentially intensify the programs through means of increased marketing, outreach to rural villages, and a stronger push towards contraceptive inundation. Ravenholt, head of the Office of Population, had what has since been described as a unique ability to work about the answer “no”. When women said no to contraception and family planning programs, they were targeted during postpartum vulnerability. When governments did not want to implement programs, he convinced NGOs to implement the activities themselves. When physician-dominated health programs did not make family planning easily available, Ravenholt ensured that community-based and social marketing programs would be (Gillespie, 2000). He worked to systematically circumvent resistance and eliminate obstacles, even when the obstacles remained the target population. The solution to resistance was to find an alternative to achieving the goal – population control – but not to question whether the programs should proceed. Consent was positioned as optional from women, governments, and medical professionals when it conflicted with program goals, and acceptance was inevitable.

This is further revealed through the case of the Dalkon Shield, an intrauterine device created by A.H. Robins and introduced in the U.S. in 1966. Arguably one of the most harmful contraceptives ever used on women, more than 160,000 American women filed personal injury claims after experiencing septic abortions and infections that resulted in sterility. Eighteen users had died by January 1971 and production had stopped by 1974. This left Robins bankrupt and with hundreds of thousands of unused Dalkon Shields. Before being pulled from the market in 1975, but after concerns began appearing in press and medical journals in 1973, Robins contacted Ravenholt. He marketed the device as a fine product that could be used throughout family planning programs and a 48% pricing discount if he accepted certain conditions. Already a known dangerous device, “each of the concessions demanded by Robins put women in the developing world at greater risk of infection, but Dr. Ravenholt inked the deal anyway” (Mosher, 2013, p. 27-28). If so many women had developed infections in the advanced medical facilities of the U.S., how much more harm would it cause for women in countries with grossly inadequate health care? In 1973, “hundreds of shoebox-sized cartons, each filled with one thousand unsterilized Dalkon Shields, one hundred applicators, and a single set of instructions” were shipped to over 40 countries, including Pakistan, totaling over 700,000 Shields to the developing world (Mosher, 2013, p. 28). We may never know how many women were implanted with these devices or how much harm was caused from poor medical treatment. The risks of inserting a Dalkon Shield, whether resulting in maternal or child death or permanent sterility, met the same goal of lower fertility rates. If fewer children were born, the population would be controlled. It did not matter if the means was safe, it mattered that it was effective in reducing a woman’s capacity to reproduce. Fear of population programs being a “murderous venture aimed at eradicating women and children” was hardly irrational, it was real. 

Across Era I, women are commonly positioned as inadequate mothers, needing to be saved through education so they might accept “modern” contraceptives and family planning goals. To assist in this persuasion, the second positionality of women was their roles as field motivators, lady health workers, and village organizers in their own communities. The success of family planning programs relied on the personal relationships and mutual trust created between women. However, when Pakistani women expressed their reluctance, they were positioned as just another obstacle in lowering birth rates. The very harms that Pakistani women warned against materialized through devices like the Dalkon Shield. The side effects women feared – like infection, death, and complications – were not irrational fears or religious superstitions, but predictable results of unsafe medical technology. Summary reports assumed resistance was caused by a lack of education and market demand and assumed that it could not possibly come from real harm. Population control goals had far superseded women’s safety and wellbeing, as healthcare became a vehicle for bodily control. Ravenholt’s ability to override women’s bodily autonomy in service of U.S. political interests, which specifically meant a decrease in birth rates of developing countries, reveals the level of control that USAID had over the countries that received their financial assistance. The language of “barriers,” “resistance,” and “irrationality” constructed women’s self-protective refusals as problems requiring solution through more aggressive intervention. Implicitly, the documents construct the reluctant woman as so far from modernity, she did not even know she needed to be saved from tradition. The persistence of USAID during these decades reveals an assumed belief that more reluctance from the women meant there was more work to be done. This logic would persist into the “War on Terror” era, when Afghan and Iraqi women’s “no” to U.S. intervention would be similarly reframed as evidence they needed saving from themselves.              

Era II: USAID from 2001-2018

Era II begins in 2001, shortly after the September 11 attacks. The “War on Terror” effort fueled the resurgence of U.S. aid dollars to Pakistan, after a decade of disengagement with USAID. Although aligned in the fight against Al-Qaeda and the Taliban, Pakistan-U.S. relations failed to establish mutual trust and bilateral economic assistance. The U.S. expected Pakistan to do more in Afghanistan and blamed the failure of war efforts on Pakistan’s inability to curb terrorism (Javed, 2023). In 2010, Pakistan received $1.4 billion from USAID, which was more assistance than in any year prior. The U.S. assassination of Osama Bin Laden the next year in northern Pakistan further deteriorated relations, as the act was interpreted as a violation of Pakistan’s national sovereignty (American Society of International Law, 2011). Anti-American sentiment increased throughout the country as the goals of aid and interference were questioned; “Pakistan wants US aid without any conditions attached to it, and the U.S. sees aid as a tool for attaining U.S. geostrategic goals” (Javed, 2023, p. 6). The mutual distrust between the two mutually reliant states is seen as a constant in Pakistan-U.S. relations since their beginnings. Like Afghan women under Taliban rule, Muslim women in Pakistan were positioned as oppressed by their culture, lumped together in the “saving Muslim women” trope despite having different experiences.

The resurgence of aid brought with it a renewed interest in family planning programs, believed to be a means of giving Pakistani women more autonomy. The population problem was still placed on women, specifically “the burden of high fertility and low contraceptive use remain challenges, and the intention to use contraception is low even among women who have attained their desired family size” (Agha & Williams, 2013, p. 9). Positioning the decisions of women as a “burden,” this reiterated the language and unsolved problem from Era I. The major difference from Era I was the dispersion of funds and information. Under cooperative agreements with USAID, programs like the Family Advancement for Life and Health (FALAH) and the Pakistan Initiative for Mothers and Newborns (PAIMAN) were created to carry out the same goals of increased contraceptive use and reduced fertility (Murphy, 2010). Official responsibility for providing family planning services was divided between the Health and Population Welfare Departments (Global Health Technical Assistance Project, 2008). How, then, did their methods of achieving these goals change, and what remained the same?

There was a new understanding of the religious positionality of Pakistani women. As sterilization was deemed not religiously permissible, attention was shifted towards other methods, (Kamran et al., 2015). Pakistan’s Ulema, Islamic religious scholars who were critical in shaping public opinion, were also engaged; “FALAH worked towards making them active promoters of birth spacing as a health intervention. This helped substantially in mitigating perceived religious opposition” (Ammad, 2012, p. 11). What were once “irrational” or superstitious religious beliefs were now goals to accomplish along the way. Women continued to be positioned as mothers having too many children, but the narrative shifts from lack of education to lack of social freedom. In addition to not being able to physically access health services:

[T]raditional social values often discriminate against women, lowering their status and affecting their food intake and nutrition, education, decision-making, physical mobility, and healthcare. Husbands, in-laws, and religious and community leaders all play significant roles in these customs. Societal pressures on women to have many children in quick succession, preferably sons, also increase their risk of morbidity and mortality” (Agha & Williams, p. 3).

These dynamics had been in play for decades and were an unidentified barrier to population control in the 1960-70s. By finally recognizing experienced social pressures, the problem was no longer uneducated women – it was their positionality. The woman is no longer seen as backwards or irrational, but rather as a symbol of oppression. If she could not act freely, then those who guided her decisions must become the new target population. The assumed solution was the mobilization of those that stood between the woman and her participation in family planning. Perhaps the best motivator was not another woman or religious leader, but the very patriarchy from which she needed to be saved from: her husband.

The most striking difference between Era I and II was the new role of men. Previously, husbands had been described as “interested bystanders at best, and at worst, as grudging gatekeepers impeding women’s use of contraception” (Kamran et al., 2015, p. 1). However, both FALAH and PAIMAN started finding evidence of men’s increased interest in family planning. Once exclusively women’s issue, contraceptive use now “involves two equal stakeholders – the man and the woman – and logically both need to be addressed by FP interventions” (Kamran et al., 2015, p. 2). This assumes equality of the man and woman in the relationship, as if they had equal say in the matter of birth spacing and contraceptive use. In reality, only about half of couples surveyed in Pakistan agreed on family size in the early 2000s (National Institute of Population Studies & Macro International Inc., 2008). Family planning had the face of a woman, and in some rural communities [t]here is opposition from the family and we [husbands] get taunted that you are a slave of the woman” (Kamran et al., 2015, p. 8). Men were not overly eager to get involved in family planning and if willing to use contraceptives, and they often felt as though there was no one to address their needs and concerns. The family planning sector had previously been dominated by women because the target population had been exclusively women. Men wanted their own male health workers to seek assistance, learn from, and purchase contraceptives from; “just as LHWs deliver FP information, counseling and contraceptives to women at their doorsteps, a cadre of male health workers (MHWs) should be developed for individual as well as group counseling of men, provision of condoms, and referral to appropriate health facilities where needed” (Kamran et al., 2015, p. 17).

Men’s new roles as MHW and motivators at the family level were widely available across Pakistan, but the Population Council still wanted to reach more people. A new set of motivators in the form of community-based volunteers were a team of selected married couples that used contraceptives themselves and advocated for family planning (Ammad, 2012, p. 12). These teams were incredibly effective because they fostered personal relationships between the wives and husbands, increasing the chance that the “target” couple would be convinced to start planning their families and using contraceptives (Ashfaq & Sadiq, 2015, p. 6). In these teams, the husband was not only the most effective convincer as the authority in most Muslim households, but he also demonstrated that an effective male wanted to learn. In one example, a man from the province of UmerKot advocated for two years’ birth spacing with his wife, who initially disagreed – but he noted “but then I convinced her and she agreed” (quoted in Kamran et al., 2015, p. 4). Notably, a common barrier to family planning acceptance in Era I was often the lack of willingness of women to be educated – but in Era II, the new target population sought out education. The men seemed far more willing to become “modern,” while women continued to be positioned as “backwards” and in need of correcting. If women were acceptors needing to be convinced, men were willing acceptors that wanted to be educated. Because of this, the Population Council of Pakistan began the task of “engaging the missing link: involving men in family planning in Pakistan” (Ashfaq & Sadiq, 2015, p. i).

Not all men were eager recipients of family planning education, and many had their own concerns. However, these concerns were not disregarded as “irrational” like those of women, but rather prompted change. In the case of the MHWs, men claimed that only having female health workers “severely limits men’s ability to access FP services and blinds the health system to their unique needs,” (Kamran et al., 2015, p. 17). This problem was acknowledged and the program was adapted to train MHW to meet the needs of men. In Era I, programs were rarely adapted to respond to the expressed concerns of women, and more often changed in accordance with USAID priorities. An additional concern of men was sterilization; “With the method of vasectomy, men have a fear of losing their manhood forever…[their] apprehension about vasectomies will need to be addressed through a comprehensive set of interventions ranging from counseling to service provision” (Kamran et al., 2015, p. 13). Again, the call for counseling and services (program adaptations) respected men’s concerns and sought effective solutions. But when women expressed health concerns, like bleeding or infections, more education was the solution. It appears that family planning programs favored men because of their willingness to accept. Because they had not been positioned as the problem of population growth since the 1950s, nor experienced the harms of early programs, and it’s not hard to understand why they were more eager to accept. If women were always the problem, neither they nor their ideas could ever be the solution. This reinforced a Western, male “saving” rhetoric by silencing the woman’s voice and calling her oppressed. It remained clear that the woman could never save herself.

Conclusion

The logic behind the “saving Muslim women” rhetoric can be seen in its infancy, hidden inside population control programs of the 1950-60s. The language USAID used in describing Pakistani women in both eras (1965-1979 and 2001-2018) positions women as in need of saving, but from whom they needed to be saved, and how they would be saved, changed over time. High fertility rates in the 1950-60s were understood as evidence of the backward ways that needed correcting. Family planning programs were positioned as the path to liberation of these “traditional” reproductive practices, by educating women on “modern” contraceptives. Functionally, this justified Western involvement in Pakistani women’s reproduction and served geopolitical interests. It allowed the U.S. to retain control in “developing” countries and exercise it to control population growth rates.

In Era I, women are assumed to be uneducated mothers, irrationally fearful and reluctant acceptors of control, needing to be saved by the modern, often Western, contraceptive-using woman. As birth givers, they were the problem with the growing population. As motivators, they were the solution. Women needed to be saved from themselves, and by other women. In Era II, women are assumed to be socially oppressed – by their husbands, government, and religion – again, needing to be saved by the modern, autonomous woman equal to her husband. It positions women as needing to be saved from the patriarchy, but by their husbands. In both eras, family planning is positioned as a matter of female empowerment, supposedly a means for women to “save themselves.” However, the way that language positions these women and functions in practice, as passive acceptors and obstacles to modernization, reveals that women were never intended to be saved by anyone other than the West.

It is impossible to know the extent of harm done to women across the globe because of family planning programs that strongly encouraged dangerous birth control devices and sterilization, and often ignored women’s voices. To prevent more harm from being done, we cannot afford to lose access to reliable information on the history of U.S. development practices, especially the worst parts of it. With the dissolution of USAID, it is more important than ever that we are aware of the functionality of language that overseas aid programs employ. Religious or secular, every organization has its own agenda. Even USAID, a purportedly secular organization, had to navigate the religious implications of birth control, and implicitly imposed its own moral beliefs.[2] The question is no longer, “When will the Muslim woman be saved?” but rather, when will we stop using “saving” as a justification for control? When will we center the experiences of Muslim women themselves, and listen to their articulations of need, knowledge, fear, and desire?

References

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© Copyright 2026 Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights. All rights reserved. 

Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights is an academic journal that provides space for undergraduate students to explore human rights issues, challenge current actions and frameworks, and engage in problem-solving aimed at tackling some of the world’s most pressing issues. This open-access journal is available online at www.webster.edu/rightingwrongs.

[1] Publications include those directly written by USAID, third party evaluators who were paid by USAID, or offices under their supervision or in agreement with Office of Population, Bureau of Technical Assistance, Office of War on Hunger, Department of Agriculture, and the American Public Health Association.

[2] For further research, I recommend an interrogation of the religious implications of birth control, in both Muslim-majority countries and other religions. In what other instances have religious beliefs, of either the recipient or provider of aid, impacted the way in which humanitarian programs operated? Does religious aid aligned with the country’s majority religion produce more harm or good? Is the world better off or worse without USAID?

Weaponizing Movement: NATO’s Migration Narratives of Syrian and Ukrainian Refugees

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This paper examines NATO’s contrasting framings of the Syrian refugee crisis in 2015 and the Ukrainian refugee crisis after Russia’s 2022 invasion. While both crises generated mass displacement, NATO portrayed Syrian refugees primarily through a securitized lens, emphasizing border protection, terrorism, and perceived threats to European stability. This discourse contributed to racialized humanitarianism that positioned Syrians (largely Muslim and non-European) as foreign and potentially dangerous. In contrast, Ukrainian refugees were framed as European, democratic, and aligned with Western values, prompting rapid humanitarian mobilization and political solidarity. The paper argues that these divergent responses reflect both racialized perceptions and shifting geopolitical interests following Russia’s increasing aggression after 2014. Through analysis of NATO statements, media narratives, and policy actions, the study highlights how migration can be weaponized in political discourse and calls for reforms that center refugee voices, expand legal protections, and challenge selective humanitarianism.

I was thirteen years old when one of the largest migration movements since World War II occurred: the massive wave of Syrian refugees in 2015. That year remains vivid in the collective memory of all Europeans, not only for the polarized debates it sparked, but also for the racialized legacies it left behind. The 2015 refugee crisis marked a turning point in European politics, influencing how migration has been framed and politicized ever since. In the following years, Europe witnessed a sharp rise in anti-migrant sentiment, Islamophobia, and the widespread use of far-right politics. The surge of parties like Spain’s Vox, Italy’s Lega, and France’s Rassemblement National, often driven by xenophobic and anti-Muslim rhetoric, reflected a deeper societal backlash against refugees. Behind these discourses, a great truth loomed: current conversations about migration revolve less around human lives and more around power.

Seven years later, another war shook the European continent. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022 unleashed a new refugee crisis, comparable in magnitude but profoundly different in its treatment. According to the latest United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) statistics (2025), the number of refugees from Ukraine registered worldwide has reached 6.5 million, making this situation one of the largest displacement crises of the century. Notably, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) framed this humanitarian crisis in a completely different way than it had approached the Syrian crisis. NATO framed the Syrian refugee crisis as a security threat, focusing on border control, terrorism, and instability. Syrian refugees were often portrayed as a burden, potential security risks, and were racially and religiously stereotyped. Yet discourse surrounding Ukraine’s refugees defined them as a humanitarian imperative. NATO viewed Ukrainians as victims of Russian aggression, highlighting their European identity and aligning their struggle with Western ideals of democracy and freedom. By exposing these discursive disparities, this paper seeks to answer a central question: Why were the Ukrainian and Syrian refugee crises framed differently by NATO and its member states?

I argue that NATO’s discourse around Syrian and Ukrainian refugees diverged sharply due to racialized perceptions and post-2014 geopolitical interests in countering Russia. I define racialized perceptions as how ethnicity, religion, and culture shape how refugees are viewed. While Syrian refugees were often portrayed through a lens of fear and foreignness (colored by their ethnicity, religion, and cultural difference), Ukrainian refugees were embraced as familiar, European, and politically aligned. In this way, migration is a political tool where NATO exposes a biopolitical logic that racializes humanitarianism, delineating who is protected and who is securitized based on Eurocentric and ideological constructs of identity and threat.

Meanwhile, I define geopolitical interests as NATO’s strategic interest in countering Russia influenced its response to the crises differently. Before 2014, NATO’s approach to crises was more focused on broad peacekeeping and regional stability, with a certain degree of cooperation with Russia. However, after the 2014 Crimea event and subsequent tensions, NATO’s strategic interest in countering Russia became central in its policies and discourse. In the case of Syria, Russia’s 2015 military intervention in support of the Assad regime made it a central geopolitical actor driving the conflict. Russia’s strategic objective to preserve its influence in the region, particularly through military presence, directly contributed to the conditions fueling mass migration. Although NATO did not directly frame Russia as the cause of the Syrian refugee crisis, its strategic silence reflects a geopolitical logic: Russia was already a geopolitical rival, but NATO avoided open confrontation in Syria to prevent escalation – unlike in Ukraine, where it leveraged the refugee crisis to frame Russia as a clear threat. In the Ukraine refugee wave, NATO shifted its discourse to emphasize Russian aggression, sovereignty, and the defense of democratic values. It positioned Ukraine not just as a humanitarian concern, but as a frontline in the confrontation with Russia.

The paper is structured around two main case studies: the Syrian and Ukrainian refugee crises. The analysis draws from key primary sources, including official NATO discourse, to demonstrate how these framings reflect deeper rationalization perceptions and geopolitical strategies. This paper offers a critical lens through which to view current debates on migration, as well as necessary policy changes. While it is valid, and even necessary, for societies to debate the limits of refugee and migrant absorption, these conversations have too often been distorted by the political instrumentalization of migration. Examining how this discourse has become polarized and biased is essential for understanding security at its core. All human beings deserve a home where they feel safe and can flourish. In short, I urge the reader to reclaim this migration debate – one rooted not in power, but in people.

2015: Syrian’s Refugee Wave

The Syrian Civil War began in 2011 as a domestic uprising against Bashar al-Assad’s regime and quickly escalated into a complex proxy war involving multiple state and non-state actors. Russia’s direct military intervention in 2015 served to secure its strategic military interests in the region, particularly the naval facility in Tartus and the airbase in Latakia, while simultaneously challenging NATO’s influence in the Eastern Mediterranean (Bryjka, 2025). For that reason, this intervention in support of Assad marked a turning point – not only in the conflict itself, but in the global geopolitical landscape (Trenin, 2018). Crucially, this escalation occurred just one year after Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014, an event that profoundly reshaped NATO’s threat perception. The annexation signaled a more assertive Russian foreign policy and intensified NATO’s efforts to reinforce its eastern flank and counter Russian expansionism (Sarotte, 2014; Rynning & Olsen, 2024). In this tense geopolitical context, Russia’s growing presence in Syria was viewed not simply as regional involvement, but as part of a broader challenge to the Western-led international order (Trenin, 2018). The massive wave of Syrian refugees that followed was thus not only seen as a humanitarian crisis but increasingly interpreted through a security lens. NATO officials began framing the migration flows as potential instruments of Russian hybrid warfare: deliberate tools to destabilize Europe (European Parliament, 2018). This framing served to align humanitarian concerns with NATO’s renewed geopolitical focus on Russia, effectively racializing and securitizing the crisis in ways that justified stricter border policies and reinforced internal cohesion against a common external threat.

“Economic immigrant,” “migrant wave,” “invasion,” “crisis,” or even “flood” were some of the terms frequently used by European media and politicians to describe the forcibly displaced in 2015. That same year marked one of the deadliest phases of Syria’s ongoing civil war. By the end of 2015, the death toll had surpassed 250,000 – over 100,000 of them civilians (Human Rights Watch, 2016c). According to the Syrian Center for Policy Research (2015), 11.5% of the population inside Syria had been killed or injured due to the conflict. Airstrikes indiscriminately hit markets, schools, and hospitals. Extreme poverty engulfed 69.3% of the population, and nearly half of school-age children were unable to attend school. These were not economic opportunists – these were people running from war, destruction, and hunger. By the end of that year, 45% of Syrians had been forcibly displaced, seeking safer conditions within and beyond their borders. Over 440,000 Syrians attempted to reach Europe by sea in search of refuge (Syrian Center for Policy Research, 2016). According to the International Organization for Migration (IOM) (2015), 3,771 immigrants died attempting to cross the Mediterranean in 2015 – though this number only reflects known cases, and countless others likely perished unnoticed.

And yet instead of solidarity, many European states and their allies responded with suspicion and hostility. Philip M. Breedlove (2016), NATO’s Supreme Allied Commander Europe (SACEUR), addressed the issue of Russian involvement in Syria during his testimony before the U.S. Senate Armed Services Committee on March 1, 2016. He claimed that Russia had done little to counter ISIL, an organization he described as “spreading like a cancer” and warned of its expanding influence across the United States European Command (EUCOM) area. At the time, he referred to Syrian refugees not as victims of war but as “economic migrants,” further claiming that their displacement was a deliberate strategy by Russia and its allies as a political weapon (Breedlove, 2016). He stated: “Russia and the Assad regime are deliberately weaponizing migration from Syria in an attempt to overwhelm European structures and break European resolve” (Breedlove, 2016). Portraying refugees as threats rather than as people in need serves not only to shift public perception, but also to strategically advance NATO’s geopolitical agenda by casting Russia as a destabilizing actor on the global stage.

Many other leaders of NATO states contributed to incentivizing this objectification of migrants. For instance, British Prime Minister David Cameron told the UK Parliament in June 2015: “The vast majority of people setting off into the Mediterranean are not asylum seekers, but seeking a better life” (quoted in Mepham, 2015). By framing these individuals as primarily economic migrants rather than refugees fleeing war and persecution, Cameron provided no evidence to substantiate this claim (Mepham, 2015). Similarly, in the 2016 Brexit referendum campaign, British politician Nigel Farage unveiled a poster titled “Breaking Point,” featuring Syrian refugees at the Croatia-Slovenia border with the slogan: “The EU has failed us all” (BBC News, 2019). Far-right groups continuously embraced and weaponized dehumanizing narratives to foster enduring hostility toward migrants, particularly Muslims. Silvia Orriols (2023), president of the far-right ultranationalist political party Catalan Alliance (Aliança Catalana) in Spain, stated: “Allowing a massive influx of Muslim immigrants is a mistake that we could pay dearly for because essentially Muslims do not recognize European democracies or our civil laws.”

Although this study is primarily focused on discourse, we must also consider the significant policies implemented by NATO and its member states in response to migration. One of the most notable actions was the EU-Turkey Deal in 2016, which effectively externalized border control by the containment of refugees to a non-EU country in return for financial and political incentives (Council of the European Union, 2016). Although the deal was not directly initiated by NATO, it aligns with NATO’s broader strategic goals of minimizing instability within member states and strengthening border security to maintain regional order. Additionally, NATO launched maritime patrol operations in the Aegean Sea, formally aimed at combating human trafficking, but in practice acting as a deterrent to migration (Human Rights Watch, 2016b). Many human rights organizations, including Human Rights Watch, have criticized these policies for undermining refugee protection, allowing Turkey to return refugees to unsafe conditions (Human Rights Watch, 2016a).

The discourse surrounding Syrian refugees not only dehumanized those seeking refuge, but also aligned with broader security concerns and illustrated how migration can be weaponized in geopolitical struggles. These factors developed a racialized humanitarianism, where Syrian refugees were treated according to their race. As we move forward to analyze NATO’s response to the ongoing crisis in Ukraine, see how similar security-driven narratives and policy approaches play out differently – raising questions about consistency, priorities, and the protection of human rights within NATO’s strategic framework.

2022: Ukraine’s Refugee Wave

A few months after Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine, NATO issued a declaration titled “Standing with Ukraine.” In this document, NATO stated 18 clear points that emphasizes NATO’s commitment to Ukrainian sovereignty, democracy, and territorial integrity. It condemns Russia’s aggression, war crimes, and violations of international law, while stressing the need for accountability for those responsible. NATO stipulates: “Recognizing that, with its aggression against Ukraine, Russia seeks to crush Ukraine’s democracy, intimidate other sovereign and democratic countries and, by extension, undermine the values that are fundamental to NATO and the entire democratic, civilized and peaceful world” (North Atlantic Treaty Organization, 2022). This democratic framing of the conflict was echoed by political leaders such as United States President Joe Biden, who declared that the war in Ukraine was a fight for democracy itself and called the conflict “a battle between democracy and autocracy” (White House, 2022). Across Europe, media narratives further reinforced this sentiment through headlines like “Our European neighbors” and “Refugees fleeing war,” or by spotlighting the plight of women and children.

 Context matters for understanding how the war in Ukraine was framed in a humanitarian context. The roots of the conflict in Ukraine can be traced back to a complex web of historical, political, and geopolitical tensions that intersect directly with NATO affairs. After the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, Ukraine became an independent state. Over the following decades, Ukraine’s aspirations toward Euro-Atlantic integration, particularly its interest in joining NATO and the EU, created friction with Russia (which views NATO expansion near its borders as a direct threat to its sphere of influence) (Mearsheimer, 2014). NATO’s view of Ukraine was largely pragmatic: maintaining stability, nuclear disarmament, and reducing Russian influence (Rynning & Olsen, 2024). The Orange Revolution marked a major shift in Ukraine’s domestic and foreign policy trajectory. This pro-democracy movement emerged in response to election fraud and signaled Ukraine’s shift toward Western values, sparking unease in Moscow. Nevertheless, the main turning point in Ukraine-Russia relations and NATO-Russia dynamics was the 2013/2014 Euromaidan protests, when Ukrainians protested corruption and abuses of power connected to Russia (Strycharz, 2022). After these events, the annexation of Crimea took place in 2014 – an event that would fundamentally reshape the post-Cold War security order and ignite the most serious confrontation between Russia and the West since the end of the Cold War (Mearsheimer, 2014). In the years that followed, Eastern Ukraine descended into a conflict between Ukrainian forces and Russian-backed separatists in the Donbas region, keeping tensions high and fueling NATO’s concerns about further Russian aggression. Diplomatic efforts failed to resolve the crisis despite intermittent ceasefires, and military buildups along the border signaled a growing threat. This culminated in February 2022, when Russia launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine, plunging Europe into its largest war in decades (Mankoff, 2022).

The invasion of Ukraine caused the fastest-growing displacement crisis since World War II. That year alone, the United Nations recorded over 12,600 civilian casualties (5,385 killed and 7,264 injured) because of Russia’s full-scale invasion (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, 2025). The war tore through the country’s infrastructure: 252 medical facilities, 384 educational institutions, and 90 places of worship were either severely damaged or destroyed (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, 2025). But beyond the numbers, the civilian population endured systemic violations of human rights. Reports documented arbitrary killings, enforced disappearances, torture, and sexual violence tied to the conflict. By the end of 2022, nearly one-third of Ukraine’s population had been forced to flee their homes. While approximately 5.9 million people remained displaced within the country, another 5.7 million refugees and asylum-seekers were recorded across Europe, 87% of them women and children (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, 2025).

NATO and other states were quick to highlight the urgent humanitarian crisis caused by Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, leading to one of the largest humanitarian aid responses in recent history. Ukraine received unprecedented levels of humanitarian, military, and financial support from NATO members and EU states. The response was rapid; neighboring countries opened their borders, and the EU activated the Temporary Protection Directive for the first time. Just five days after the war began in February, the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) launched a three-month Flash Appeal, seeking USD $1.7 billion. Official Development Assistance (ODA) to Ukraine amounted to USD 16.1 billion, with USD 1.8 billion specifically allocated for humanitarian aid (Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, 2023).

With this aid to Ukraine, NATO members championed their commitment to humanitarianism, positioning themselves as defenders of democracy and human rights – in contrast to their response to the Syrian crisis, where the Western response was not nearly as committed or coordinated even though displacement numbers were comparable or even higher. In 2015, the United Nations and its partners launched a major humanitarian and development appeal, requesting over USD $8.4 billion to assist nearly 18 million people in Syria and neighboring countries (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, 2014). A central component of this plan was the Regional Refugee and Resilience Plan (3RP), which required USD $4.53 billion for programs led by UN agencies and non-governmental organizations. However, by the end of May 2015, only USD $1.06 billion – just 23% of the needed funds – had been received, leaving a significant shortfall of approximately USD $3.47 billion (Regional Refugee and Resilience Plan, 2016). 

This selective humanitarian engagement displayed by NATO and its member states reveals underlying racial and geopolitical biases. The contrast between the compassionate and urgent discourse surrounding Ukrainian refugees and the securitized framing of Syrian refugees exposes a racialized hierarchy of humanitarian worth. Had Syrians been white Europeans, it is likely that their displacement would have been framed as a humanitarian emergency, prompting immediate solidarity and intervention from the international community, including NATO, since they are framed as being “just like us” (Sigona, 2014). Moreover, I argue that this racialized framing was further intensified by the geopolitical opportunity to portray Russia as a clear antagonist. The humanitarian spotlight on Ukraine is inseparable from NATO’s strategic interest in countering Russian aggression. One must ask: Would Ukraine have received the same level of global attention and empathy if the perpetrator had not been Russia? This question reveals how humanitarian narratives are often shaped not only by racialized perceptions of victims, but also by the geopolitical value of the crisis itself. Therefore, any analysis of contemporary humanitarianism must confront this intersection of racial and geopolitical lenses, which determines who is deemed worthy of protection – and why.

Policy to combat racialist humanitarianism

What can be done? The first step is to recognize how different framings of refugee crises significantly shape not only the policies implemented, but also the broader processes of refugee adaptation, acceptance, and integration. Racialized humanitarianism results in deaths along migration routes and fosters xenophobic rhetoric and violence within host countries. That is why it is essential to first acknowledge how these narratives are constructed and to critically examine the logic behind them to dismantle their influence. We must highlight and hold accountable the humanitarian implications of these discourses. For instance, summits and conferences should center specifically on unpacking these dynamics and must include multi-stakeholder participation to ensure legitimacy and strengthen impact – including state actors, international organizations, NGOs, academia, and most importantly, refugees themselves. These spaces should amplify the personal experiences of refugees, giving them agency to actively shape the narratives surrounding their lives. While such forums may not result in binding legal outcomes or immediate policy changes, they can elevate these issues on international agendas, and embrace diverse frameworks that challenge discriminatory humanitarian practices. At its core, this is where the system is failing: lack of space to promote a critical and diverse debate about immigration.

Beyond raising awareness and fostering dialogue, there is also a pressing need for more concrete, binding policies that challenge racialized humanitarian discourse and propose alternative mechanisms to dismantle it altogether. There are many organizations and scholars looking at this problem, yet this critical work is often overlooked by policymakers or made inaccessible outside of Western academic circles. Grants to facilitate translation and publication support, for instance, could make information more accessible and include more researchers from the Global South who are often underrepresented in debates. Solution-seeking that prioritizes bridging the gap between knowledge production and policy making is necessary for enriching public discourse and challenging dominant narratives. Governments and international organizations should regularly host parliamentary hearings, expert roundtables, and policy dialogues that give space for scholarly findings to be directly presented to decision-makers. Institutionalizing these channels of dialogue would help ensure that humanitarian policy is informed by reliable data and held accountable to the lived experiences of the displaced.

It is imperative to fund and support refugee-led initiatives. These organizations are uniquely positioned to identify the blind spots in aid systems and advocate for tangible solutions. Providing direct funding, platform visibility, and institutional access to refugee-led groups would not only amplify underrepresented voices, but also shift the power dynamics that often define humanitarian response. Supporting these actors is not just a gesture of inclusion; it is a necessary step toward dismantling the structural racism in current aid practices.

However, racialized narratives are not the only factor shaping humanitarian responses to refugee crises and it is therefore important to consider policy recommendations. When it is politically useful, as in Ukraine, refugees are humanized to serve strategic goals. When it is not, as in Syria, dehumanization becomes a convenient tool to justify inaction. For this reason, overlooking the influence of geopolitical interests on refugee policy discourse is a major policy mistake. One of the most crucial policy recommendations is the revision and expansion of the 1951 Refugee Convention, which remains the cornerstone of international refugee protection. While the Convention was a groundbreaking legal instrument in the aftermath of World War II, its definition of a refugee has become increasingly outdated in light of twenty-first century realities. According to Article 1(A)(2) of the Convention, a refugee is defined as someone who, “owing to a well-founded fear of being persecuted for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group or political opinion,” is outside their country of origin and unable or unwilling to return (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, 1951). This definition, while protective in its time, is highly individualized and narrowly focused on persecution, failing to address broader causes of forced displacement that are now increasingly common. These include war-induced state collapse, climate change, generalized violence, gang threats, poverty-induced displacement, and statelessness – all situations in which individuals may not be able to claim “targeted persecution,” but still face life-threatening conditions and complete lack of state protection. As a result, millions of people in “refugee-like” situations are left outside the legal framework of protection. This legal void makes them especially vulnerable to instrumentalization; used as political bargaining chips, border control tools, or security threats in broader geopolitical strategies. Without legal recognition, these displaced individuals become easy targets for exclusionary policies and dehumanizing narratives, as seen in the differential treatment of Syrian and Ukrainian refugees. Filling the gaps in current binding humanitarian norms is therefore a step forward in preventing the use of migrants as geopolitical tools.

 There are many other policy recommendations that could, and should, be proposed. However, all of these are just small steps toward addressing the core of the problem. Most of the policies outlined in this paper are prevention oriented. I have not delved deeply into how to respond to the ongoing harm caused by racialized humanitarianism, including the rise of right-wing populism that embraces racist narratives, the refugees who have been denied their rights, those who live in persistent exclusion, and those who continue to lose their lives while trying to find safety. Despite this paper’s limitations, I want to raise my voice to call for urgent short-term policies that directly address the suffering of refugees in NATO member states. The discourse that shaped the response to the so-called “refugee crisis” of 2015 still casts a long shadow. Its legacies continue to justify neglect, exclusion, and violence. We need policy action now to offer protection, recognition, and dignity to those who have already been harmed by this racial logic. Because trying to find a better life is not a crime. Because migration is not a crime. Because criminality is defined by actions, not by origin or movement. Because no matter how much these discourses try to obscure it, debates about migration have always been and always will be about people.

Conclusion

I look back at thirteen-year-old Inma, watching the news filled with sensationalist headlines about “illegal immigrants” from Syria. For a time, I unknowingly absorbed and echoed the narratives of racial humanitarianism that were imposed on me. Until, at eighteen, I migrated alone to the United States and began to encounter stories that stretched far beyond my own borders – at the same time, I became an immigrant myself. I have been an immigrant for five years, facing multiple difficulties that thousands of Americans could not even consider. But I entered the United States by plane, with a passport, a university acceptance letter, and a language already familiar to the system. I was granted the benefit of the doubt. I was seen as deserving. This is the invisible line that separates how we treat those who flee war and hunger from those who arrive with privilege tucked in their documentation. Through this journey, I have come to understand that migration is not a crisis, it is a human experience shaped by systems that decide who is welcome and who is not. That decision is not based on need, but on power, race, and politics.

As I have argued throughout this paper, it is in our hands to reclaim that power – to steer the immigration debate back to what it should be: a conversation about people. Today, immigration is often treated as a taboo subject, yet migration has always been a part of human history. What has changed is the political weight it carries; it has become a matter of power. Raising different frameworks to understand the immigration crisis is not only valid, but necessary. However, it is equally important to question why certain narratives receive more media attention and political endorsement. The sophistication of policies is rooted in how to confront such narratives. Silencing uncomfortable conversations is not the path toward reconciliation. Instead, the international community must come together to fill the gaps in the current humanitarian framework, creating mechanisms that amplify the voices of refugees, support academic research, and uplift grassroots movements.

NATO and its allies must critically revise their approach. Beneath the surface, policies framed as humanitarian uphold a strategy that risks undermining the very values NATO claims to represent: democracy, freedom, and solidarity. If the alliance truly aspires to uphold these principles, it must stop instrumentalizing human suffering for geopolitical ends and begin building frameworks grounded in universal dignity, not selective interest. Anything less is not humanitarianism, it is control disguised as care. Reimagining our frameworks is not idealistic; it is urgent. It means revisiting outdated legal definitions that no longer reflect the complexity of today’s displacement. It means ensuring that refugees are not just passive recipients of protection but active participants in shaping the systems that affect their lives. It means confronting the geopolitical interests that decide which lives are worthy of safety and which are disposable. With collective action, critical inquiry, and moral courage, we can reshape this narrative. We can build a world where no one is deemed illegal simply for seeking dignity, and where no one is silenced by the systems meant to protect them. Because no one should have to prove their humanity to be protected.

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Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development. (2023, April 12). Foreign aid surges due to spending on refugees and aid for Ukraine. Retrieved from https://www.oecd.org/en/about/news/press-releases/2023/04/foreign-aid-surges-due-to-spending-on-refugees-and-aid-for-ukraine.html.

Orriols, S. (2023, November 12). Is Immigration a Problem? [Televised debate]. OpinaCat, 8TV.

Regional Refugee and Resilience Plan (3RP). (2016). 3RP 2015 Annual Report. Retrieved from https://www.3rpsyriacrisis.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/10/3RP2015AnnualReport.pdf

Rynning, S., & Olsen, J. A. (2024). NATO, 2014–2024. In Routledge Handbook of NATO, 1st edition, edited by J. A. Olsen, 65-76. New York: Routledge.

Sarotte, M. E. (2014, September/October). A Broken Promise? What the West Really Told Moscow About NATO Expansion. Foreign Affairs. Retrieved from https://www.foreignaffairs.com/north-america/broken-promise.

Sigona, N. (2014). The politics of refugee voices: Representations, narratives, and memories. In The Oxford Handbook of Refugee and Forced Migration Studies, edited by E. Fiddian-Qasmiyeh, G. Loescher, K. Long, & N. Sigona, pp. 369-382. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Strycharz, D. (2022). Role Change and Russia’s Responses to Upheavals in Ukraine. Foreign Policy Analysis, 18(4).

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© Copyright 2025 Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights. All rights reserved. 

Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights is an academic journal that provides space for undergraduate students to explore human rights issues, challenge current actions and frameworks, and engage in problem-solving aimed at tackling some of the world’s most pressing issues. This open-access journal is available online at www.webster.edu/rightingwrongs.

BOOK ESSAY – Radicalizing Her: Why Women Choose Violence, by Nimmi Gowrinathan

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Nimmi Gowrinathan’s book Radicalizing Her: Why Women Choose Violence explores the root causes that motivate female combatants to join violent movements, using data from interviews with female fighters with “the Tiger” (the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam, or LTTE), a militant separatist group in Sri Lanka, and the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC), a guerilla armed force in Colombia. The book provides nuanced ways of understanding gender norms in violent movements and the struggles of female ex-combatants in post-war environments. This essay analyzes the invisibility of women as political actors and combatants, as well as the myths that surround their choice to mobilize. It also examines the commodification of the trauma of women in post-conflict environments, and the struggles female ex-combatants face during reintegration into society.

Gowrinathan (2021) writes that “the portrait of a female fighter is difficult to paint with soft strokes. She is used to being seen through hardened eyes, and she will show a hardened soul” (p. 21). The concept that women are docile beings in need of protection transcends cultures and shapes the way women are characterized worldwide. One of the most important points Gowrinathan (2021) highlights is that women are not born pacifists. Literature on women’s roles and experiences has been limited in the field of security studies, which allows this work to fill in significant gaps pertaining to female combatants.[1] Gowrinathan (2021) examines the breach in gender norms that occurs when women deviate from the traditional role of pacifist and engage in direct combat, specifically exploring the causes of this break.

Throughout her book, Gowrinathan (2021) postulates that women are political beings whose existence is threatened by the violence of state soldiers, policymakers, cultural restraints, and unsafe communities. They grow up in the same violent environments as men and are therefore motivated to take up arms in the same way. She explores rage, a previously overlooked factor, resulting from years of state-perpetuated trauma and the implications of that rage in the choice to raise arms. Previous literature has claimed that it is only once women join movements that they become a target of repression and harm; some even claim that traditional gender roles are dismantled by women becoming more involved in the economy and nonviolent organizations, which in turn causes them to become a target of the state (Tezcür, 2020, p. 723). Gowrinathan (2021), however, argues that the mere existence of women renders them vulnerable.

The Choice of Violence

If women exist as targets of state and non-state violence, as Gowrinathan (2021) explains, then it is not unfounded that women would feel compelled to take up arms. Before delving further into why women become involved in violence, it is important to situate women within the context of violence, as little research has been done on the ways violence has intersected with women’s lives. This book explains violence as a “political reality” that is an inescapable part of life. The author explains how other scholars claim violence is the desire of men to dominate women and that violence is the tool used to control not only women, but anyone deemed the “other”. This contextualization of violence supports the claim that women are less likely to choose violence in locations where groups embrace ideologies that seek to protect or establish traditional hierarchies (Wood & Thomas, 2017). However, this begs the question of whether women in those contexts have different motivations for joining violent movements than those discussed by Gowrinathan (2021).

The motivation behind women joining violent movements is fraught with myths. Gowrinathan (2021) mentions four oppressive myths about female combatants: they are more peaceful than men by nature, they are brainwashed into joining militant movements, they join movements because of men in their lives, and finally that empowerment programming can save the female fighter. The argument that women are naturally more peaceful than men is evident in much of the early literature in the field of security studies. The second myth questions the agency of female fighters. Through direct interviews with female combatants, Gowrinathan (2021) finds that the women she spoke with describe their time as “a deliberate participation in a process” (p. 10). In contrast, other scholarship has looked at the frequency at which women and girls are forcibly recruited into armed groups and implies that their participation is often involuntary and without agency. This claim is called into question by not only Gowrinathan’s (2021) research, but also by rebellions in Sierra Leone and Liberia, where women actively lobbied for positions in the armed forces (Thomas & Wood, 2018). On the ground, Tamil women who were members of the Tigers also claimed to have joined movements to chase armies out of their villages, which does not indicate forced requirement and was instead an exercise of agency.

Scholars such as Miranda Alison (2004) further explore the issue of motivation, looking at how the breakdown of the separation of the home front and the war front boundary has significantly increased the number of female combatants. Using evidence from the Tigers, she claims the motivation of the Tamil women originates from the death of a loved one, oppression from the state, education disruption, poverty, sexual violence, and ideas of emancipation (Alison, 2004). The deviation of her explanation of motivation from Gowrinathan’s (2021) is that Alison (2004) appears to leave out the claim that women are always political actors, independent of factors that come later in life.

Another important issue to dismantle is the assertion that female fighters are not a result of inequality, but are instead a rarity and a deviant. Other scholars have explored this claim; for example, a study of 72 groups involved in armed conflict across various regions between 1990 and 2008 found that 31.9% of women held combat roles among rebel groups (Asal & Jadoon, 2020). The same study argues that the “majority of militant groups employ women out of necessity rather than for egalitarian reasons” (Asal & Jadoon, 2020, p. 260-261). Although the statistics show that a fair percentage of women choose combat roles within movements, the article then goes on to discredit the role of female combatants. Other scholars claim that women will be mobilized when there is a lack of economic opportunities, leading to grievances (Asal & Jadoon, 2020). These claims, however, ignore a key argument of Gowrinathan’s (2021) that the trauma of violence experienced by women and the constant attack on the female identity motivates women to fight.

“The battlefield as a forced gender equalizer”

Gowrinathan (2021) states that “in society, women are positioned without their consent. On the battlefield, they carefully calculate their own positioning” (p. 75). Not only does the battlefield act as a “forced gender equalizer” where both men and women must fight together, but it also gives women access to education and political positions that were previously unavailable to them. The political possibilities that become available to women when they join a violent movement act as a motivator for female combatants. Gowrinathan (2021) explains that through mobilization, women can achieve access to political education and overall, a greater knowledge of state action. Combatants that she interviewed during her research claimed that they were able to escape traditional roles and the requirement of marriage that is often expected of women in society (Gowrinathan, 2021).

Other scholars have discussed the impact of gender equality on the presence of female combatants in rebel groups, stating that it should not be overlooked (Thomas & Wood, 2018). One example is the Kurdish Workers’ Party (PKK) and its development of discourse regarding gender emancipation. Kurdish female fighters provide an interesting look into how the promise of gender equality can motivate women to join violent movements. In the PKK specifically, the idea that greater gender equality would be available to women within the movement attracted women who lacked decision-making power. The result was an opening of leadership positions in both the movement and the non-violent sphere for women. Although more positions became available, the equality aspect was still lacking, as access did not promise equal treatment (Tezcür, 2020). In the context of Gowrinathan’s (2021) work, the idea that the promise of gender equality can act as a motivator for disenfranchised women is valuable, but it does not go far enough to explain why women feel disenfranchised. She picks up where these scholars leave off and digs deeper into the explanation of the underlying feelings that are the true motivators behind the choice to raise arms.

The promise of prestige is another motivator scholars cite in terms of why women are eager and willing to join armed groups and other combat activities. Combat roles are typically viewed as the most prestigious positions to hold within the movements (Wood & Thomas, 2017). Gowrinathan (2021) does not greatly explore this idea through her work; instead, she focuses on the fact that women equate taking on the role of combatant with safety and the ability to exercise agency. Through her interviews, she found that violence for many of the women was more about survival rather than empowerment.

 Although the role of combatant offers women access to previously restricted territory, gender inequalities remain the same. Gowrinathan (2021) provides evidence of this through the story of one female ex-combatant’s experience of being raped while a member of the Tigers. This indicates that even when women hold such roles, their gender does not become invisible to other fighters. Female combatants enjoy greater equality in some regards, but they still must contend with the vulnerabilities that result from their gender. Other scholarship has confronted the issue of gender inequality within violent and rebel movements, but Gowrinathan’s (2021) research regarding the gendered vulnerabilities that persist within the ranks of said movements provides a new angle of analysis.

The Commodification of Trauma

A sense of equality may exist between women and men within certain contexts of violent movements, but women have very different experiences with victimhood than men in the post-war environment. For women in areas that have experienced conflict and violence, their identity often becomes synonymous with their trauma (Gowrinathan, 2021). Gowrinathan (2021) states that when women become war victims, everything else about their identity becomes invisible. Yet at the same time, their deaths and traumas become entertainment and a commodity to be used by people in positions of power. Women who were fighters muddy the water because they are not fully a victim nor an agent to be supported. Other scholars have explored the idea of female agency intersecting with victimhood, as well. Alexis Leanna Henshaw (2020) claims that agency and victimhood can coexist, but it impacts how the woman is perceived by society. Güneş Murat (2020) claims that the “presence of women in armed groups complicates the conventional association between womanhood and victimhood in violent conflicts and indicates a complicated relationship between violent mobilization and female agency” (p. 722). Gowrinathan’s (2021) studies support this claim and explore how it harms women in the post-conflict environment.

Gowrinathan (2021) highlights mistreatment in her analysis of the treatment of female ex-combatants in the post-conflict environment. She discusses that women are seen as needing protection yet are routinely ignored when they request specific aid from organizations that are supposed to provide necessary services in the rebuilding efforts. For example, she tells the story of one ex-combatant’s experience of inquiring about college, and the international organization response of providing her with a sewing machine in place of education. If women cannot exercise their agency to acquire necessities and recognition, then they must turn to other means. Women in South America used their identity as mothers to organize and gain more sympathy from people. Their identity as mothers provided them with a tool that they were able to use as a cultural commodity to gain access to the political space they had previously been denied. Other literature in this field appears to neglect this aspect of ingenuity. Another aspect Gowrinathan (2021) highlights that is not widely studied is women using their access to the identity of the victim when applying for asylum. The key to gaining asylum, as Gowrinathan (2021) explains, is appearing “docile, sexualized, and morally sound” (p. 116).

Feminism and Empowerment

Western feminism is a key aspect of the post-conflict environment in many situations because international organizations often operate from this perspective. Since the beginning of imperialism, Western feminists have imagined an “other”; an “other” that was imprisoned by her culture and needed to be saved by the white woman (Choudhary, n.d.). Gowrinathan (2021) draws on this idea through her discussion of a myth about why women join violent movements. She states that Western analysts think women join violent movements because of the repressive cultures of developing countries. This explanation of motivation discredits the agency that women possess, the agency that would not be brought into question if the discussion were about women in the “West” or of so-called “developed” nations. Indeed, Westerners often offer “empowerment programming” that was originally intended to empower oppressed people through education and political involvement, but which has devolved into domestication and skills training (Gowrinathan, 2021). Women’s empowerment now hyper-focuses on sexualized conditions of women in the “developing” world, such as the issue of rape and sexual violence. This approach further erases women as political actors and overshadows the many layers of political subordination that perpetuate violence against women (Gowrinathan, 2021).

Furthermore, Gowrinathan (2021) explores the invisibility of intersectionality in feminist foreign policy, an aspect that is often not explored adequately in existing literature. One piece of scholarship stated that studies have shown women affiliated with rebel groups experience an increased likelihood of exclusion from disarmament, demobilization, and reintegration (DDR) efforts. The cause of this was believed to be related to agency, gendered hierarchy, and the pressure for patriarchal reordering in the post-conflict period (Henshaw 2020). Henshaw (2020) argues that placing women, not the systems of gender, at the center of discourse fosters the view of women as a vulnerable population in need of protection and discourages contextualized understandings of the gendered experience. Gowrinathan’s (2021) findings support this narrative and call for a more intersectional approach to post-conflict reconstruction. 

Female combatants may experience a semblance of equality on the battlefield, but they are again faced with the reality of structural inequality once the conflict is over or they exit it. One study describes the intentional exclusion of women in Sierra Leone from DDR benefits to aid in the erasure of female involvement in conflict as well as post-conflict reconstruction (Henshaw, 2020). Gowrinathan’s (2021) research dives deeper into this with the discussion of the separate peace talks held for the FARC in South America; one talk would address “women’s issues,” and the other would be political and pertain to militarization, economics, and Indigenous rights. The separation of women from politics shows the lack of understanding of intersectionality within the international and peacebuilding sphere. Post-war marginalization and the forced return to traditional roles have been explored by other scholars and while that is important to the field, Gowrinathan’s (2021) exploration of the loss of a sense of self/identity that female ex-combatants experience upon reentering society is a topic that deserves further exploration. As Gowrinathan (2021) notes, the forced assimilation that occurs and is expected of women, as well as their increased level of surveillance from society, also merits further review.

Research gaps about female combatants become evident when we place Gowrinathan’s (2021) Radicalizing Her in the context of existing security studies literature. Gowrinathan (2021) confronts the myths of why women choose violence and provides an intersectional approach to the topic that addresses the root cause of the choice to raise arms. Her emphasis on women as political actors and the trauma they experience reveals that women are targeted from birth and therefore cannot always accept the pacifistic role society so readily offers them. Her analysis of the struggles and benefits of the female combatant deepens the understanding of their position within society and underlines the importance of greater research in this field of study.

References

Alison, M. (2004, December). Women as Agents of Political Violence: Gendering Security. Security Dialogue, 35(4): 447-463.

Asal, V., & Jadoon, A. (2020, September). When Women Fight: Unemployment, Territorial Control and the Prevalence of Female Combatants in Insurgent Organizations. Dynamics of Asymmetric Conflict, 13(3): 258-281.

Choudhary, Z. (n.d.). Subordinate Beings: The Orientalist Beginnings of Western Feminism. Sacred Footsteps. Retrieved from https://sacredfootsteps.com/2021/11/23/subordinate-beings-the-orientalist-beginnings-of-western-feminism/.

Gowrinathan, N. (2021). Radicalizing Her: Why Women Choose Violence. Boston: Beacon Press.

Henshaw, A.L. (2020, January). Female Combatants in Postconflict Processes: Understanding the Roots of Exclusion. Journal of Global Security Studies, 5(1): 63-79.

Tezcür, G.M. (2020). A Path out of Patriarchy? Political Agency and Social Identity of Women Fighters. Perspectives on Politics, 18(3): 722-739.

Thomas, J.L., & Wood, R.M. (2018, May). The Social Origins of Female Combatants. Conflict Management and Peace Science, 35(3): 215-232.

Wood, R.M., & Thomas, J.L. (2017). Women on the Frontline: Rebel Group Ideology and Women’s Participation in Violent Rebellion. Journal of Peace Research, 54(1): 31-46. 

© Copyright 2025 Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights. All rights reserved. 

Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights is an academic journal that provides space for undergraduate students to explore human rights issues, challenge current actions and frameworks, and engage in problem-solving aimed at tackling some of the world’s most pressing issues. This open-access journal is available online at www.webster.edu/rightingwrongs.

[1] Scholars define “female combatants” by drawing on the definition used in disarmament, demobilization, and reintegration programs. “Female combatants” are female group members who are armed, on behalf of a rebel organization, and participate in organized combat activities (Wood & Thomas, 2017).

Death Watch in Ohio: Dehumanization on Death’s Door

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This research examines death watch protocols to evaluate the constitutionality of capital punishment according to Justice Brennan’s principles from the Furman v. Georgia (1972) decision. A thematic analysis of 26 execution timelines from the Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Corrections reveals patterns of severe control and dehumanization. These findings suggest that the death watch – and thus the death penalty – is unconstitutional due to its excessive and degrading nature. The study underscores the need to inform the public about execution practices and urges greater awareness of the human rights consequences of capital punishment.

The death penalty has been a contested issue throughout American history, stoking controversy regarding human rights and punishment. A lack of transparency concerning death penalty practices raises questions regarding its constitutional application (Miller & Hunt, 2008). This research is motivated by the belief that broader awareness of the practices and consequences of execution procedures, as illustrated by so-called “death watch proceedings,” can help shift public opinion on the use of capital punishment. Analysis of Ohio execution timelines created during the “death watch” (the final hours of a prisoner’s life under heavy surveillance and security) identified common practices and considered them in relation to U.S. Supreme Court Justice William Brennan’s four principles protecting against cruel and unusual punishment, as outlined in the Furman v. Georgia (1972) decision.[1] Ultimately, this investigation determines that death watch practices in Ohio violate Brennan’s principles, therefore making U.S. death penalty practices unconstitutional due to their excessive and degrading nature. These principles reinforce international human rights norms associated with freedom from torture and the humane treatment of prisoners (see United Nations, 1948). A 1990 United Nations resolution attests: “All prisoners shall be treated with the respect due to their inherent dignity and value as human beings” (United Nations General Assembly, 1990, Article 1).

This study seeks to inspect the death watch and execution processes as depicted by the state. Although previous research has analyzed the theoretical implications of the death penalty, there remains a lack of inquiry regarding state-provided records, including those documenting the death watch and execution. Directly examining timelines made public (although they have now once again been made private) grants the explicit examination and definition of dehumanizing practices. This research utilizes execution timelines from Ohio to comprehend death watch practices and execution protocols outside of the southern United States – where most U.S. executions occur (Death Penalty Information Center, 2025). This paper begins with a review of relevant literature on the death penalty, including the conceptual framework used to determine constitutionality, and outlines the methods used to analyze Ohio execution timelines. The study uncovers themes in the data related to control of movement, social control, control of perception, prisoner complicity, dehumanization, and discomfort. This data is discussed in relation to two of Justice Brennan’s four principles: whether the death watch is so severe that it degrades the dignity of a human being, and whether the death watch is an excessive punishment.

Dehumanization and the Death Penalty

The scholarly literature highlights how the death penalty and execution practices facilitate state control and forced complicity that construct the dehumanizing experience of a “living death.” Prisoners on death row are defined by their impending death, generating a psychologically torturous existence in which they are simultaneously alive and dead (Johnson, 2016). Throughout the operation of the execution, officers demand outright control over the condemned, using social and physical methods of containment (Johnson, 2005). These methods of control force prisoners to partake in aspects of their own execution to an extent that makes them complicit in their death (Johnson, 2014). These mechanisms culminate in a dehumanizing experience for the condemned by relying on the destruction of prisoners’ humanity to complete the job of state-sponsored execution (Johnson, 2016).

Many prisoners and researchers have interpreted the experience of pre-execution confinement as a “living death” (Johnson, 2016). After sentencing, “death gives meaning and purpose to every facet of [a prisoner’s] world” (Johnson, 2005, p. 92). The death row experience renders the condemned lifeless upon reaching the execution chamber due to its mentally degrading character (Johnson, 2005). Nearly all research completed on death row acknowledges the substandard living conditions of capital defendants (Smith, 2008). Every state’s death row has a distinct system of imprisonment, making death row existence unpredictable and inconsistent. Most prisoners on death row are locked in their cells for 22 to 24 hours a day with low levels of human interaction, exercise, and sunlight (Johnson, 2016). Prisoners often have extreme restrictions on “vocational and educational opportunities” (Kovarsky, 2023, p. 1441) and, when allowed physical exercise, are brought to areas that are “more like dog kennels than recreation yards” (Johnson, 2005, p. 81).

Throughout their (on average, 20-year) existence on death row, the condemned have “died psychologically” and only remain alive physically (Johnson, 2016, p. 1214). The culmination of prisoners’ stress and despair has commonly been described by the term “death row syndrome,” although no official term has been designated in any mental health diagnostic manuals (Smith, 2008). Death row syndrome has been defined as “the psychological illness or disorder exhibited by a prisoner who has spent a prolonged time in harsh conditions on death row, combined with the ‘unique stresses’ of living under a death sentence” (Gray, 2019, p. 146). Symptoms of depression, anxiety, emotional instability, and physical illness stem from solitary confinement (Smith, 2008). Additionally, the fear of impending death provokes intense stress, and no death row institution prepares prisoners for the dread of imminent death (Johnson, 2016).

The execution process is designed to be socially, emotionally, and physically controlling, with execution team members obsessed with security (Johnson, 2016). Prisoners are “handcuffed, shackled, and escorted under heavy guard” for all movement during incarceration on death row (Johnson, 2016, p. 1216).  When transferred to the death house, prisoners are moved by a team in the middle of the night to a holding cell that allows maximum observation and control (Dayan, 1997, p. 40). On death row and in the death house, the condemned are transformed into powerless beings, relegated to a subhuman status by the removal of self-determination (Johnson, 2014). Officers adopt social and physical control mechanisms to produce the appearance that execution is a “punishment to which one submits voluntarily” (Johnson, 2005, p. 129). Officers comply with prisoners’ specific requests as a technique to establish a cordial relationship, to distract and calm prisoners, and to bolster their position of control (Johnson, 2005). Prisoners are forced to cooperate with officers and are ultimately led to their deaths “one slow and controlled and methodical step at a time” (Johnson, 2005, p. 158).

In the final hours leading to their deaths, the condemned are forced to partake in decisions portraying them as autonomous actors (LaChance, 2007). The capital punishment process characterizes capital defendants as evil, twisted characters who purposely inflict suffering and terror upon a victim (LaChance, 2007). Small choices in the last moments of a prisoner’s life, such as final meals and statements, serve as a distraction from the execution by providing a meaningful task that not only normalizes but also requires compliance with the authorities (LaChance, 2007). Prisoners are tasked with choosing their final meal, one that is allowed to be special and personalized, suggesting “some sort of twisted celebration” of the execution to come (Johnson, 2014, p. 591). Throughout the death watch process, prisoners are allowed visitors and calls to loved ones, which distracts and cushions the prisoner from the emotional trauma and stress of oncoming death (Johnson, 2005). The condemned almost always walk to the death chamber without physical resistance, which creates the “appearance that offenders are tamed, docile subjects” (LaChance, 2007, p. 703). Some prisoners who struggled to walk to their death were told to do so “like a man,” a call upon gender stereotypes that guilts a prisoner into cooperating with the routinized script of killing (Johnson, 2005). Forced complicities give the impression that prisoners accept the righteousness of their death, in a way telling witnesses that they regret their actions and acknowledge their transgression (LaChance, 2007).

Death penalty research suggests that calculated death penalty procedures may be created and administered with dehumanizing purposes (Johnson, 2005). References to animals in comparison with the execution process establish a history of dehumanization in which prisoners on death row are seen as less than human; for example, the lethal injection process is often likened to putting a dog “to sleep” (Dayan, 1997). The amalgamation of poor death row living conditions, routinization, control, and forced complicity constitutes procedures with dehumanizing repercussions. Death row can be described not as a prison or rehabilitation center, but as a human warehouse (Johnson, 2005). Members of the execution team acknowledge that by the time a prisoner reaches the death house, they are “beaten…shells of their former selves, mentally dead or dying” (Johnson, 2005, p. 156). The process relies on an exhaustive absence of self-determination to complete an execution with no problems; it has a focus on “preserving the body but ignoring the person” (Johnson, 2005, p. 94). A prisoner’s identity is ignored while their body is held for safekeeping until the state decides it is time for them to die (Johnson, 2005).

Brennan’s Four Principles

The major debate surrounding the U.S. death penalty and its relation to the law centers on whether it violates the Eighth Amendment’s prohibition of cruel and unusual punishment. However, the terms “cruel” and “unusual” have been conceptualized differently throughout American history. The death penalty has only been determined to be cruel and unusual punishment by the U.S. Supreme Court in the 1972 case Furman v. Georgia. Furman conclusively found death sentencing (and, therefore, the death penalty) to be unconstitutional due to the high levels of discretion in the capital trial process, which had arbitrary effects (Furman v. Georgia, 1972). In the Furman decision, Brennan applied precedent from the case Wilkerson v. Utah (1878) to reaffirm that cruel and unusual punishment in the death penalty would involve “something inhumane and barbarous, something more than the mere extinguishment of life,” which denies human dignity (Furman v. Georgia, 1972, p. 265). He finds that American states, “even as [they] punish, must treat [their] members with respect for their intrinsic worth as human beings” (Furman v. Georgia, 1972, p. 271). He then constructs four principles that can be employed to conclude whether a punishment comports with human dignity – a condition which ultimately establishes constitutionality. These four principles provide a conceptual framework for this study and for analyzing data from Ohio death watch proceedings.  

Brennan first finds that a punishment cannot be so severe that it degrades the dignity of a human being (Furman v. Georgia, 1972, p. 271). He specifically notes that an unconstitutional punishment would “treat members of the human race as nonhumans, as objects to be toyed with and discarded” (Furman v. Georgia, 1972, pp. 272-273). He states that the punishment cannot be arbitrarily inflicted (Furman v. Georgia, 1972, p. 274). He acknowledges that the punishment must not be deemed unacceptable by society at large, and specifically mentions the fact that modes of punishment used by other countries may be analyzed in reference to the American system of punishment (Furman v. Georgia, 1972, p. 277). Lastly, he establishes that punishment should not be excessive. In his terms, he defines punishment as excessive if another lesser punishment can bring about the same purposes – when it is “nothing more than the pointless infliction of suffering” (Furman v. Georgia, 1972, p. 279). Brennan also asserts that these principles can combine to create an unconstitutional punishment, but the punishment need not entirely oppose each principle; the violation of even one principle is sufficient to deem a punishment unconstitutional (Furman v. Georgia, 1972). Notably, the death penalty is different from all other punishments because it is irrevocable (Furman v. Georgia, 1972). Death does not allow for rehabilitation or change; people put to death have entirely “lost the right to have rights,” a punishment Brennan claims is inherently in violation of human dignity (Furman v. Georgia, 1972, p. 290).

This study analyzes data in relation to two of Brennan’s principles: whether the death watch is so severe that it degrades the dignity of a human being, and whether the death watch is an excessive punishment – one that brings about the pointless infliction of suffering. Because this research investigates death watch timelines, it cannot measure whether capital punishment is imposed arbitrarily (although research on this topic largely indicates that the death penalty is arbitrarily imposed; see Flanders, 2019). Moreover, this research cannot conclude whether contemporary society accepts capital punishment (although the literature reflects widespread renouncement of the death penalty by contemporary society; see Stassen, 2008; Shah, 2024).

Methodology

Twenty-six execution timelines from the U.S. state of Ohio were analyzed to discern the constitutionality of the death watch, using Brennan’s principles against excessiveness and degradation to human dignity. The timelines were assembled by prison officials and document each prisoner’s final hours of life during the death watch. These timelines ensure control, routine, and structure in the execution process, serving as a technique of documentation. They are structured on a minute-by-minute basis and include all actions and behaviors of the prisoner deemed relevant by prison officials constructing the timelines, as well as the movement of visitors, witnesses, and prison officials. Ohio execution timelines were made public following a lawsuit related to the legality of a botched execution (American Civil Liberties Union of Ohio, 2007).[2] The sample included timelines of 26 men (17 white and 9 Black), all executed by lethal injection between the years 1999 and 2007. The age of prisoners ranged from 28 to 62, with the average age being approximately 44 years. The sample also included 7 prisoners who were volunteers, meaning they waived all rights to appeal, essentially “allowing” the execution to take place expeditiously. Of these 7 volunteers, the average age at death was 38.4 years (7.9 years younger than the average age of non-volunteer prisoners at death, 46.3).

These timelines were coded to identify patterns or themes within qualitative data (see Maguire and Delahunt, 2017). Preliminary themes were developed through a literature review, where past literature regarding the death row and death watch experience was analyzed and synthesized. Emerging themes discovered in the execution timelines were later added to the coding sheet. All 26 timelines were reviewed for themes by hand using an open-ended approach, which allowed for the development of themes throughout the analysis. First, the researcher became familiar with the data by previewing the information with a preliminary reading. Next, initial codes were formulated through knowledge from a literature review and preliminary reading of the execution timelines. Broad thematic categories were created and operationalized by searching for multiple definitions and combining them to establish a definition most related to this study. These themes included organization (the structured sequencing of events, tasks, or processes), control (anything that restricts the autonomy of another person; including, but not limited to, restriction of movement, behavior, activity, and emotion), prisoner complicity (the involvement of a prisoner in the processes of their execution), dehumanization (to deprive a person of human qualities), and discomfort (the experience of mental or physical unease). Marked/coded elements were further arranged into thematic sub-categories and analyzed through the lens of Brennan’s principles governing cruel and unusual punishment.

There are some noteworthy limitations and strengths of this project. This research utilizes a select sample of execution timelines made public by the Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Corrections from the years 1999 to 2007. The data sample did not include execution timelines before the reinstatement of the death penalty, excluding the opportunity to compare the application of the death penalty both before and after guided discretion statutes. The data sample also did not include timelines after 2007, which could have depicted the present-day state of death penalty administration in Ohio. (As many execution timelines are not publicized, this study researches a data set that has a lack of prior research and analysis. This absence of research can be linked to the privatization of the death penalty and highlights the need for further study, as discussed later in this paper.) Notably, a large amount of research on the death penalty has been conducted in southern areas of the United States, which typically have higher execution rates. This research was based in Ohio and therefore analyzes the execution proceedings in a state that has not commonly been researched. Lastly, execution timelines are recorded by prison officials, which produces the possibility of bias in the transcripts themselves. For example, prison staff members record interpretations of prisoners’ states of mind without directly quoting the prisoners. Additionally, considering the large number of type-o’s, grammatical errors, misspellings, and inconsistencies, there is a possibility that these timelines are incomplete or were misrecorded. While this is a potential limitation, it is also a strength: these timelines demonstrate which aspects of the execution process the involved officials deem important and illuminate elements that are omitted.

Results

This analysis of death watch timelines uncovered key themes that directly relate to Brennan’s principles – and in turn, provide evidence of the unconstitutionality of the U.S. death penalty. These themes are control[3] of movement, social control, control of perception, prisoner complicity, dehumanization, and discomfort.

Control of Movement. For the purposes of this study, “control of movement” describes strategies used to dictate and restrict the movement of an individual. In the death watch timelines, movement was highly governed by prison officials to ostensibly maintain security and order. All prisoner movement outside cells was documented, including recording the moment a prisoner returned to his cell. Physical elements controlling movement included handcuffs, restraints, leg irons, the prisoner’s cell walls and door, and the bodies of prison officials. Movement of the prisoner inside the cell was also recorded and monitored, down to seemingly banal observations, removing any sense of privacy from the prisoner.

“Restraints removed from I/M Martin and secured in cell” (ODRC, 2007, p. 312)

“Preparing to move to the visiting area. I/M Roe is secured in the visiting area, awaiting his visitors.” (ODRC, 2007, p. 333)

“I/M doing #2 on toilet” (ODRC, 2007, p. 361)

“I/M Brewer ate about 1/4 of cereal. Nothing else.” (ODRC, 2007, p. 307)

Visitors were not allowed to enter the prisoner’s cell to give them a hug in their final moments. Touch with visitors was limited and could only take place through the cell bars. Any item going to a prisoner or being passed from a prisoner to a visitor was checked by an officer. Prisoners had no access to their personal items and had to ask permission to receive them.

“They sit down and ask is there anyway [sic] to hug him, they are informed they may hold hands” (ODRC, 2007, p. 396)

“I/M reaches through the hatch and hugs mom” (ODRC, 2007, p. 385)

“I/M Dennis’ mom reaches in threw [sic] the hatch rubs his cheek and gives him a kiss” (ODRC, 2007, p. 385)

“I/M gives his Bible to Father Weber to take with him-the Bible is checked by Team Leader” (ODRC, 2007, p. 437)

The highest level of controlled movement occurred at the onset of the execution process. At this point, there was a strict routine followed in each timeline, including the prisoner lying on their bed during the insertion of heparin locks (IV catheters placed in a vein to aid with administering medication/drugs), movement to the execution chamber, and the application of restraints. If a prisoner did not comply with the movement to the execution chamber, they were forced.

“Entering chamber. Inmate being placed on bed. Restraints being applied. Restraints now applied” (ODRC, 2007, p. 310)

“Team is carrying inmate to chamber. Inmate is now in chamber, placing inmate on bed.” (ODRC, 2007, p. 328-329)

Social Control. Social control can be defined as strategies used to restrict an individual’s behavior and maintain control. Whereas physical control restricts the movement of a person, social control impacts the emotions, beliefs, and behaviors of a person. The primary method of social control used in the death watch records was interaction between the execution team members and the prisoner. Prison officials involved in the death watch process engaged in conversation with the prisoner to keep them calm and maintain momentum without disruption – a goal that was explicitly stated by a prison director: “I would also like to recognize Warden ___. Warden ___ played a major role to keep him [the inmate] calm” (ODRC, 2007, p. 257). (The names of wardens and other prison officials are blacked out.) Notably, officers usually aided prisoners after particularly difficult moments, such as when the prisoner said goodbye to their family members, or when the prisoner was informed their appeal had been turned down. For example:

“Family members leaving the death house, I/M Fox said it is not goodbye just see you later.

_____ ask [sic] I/M Fox if he needs anything” (ODRC, 2007, p. 297)

“Atty Tkacz informs I/M Roe that his stay has been denied…Director ask I/M Roe how he is doing” (ODRC, 2007, p. 338)

However, the prisoner was simultaneously reminded that the officers were ultimately in control because the prisoner was required to request permission for everything they wished to do. Even when giving their last statement, the Warden “allowed” the prisoner to speak. In the final moments before the execution began, the prisoner was once again implicitly told that the officers were in control as the team leader entered the prisoner’s cell, sat down, and told him the procedures that would occur. Some prisoners verbally recognized their lack of control throughout the execution process by referencing their inability to change their situation during the appeals process of capital sentencing: “States this thing hasn’t been in his hands a long time” (ODRC, 2007, p. 393).

Control of Perception. Depictions of the death watch process in the timelines rarely noted moments of discomfort or pain. No prisoner was quoted as scrutinizing the work of the execution team members, but rather there were many instances when the prisoner thanked or praised the team. Throughout the timelines, specific phrases and words were used to impose emotions on the prisoner, creating a positive portrayal of the execution process. Timelines consistently stated that the prisoner was “in good spirits,” “upbeat,” or in a “good mood.” Officials declared that visits were “going well” in almost every timeline, and determined that prisoners were “enjoying their visit,” or “holding up well.” The timelines also used these phrases on multiple occasions in conjunction with a piece of negative feedback or after an uncomfortable situation. None of these depictions of emotion came directly from the prisoner or visitor, but were instead determined by the team leader or person writing the timeline.[4] For example:

“Still a lot of laughter with tears. More sounding of joy than sorrow” (ODRC, 2007, p. 308)

“Warden ___ states I/M Martin took the news of his denied appeal well” (ODRC, 2007, p. 314)

Out of the 26 timelines, four had a complication with the execution process itself, such as an issue with inserting the IV or the drugs not properly taking effect. During these instances, the complicity and emotions of the prisoner were directly stated. In an execution without complications, however, there was no reference to the prisoner’s emotions. For example, during Christopher Newton’s execution, it took approximately 1.5 hours to insert the heparin locks – requiring a break for both medical staff and Newton. At this time, the timeline stated: “Inmate Newton remains calm” (ODRC, 2007, p. 475).

Prisoner Complicity. Prisoner complicity can be defined as the involvement of the prisoner in the process of their execution. Most prisoners included in the data set complied with the procedures stated by the execution team members. If they did not comply, the condemned were forced to follow the execution agenda. Prisoners were compelled to participate in the process if they wished to have temporarily eased restrictions, such as requesting food and drink or using a television. Some death watch processes, such as the special meal request and the last statement, reinforced a sense of prisoner control as they took part in the ritualistic events of their final hours of life. While these events may seem like a personal choice, they ultimately follow the prescribed guidelines of the execution process and ensure the prisoner complies with the death watch script. The most extreme instance of prisoner complicity was showcased in the seven volunteers included in the execution timelines; these prisoners decided to stop the appeals process to effectively shorten their time on death row, allowing the execution to occur.

Dehumanization. The timelines contained many references to dehumanization, which is anything that deprives a person of human qualities. Prisoners on death watch experienced a slow dehumanization process as exemplified by how prisoners were referenced in the timelines. Upon arrival, prisoners were referred to as “Inmate (last name),” as they followed the structured schedule of the timeline and engaged in activities. The timelines specifically delineated the death watch from the execution process by stating “process to begin.” From that point forward, prisoners were only referred to as “inmate.” Although it was usually stated that a prisoner made a final statement before death, the content of the final statement was never included in the timeline. Once the execution ended, the prisoner became “body.” The use of the passive voice was also often used when referring to prisoners. This grammatical structure references a prisoner as an object that has things done to them, rather than being a person who is doing an action; “I/M Dennis placed in shower” and “I/M Byrd “given shower” (ODRC, 2007, p. 384, 266).

Many prisoners were aware of the dehumanization process at work and made references to their impending death, often as self-deprecating jokes that can be interpreted as defense mechanisms. One prisoner even referenced his escort trip from his regional prison to the death watch prison by “laughing about being the weight for traction” (ODRC, 2007, p. 294). Other examples include:

“Inmate Buell stated that, ‘I am the pre-election kill’” (ODRC, 2007, p. 287)

“IM Mink talking with team members said ‘I think I’ll have one more cigarette and then quit.’ He starts to laugh.” (ODRC, 2007, p. 377)

Discomfort. The timelines included evidence of discomfort – the experience of mental or physical unease, most represented as emotional discomfort. During final visits and goodbyes, both prisoners and visitors were reported to cry, “show emotions,” hold hands, have “low spirits,” and be “visibly shaken.” In the timelines, potentially passionate language was neutralized, portraying emotions as actions rather than feelings. For example, prisoners’ discomfort was typically characterized through phrases such as “pacing in cell,” “very quiet,” “blowing nose,” or “restless.” Many prisoners referenced physical discomfort attributed to the prison experience as a whole, or linked that suffering directly to their presence on death row:

“States he hadn’t had real food in ten years” (ODRC, 2007, p. 381)

“I/M states to team member that it’s Hotter thean [sic] Hell in here can I open my window” (ODRC, 2007, p. 435)

“They say it will be somewhat of a celebration to see I/M suffering end” (ODRC, 2007, p. 346)

“IM Vrabel talking with the Team Leader about his decission [sic] to go this way than wait out the rest of his time waiting for a date” (ODRC, 2007, p. 366)

“Inmate Buell said that his wife would have visited but he ask [sic] her not to come into the belly of the beast, Death Row” (ODRC, 2007, p. 287)

As the executions approached, many prisoners made statements regarding their nerves:

“I/M Williams states to Rev. Sims, “I getting [sic] very nervous now” (ODRC, 2007, p. 327)

“I/M Smith talking with team members lets them know it is getting harder to handle” (ODRC, 2007, p.  396)

Four prisoners experienced problems with their IV, making it necessary for the IV to be inserted many times and/or inserted into another part of their body – a process that can be physically and emotionally painful.

“Heparin lock in left arm a ‘no go,’ will start over” (ODRC, 2007, p. 338)

“Medical is still attempting to find a good vein. Medical checking leg & feet area, along with neck area.” (ODRC, 2007, p. 443)

While all prisoners had their vitals checked upon arrival, many prisoners also requested to see medical staff throughout their confinement to respond to physical and mental ailments. Some of the most common ailments included upset stomach, sinus congestion, headache, body pain, and high blood pressure. All prisoners were advised of sedative availability, and many received sedatives such as Valium, Ativan, Vistaril, and Hydroxyzine – illustrating how prison officials are aware of and actively attempt to combat the anxiety-inducing experience of the death watch and execution processes.

Discussion

Execution timelines can be understood as a mechanism to control the interpretation and portrayal of the execution process in a format that appears organized but is inconsistent. Type-o’s, incorrect grammar, different formats of organization, punctuation errors, and varying censoring of names reflect that the execution process – while seemingly controlled down to the minute – is a process that differs with each execution and is only practiced a few times a year, usually with multiple months in between executions. Prisoners have their emotions decided by the authors of the execution timelines, who frequently note that the prisoner is in good spirits, calm, or having a nice conversation without the prisoner directly stating their emotions. This finding is interesting in light of the contradictory finding that many prisoners request and receive medications for upset stomachs, headaches, and other physical discomforts related to anxiety (see Harvard Health Publishing, 2024). Considering how these execution timelines were released following a records request by the ACLU of Ohio regarding a botched execution (American Civil Liberties Union of Ohio, 2007), the rigid documentation of movement, security, and emotion in the timelines could represent a preoccupation with controlling the interpretation of the death watch process.

The use of execution timelines suggests that prison institutions seek to define the execution process as a highly practiced, consistent, and reliable procedure. However, the death watch process can be understood as a microcosm of the capital trial and sentencing legal process. The death penalty has received constitutional critiques and has even been deemed unconstitutional in a decision that has now been suspended, Furman v Georgia (1972). Furman found that death penalty sentencing was administered with too much discretion, which allowed for arbitrary applications of capital punishment – referred to by Justice Potter Stewart as being cruel and unusual in the “same way that being struck by lightning is cruel and unusual” (Furman v. Georgia, 1972, p. 408). This decision promoted a new era of death penalty administration by popularizing mandatory sentencing for capital crimes; a process that was also deemed unconstitutional because it failed to individualize the death sentencing process to account for the unique necessity of discretion when considering a human life. The combination of these two issues leaves the death penalty process in a “Goldilocks” situation, where both the proper amount of discretion and regulation are necessary to produce a fair capital sentence.

 The 1976 case Gregg v. Georgia reinstated the death penalty by relying on guided discretion statutes; in short, the Supreme Court ruled that the use of procedural safeguards could make the death penalty constitutional (Gregg v. Georgia, 1976). Jurors and judges analyze both mitigating factors (that may lead a jury to impose a lesser sentence) and aggravating factors (that may motivate a jury to impose the death penalty) in a capital crime to determine whether the crime warrants execution (Gregg v. Georgia, 1976). Mandated appeals in capital sentences and guided discretion statutes leave the public with the feeling that capital punishment is a highly regulated process that leaves no room for error, allowing for the moral diffusion of responsibility. This process has the outward resemblance of a checklist; when certain elements are checked off, the defendant should receive the death penalty. In practice, however, the process allows for immense discretion from state to state, allowing room for inconsistency and error (Steiker & Steiker, 2017).

The Ohio execution timelines mimic this effect. At first glance, the execution timelines themselves seem to be highly organized. Upon closer evaluation, however, there is an abundance of errors and inconsistencies in each timeline. This suggests that the death penalty process struggles to achieve the appropriate balance of discretion and regulation, illuminating an ongoing issue with capital punishment that may impose the death penalty arbitrarily. Without consistency in the capital sentencing process and transparency in the death watch and execution process, botched executions and inhumane procedures can occur without public knowledge. Furthermore, public conception that the execution process is essentially fool proof resigns the public to complacency; those who do not study the death penalty assume that errors in the execution process are unavoidable.

With those observations in mind, the following sub-sections discuss the research data in relation to two of Justice Brennan’s four principles: whether the death watch is so severe that it degrades the dignity of a human being, and whether the death watch is an excessive punishment. The first principle set forth by Brennan centers on how punishment “must not be so severe as to be degrading to the dignity of human beings” (Furman v. Georgia, 1972, p. 271). The Furman v. Georgia decision emphasizes that all human beings have an innate right to dignity, which cannot be eroded or disregarded during punishment (Furman v. Georgia, 1972). Yet, “the calculated killing of a human being by the States involves, by its very nature, a denial of the executed person’s humanity” (Furman v. Georgia, 1972, p. 290). The second principle forces us to investigate whether a punishment “serves no penal purpose more effectively than a less severe punishment” (Furman v. Georgia, 1972, p. 280). While the death penalty has largely been determined as a deterrent with no greater effect than life imprisonment (Furman v. Georgia, 1972), this research primarily focuses on Brennan’s second definition of “excessive” in relation to the Eighth Amendment: a punishment is severe when it is “nothing more than the pointless infliction of suffering” (Furman v. Georgia, 1972, p. 279).[5]

Human Dignity

A prisoner’s need for human contact and comfort in the final hours of their life is exploited by prison officials as a weakness. Conversation with prisoners is used as a mechanism of domination (as indicated by goals directly stated by prison directors), including when conversations occur after prisoners experience emotionally upsetting events. Prison guards on death row often receive direct orders to avoid conversation with prisoners to avoid building personal connection (Johnson, 2005; Osofsky et al., 2005), yet personnel are praised for engaging in discussion with prisoners on death watch – specificallyto calm and distract them. The immediate switch from the importance of avoiding discussion to the necessity of engaging in discussion demonstrates how conversation is used as a method of control during a prisoner’s final hours.  

Such control removes autonomy from the prisoner; a right which is routinely acknowledged as a basic human freedom (Harrison, 2020). Various aspects of the death row process are substantially different from the death watch process. For example, prisoners on death watch can make requests for specific food, visit with family members multiple times, and make unlimited phone calls. However, to take part in these temporary diminishments of restriction, prisoners are forced to comply with procedures by making requests through prison officials. If a prisoner did not follow the usual course of action (such as not wishing to make a final meal request, make a final statement, or have witnesses at their execution), prison officials pressured them to follow the normalized execution process. These moments of forced complicity give the impression that the prisoner has agency while granting prison officials authority over the procedure.

The denial of physical and emotional privacy for prisoners on death watch further illustrates their lack of recognized human status. Officers watch every move of the prisoner, including when they use the bathroom, shower, or change clothes. Officers also witness every emotion of the prisoner, including emotional breakdowns after a final visit with family members. There is an implicit cruelty in a complete lack of privacy, a direct dereliction of dignity derived from being relentlessly monitored and documented by a third party. This rigid documentation serves to define the prisoner less as a human and more as a lab-rat to be experimented on and observed – or Brennan might say, “as objects to be toyed with and discarded” (Furman v. Georgia, 1972, pp. 272-273). Even during a prisoner’s final moments with loved ones, a prison official enters the visiting room to take a morbid final photo of a prisoner smiling with their family. While institutions have a responsibility to protect against potential violence inside prisons, security incentives do not justify the exhaustive restriction of privacy for prisoners.

Further representing the subhuman status of prisoners, the timelines utilize grammatical structures that deem a prisoner not as a human but as an object. The timelines employ the passive voice, such as “the prisoner is being moved by the officers.” This structure, in a literal sense, dehumanizes the prisoner by referring to them as an object – indicating that an object is being acted upon, rather than reflecting what a person did or does. Upon arrival at the death watch institution, the prisoner is referred to as “Inmate [last name].” Over the coming hours, the prisoner will slowly be referred to only as “inmate” and eventually as “body.” The prisoner was never seen as a human by officials, only as an object, or as termed by the prison officials writing the timelines, an “inmate” (Osofsky et al., 2005). Although a prisoner is always offered the opportunity to make a final statement, the content of final statements is not included in the execution timeline; a detail that represents the dehumanization and lack of dignity afforded to prisoners in their final moments.

Prisoners experience a lack of human dignity during their treatment on death watch. The absence of both physical and emotional privacy dehumanizes prisoners while simultaneously granting power to officers, creating a power imbalance that suggests a hierarchy of human needs, where officers receive dignity and prisoners do not. Prisoners’ dignity is decayed as they are referred to only as “inmate” and eventually as a “body.” The conjunction of these practices, along with death row conditions which place humans in cells resembling dog cages, can be understood as the degradation of human dignity, violating Brennan’s principle against “a refusal to accord the criminal human status” (Furman v. Georgia, 1972, p. 273).

Excessiveness

Frequent notes about the administration of medication are one way the timelines highlight the excessive nature of the death watch. All prisoners are offered a sedative before the execution, demonstrating that officials are aware that the execution process is stressful. Prisoners commonly requested medication for upset stomachs and headaches, which are symptoms commonly associated with stress or anxiety (Harvard Health Publishing, 2024). Many prisoners also required medications for physical ailments, potentially representing conditions that began or were exacerbated by the extreme physical conditions of imprisonment. For example, medications are commonly prescribed for high blood pressure and body aches. High blood pressure can often be linked to lifestyle factors, such as a lack of physical activity, consumption of unhealthy foods, poor-quality sleep, and high-stress experiences – all common features of death row (Johnson, 2005; U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, 2024).  Twenty-seven percent of prisoners depicted in the timelines volunteered for their execution by waiving legal rights to appeals; many of these volunteering prisoners mentioned that they did not wish to spend their remaining time on death row, conveying that the death row experience caused them severe distress.

The most uncomfortable experience cited in the timelines regarded problems with the execution process itself. Four of the 26 timelines (15%) demonstrated an issue with the execution process, most commonly issues with IVs that required multiple attempts at inserting an IV – including inserting an IV in other body locations, such as a leg or neck. Notably, the execution timelines used for this study were made public after a lawsuit concerning the botched execution of Christopher Newton. Newton’s execution took approximately an hour and a half – an amount of time so lengthy that both the medical team and Newton had to take breaks before continuing attempts to insert the heparin locks (ODRC, 2007).

Another striking example of an excessive death watch punishment is the denial of physical contact between a prisoner and their loved ones before execution. For instance, prison officials did not allow a mother to hug her son for the final time before his death. A focus on security may be the claimed purpose for this policy, but both the prisoner and all visitors are thoroughly searched before entering the death house. Prisoners and visitors are watched by a large team of officials, and the prisoner does not have access to any items that have not been approved by a team member. There is no real threat to safety and security in allowing a final embrace, but rather it seems to be done to prevent any source of comfort from coming into close contact with the prisoner.

Philosopher Albert Camus (1963) wrote that there are “two deaths” inflicted upon a capital defendant: the execution, and the time leading up to the execution when the prisoner must wait for their impending death (p. 156). However, it can be argued that in the modern day, there are three deaths inflicted upon a prisoner. First, the prisoner must survive death row, which not only causes bodily destruction but also emotional suffering that dehumanizes prisoners (Johnson, 2005). Next, a prisoner is transported to the death house to experience the death watch. During these final hours, prisoners face extreme uncertainty surrounding their possible death. Upon their arrival at the death watch institution, most prisoners have not exhausted the appeals process completely. In fact, only briefly before their execution do prisoners find out their final appeals for life are denied. For example, Inmate Lewis Williams’ execution timeline states that the Supreme Court denied his final appeal for stay just two hours before his execution. Up until their final appeal is denied, prisoners are left sitting in a heavily guarded cell, considering the possibility of their death. One can imagine the prisoner picking the petals of a flower like a powerless child: “They’ll kill me, they’ll kill me not.” After being told the execution will occur, the prisoner must immediately attempt to come to terms with their death, while simultaneously meeting with loved ones, following the instructions of the guards, and putting on a brave face. Finally, the prisoner faces the execution itself; while being watched by onlookers, the prisoner is killed by the hands of the prison officials who tended to them for their final hours.

Each of these processes has distinct goals defined by the execution team members. During a prisoner’s time on death row, they are “warehoused” (Johnson, 2005). Prison officials are directly told to avoid emotional connection with a prisoner and to ensure maximum security and control (Osofsky et al., 2005). On the death watch, conversation is used to achieve goals of control and distraction (Osofsky et al., 2005). Upon reaching the execution chamber, prisoners are completely ignored, and the only goal is the controlled killing of the prisoner without disruption (Johnson, 2005). The prisoner experiences emotional whiplash throughout their punishment; sometimes they feel as though prison officials can be trusted and confided in, while at other times their humanity and dignity are completely ignored in the pursuit of control. Discrepancies between treatment at each juncture of the execution process suggest that each aspect is a distinct punishment, and therefore that prisoners experience three separate punishments rather than just one, making this punishment excessive in nature. Additionally, prison officials take part in crude actions that have no discernible impact on safety or security. The only apparent outcome of denying a prisoner final physical comfort from family members is the degradation of human dignity, a consequence that has already been determined to constitute cruel and unusual punishment. Considering these findings, the death penalty can be defined as excessive punishment.

Conclusion

Based on the analysis of the death penalty and Ohio death watch timelines, this paper argues that capital punishment violates the Eighth Amendment protections against cruel, unusual, and excessive punishment. The execution timelines reveal the troubling experiences and treatment of prisoners facing the death penalty. Prison officials utilize techniques of medicalization and routinization to emotionally distance themselves from the execution process, which not only contributes to the dehumanization of prisoners but creates end-of-life care that is impersonal and undignified. Along with these processes, consistent secrecy regarding execution procedures limits public knowledge about the death penalty and conceals dehumanizing mechanisms that may be publicly rejected. Prison officials create execution timelines in a format that allows for complete control of perception by the prison institution, and even include biased statements that portray the execution process in a superior light. After close examination, however, Ohio execution timelines were severely disorganized, exemplifying an issue in death penalty administration analogous to arbitrariness caused by discretion, which was found to be unconstitutional in Furman v. Georgia (1972). After taking part in the planned death of another human, officials congratulate each other and exchange prideful words during events that resemble celebrations.

The timelines directly inform readers about practices contributing to dehumanization by recording the experiences and emotions of prisoners before their execution. Death watch prisoners are strictly controlled, both physically and emotionally, in a manner that restricts autonomy and degrades human dignity. One method of social control employed is forced prisoner complicity, in which prisoners must take part in aspects of their own execution, such as final visits, last meals, and last statements, to sustain the execution process. Prisoners made many references to uncomfortable experiences, including physical ailments and emotional collapse, which inform the public of the dehumanizing quality of death row and death watch confinement.

The execution timelines and prisoners’ words reference three separate punishments that accompany a capital sentence: death row imprisonment, death watch imprisonment, and the execution. The combination of these punishments, each with distinct goals and expectations, conceives excessive punishment which goes beyond justifiable discipline and reaches into “something more than the mere extinguishment of life” (Furman v. Georgia, 1972, p. 265). Using Justice Brennan’s principles against cruel and unusual punishment, decided in the only United States Supreme Court case to have found the death penalty unconstitutional, there are clear violations of the principles against excessive and degrading punishment. Therefore, based on the Ohio execution timelines, the death penalty is unconstitutional and must be abolished.

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Miller, K. S., & Hunt, S. A. (2008). Exit Stage Left: A Dramaturgical Analysis of Media Accounts of Executions in America. Journal of Criminal Justice and Popular Culture, 15(2).

Ohio Department of Rehabilitation & Correction (ODRC). (2007). Timelines.  

Osofsky, M. J., Bandura, A., & Zimbardo, P. G. (2005). The Role of Moral Disengagement in the Execution Process. Law and Human Behavior, 29(4): 371-393.

Shah, P. (2024). Reevaluating Capital Punishment: An Ethical and Pragmatic Examination. Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights, 14(1).

Smith, A. (2008). Not “Waiving” but Drowning: The Anatomy of Death Row Syndrome and Volunteering for Execution. The Boston University Public Interest Law Journal, 17: 237-254.

Stassen, G. (2008). The Death Penalty is Losing. Tikkun, 23(4): 43-47.

Steiker, C. S., & Steiker, J. M. (2017). Courting Death: The Supreme Court and Capital Punishment. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

United Nations. (1948). The Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Retrieved from https://www.un.org/en/about-us/universal-declaration-of-human-rights.

United Nations General Assembly. (1990, December 14). Basic Principles for the Treatment of Prisoners. General Assembly resolution 45/111. Retrieved fromhttps://www.ohchr.org/en/instruments-mechanisms/instruments/basic-principles-treatment-prisoners.

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© Copyright 2025 Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights. All rights reserved. 

Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights is an academic journal that provides space for undergraduate students to explore human rights issues, challenge current actions and frameworks, and engage in problem-solving aimed at tackling some of the world’s most pressing issues. This open-access journal is available online at www.webster.edu/rightingwrongs.

[1] The Furman decision found that the death penalty violated the Eighth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution and its prohibition on cruel and unusual punishment, thereby commuting the sentences of prisoners on death row. However, the court reversed its decision on the death penalty with its decision in Gregg v. Georgia (1976) by ruling that new state statutes, including procedural safeguards, could make the death penalty constitutional.

[2] These timelines from the Ohio Department of Rehabilitation & Correction (ODRC) were captured for academic study before they were removed from the public record.

[3] Elements of stringent physical and social control were present in all 26 timelines, based on the definition of control being anything that restricts the autonomy of another person. That is, restriction of movement, behavior, activity, or emotion.

[4] For a prisoner who was not complicit with the officers, the timeline writer stated: “I/M appears to be aggitated [sic] with everything that is and isn’t going on. Sarcastic when he does speak” (ODRC, 2007, p. 352).

[5] Although beyond the scope of this study, it is worth noting that the death penalty includes suffering during a prisoner’s time on death row – often averaging more than two decades without sunlight, interaction, and opportunities for mental stimulation (Johnson, 2016).

Families During the Israel-Hamas War: Assessing Family Rights Violations in Gaza

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Human rights frameworks identify the family as a vital and fundamental unit of society, yet actions by the Israeli government and its Israel Defense Force in Gaza violate numerous family rights and involve acts of ethnic cleansing and genocide. This paper explores family rights issues facing Palestinians in Gaza since 2023, including family separation and displacement, maternal and reproductive healthcare, the loss of children and parents, familicide, and domicide. This war disproportionately affects Palestinian women and children.

The Israel-Hamas war began on 7 October 2023, when armed fighters associated with Hamas committed acts of terrorism targeting Israeli civilians, killing 1,195 people (815 of whom were civilians) (Human Rights Watch, 2024b). By May 2025, at least 52,535 Palestinians had been killed by Israeli attacks, 70% of them women and children (United Nations Human Rights, 2025b). More than 50,000 Palestinian children had either been killed or injured (UNICEF, 2025), with at least 18,000 children killed (Defense for Children International Palestine, 2025). These numbers only account for the people confirmed dead, with thousands more presumed dead. An estimated 113,274 other people were injured (69% women and children) and more than 11,200 people remain missing (70% of them women and children) in May 2025 (Palestinian Information Center, 2025).

Human rights monitors argue that the Israeli government and its Israel Defense Force (IDF) have perpetrated acts of ethnic cleansing and genocide[1] in Gaza (see Amnesty International, 2024b). These include prohibited acts under the United Nations Genocide Convention such as killing and causing deliberate harm meant to bring about the physical destruction of an identity group (Amnesty International, 2024a). For example, Palestinian civilians have intentionally been deprived of water with the obstruction or destruction of water and sanitation infrastructure (Human Rights Watch, 2024a). Israeli forces have used starvation as a weapon of war by denying vital food aid (Human Rights Watch, 2023). Jens Lærke, spokesperson for the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (UNOCHA), said in April 2025 that the events in Gaza represent “a callous disregard for human life and dignity,” adding that “the acts of war that we see bear the hallmarks of atrocity crimes” (quoted in United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs – Occupied Palestinian Territory, 2025). The United Nations claims that the violence against civilians in Gaza is both systemic and institutionalized (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs – Occupied Palestinian Territory, 2024). This includes the cutting off of food, fuel, and essential medicines (Solomon & Ahmad, 2025) and the targeted killing of aid workers (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs – Occupied Palestinian Territory, 2025) – all in a place where half the population of 2.3 million are children (Hussein & Haddad, 2025).

The ongoing conflict in Gaza has violated Palestinian family rights since 2023, including those related to family separation and displacement, maternal and reproductive health, and the loss of children and parents. Some Palestinians face “familicide,” which is the killing of near-to-entire families by armed forces, and “domicide,” which is the systematic and mass destruction of homes. Global human rights frameworks such as the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR), the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights (Banjul Charter), and the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) Declaration of Human Rights identify the family as a vital unit of society enshrined with its own rights, and these frameworks provide a basis for family protection that underpins binding international human rights law.

This paper highlights the pervasive family rights violations that Palestinians have encountered during the Israel-Hamas War. First, a brief historical background of Israel-Palestine leads to the recent Israel-Hamas War. Second, relevant human rights frameworks and treaties are connected to family rights violations. These violations include family separation and displacement, maternal and reproductive healthcare, the loss of children and parents, familicide, and domicide. Lastly, recommendations for moving forward include not only the end to the war, but positive steps toward protecting Palestinian families and rebuilding their conceptions of home.

Family Rights Violations in Gaza

Global human rights frameworks recognize the importance of protecting families. Although these frameworks are not legally binding, they provide the basis for international law. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR), which Israel adopted in 1948, distinguishes “family” as the fundamental unit of society and stipulates it “is entitled to protection by society and the State” (United Nations, 1948, Article 16). The value placed on the family extends to non-Western frameworks such as the African Charter on Humans and Peoples’ Rights, more commonly known as the Banjul Charter, which says the State has an obligation to aid families because they are an integral part of society (African Court on Human and Peoples’ Rights, 1981, Article 17). The Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) Declaration of Human Rights recognizes that privacy, family, and home should be free from interference (Association of Southeast Asian Nations, 2012, General Principles, Subsection 2). An array of international human rights frameworks recognize the value of the family and state obligations for protecting it.

Stemming from those frameworks are legally binding international treaties, many of which Israel has ratified and since violated. Those include the Convention Against Torture and Other Cruel Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment (ratified 3 October 1991), International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ratified Oct. 3, 1991), Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (ratified 3 October 1991), International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights (ratified 3 October 1991), Convention on the Rights of the Child (ratified 3 October 1991), and the Optional Protocol to the Convention on the Rights of the Child on the Involvement of Children in Armed Conflict (ratified 18 July 2005) (see United Nations Treaty Collection, n.d.). The following section highlights how these treaties relate to family rights violations during the Israel-Hamas War, especially in relation to family separation and displacement, maternal and reproductive healthcare, the loss of children, familicide, and domicide.

Family Separation & Displacement

Family separation and displacement in Gaza have occurred on a massive scale, displacing almost the entire population of Gaza. Thousands of children have been separated from their families, either through displacement or through death. About 1.9 million people had been displaced from Gaza by April 2025 (90% of the population), with almost all the population under evacuation orders at some time since the October 7 attacks (Associated Press, 2025). Previous conflicts had already led to the mass displacement of Palestinians, but this much internal displacement in a short period of time has never been seen before by Gazans. Thousands have been displaced to southern Gaza as northern Gaza became unlivable, but many are unable to travel – including those who are sick or have a disability – and tens of thousands of Gazans are estimated to remain in northern Gaza (Levitt & Walker, 2023).

Within the first year of the war, there were an estimated 17,000 children either unaccompanied or separated from their families. An “unaccompanied child” has been separated from both parents, relatives, or any adult who may be legally responsible for the child (UNICEF, 2024). In Gaza, unaccompanied children have been left to survive on their own, likely facing multiple displacements. Aid organizations such as UNICEF work to prevent family separation and aid unaccompanied children, cut they face significant challenges including security constraints, continuous population movements, and lack of access that has made identifying, registering, and reunifying separated children very difficult (UNICEF, 2024). Since the start of the war, more than 39,000 children in Gaza have lost one or both parents; global organizations are calling this “the largest orphan crisis in modern history” (Palestinian Information Center, 2025; Middle East Monitor, 2025).

Many separated children are too young to give identification to officials, which only makes it more difficult for reunification, and individuals report that they haven’t seen their family members in over a year (Knell, 2025). Thousands of people are unaccounted for, with many presumed dead. Only about 2,100 out of 8,300 cases have led to answers, and very few have resulted in family reunification. Separated families have lost the ability to communicate with each other on numerous times where Israeli forces cut internet and cellphone service, sometimes for months at a time (Yee & Shbair, 2024). Separated families report being unable to reach loved ones due to being restricted by Israeli forces to move from Northern Gaza to the South, leaving thousands stranded where fighting has been extreme, all without a way to leave.

Exacerbating the situation are numerous attacks on refugee camps for displaced people within Gaza, like the Jabalia refugee camp in northern Gaza. The IDF claims camps were attacked because of the presence of Hamas militants and a senior Hamas commander – a claim that Hamas has denied (Al Jazeera, 2023). With thousands of people residing in the Jabalia camp, it is unclear how many civilians have died because of Israeli airstrikes. At the time of initial bombing, IDF spokesperson Jonathan Conricus told BBC News that the IDF was reviewing reports of “collateral damage” and “non-combatant casualties” (quoted in Adams, 2023). After attacks on the Jabalia camp, eyewitness Mohammad Ibrahim told CNN: “There were seven to eight huge holes in the ground, full of killed people, body parts all over the place. It felt like the end of the world” (quoted in Khadder & Salman, 2023). Another attack on the Jabalia refugee camp in April 2025 resulted in the deaths of at least six more people after an Israeli air strike hit a UN-run school (The New Arab Staff & Agencies, 2025). Attacks on tent camps have led to countless deaths of Palestinians in zones established to protect them.

Maternal and Reproductive Healthcare

Access to maternal and reproductive healthcare has been significantly reduced in Gaza, despite protections under international law. The Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) says that States must “eliminate discrimination against women in the field of health care in order to ensure, on a basis of equality of men and women, access to health care services, including those related to family planning” (United Nations, 1979, Article 12).[2] Challenges to maternal and reproductive health care also connect to the UN Genocide Convention, which prohibits “measures intended to prevent births within the group” (United Nations, 1951). An estimated 500,000 women in Palestine lost access to prenatal and postnatal care and family planning during the first year of the war, which resulted in the stark increase in miscarriages, obstetric complications, and at-risk births (United Nations Population Fund, 2024). The United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) (2024) also reports that an estimated 155,000 pregnant women were forced to endure incredible circumstances, such as giving birth “under fire, in tents, while fleeing bombs, and often without assistance, medication or even clean water.” Severe malnutrition and lack of maternity care make it extremely difficult for women to keep themselves and their children alive, especially newborns. Extreme food insecurity is being experienced by an estimated 557,000 women, according to UN Women (Al Mezan Center for Human Rights, 2025).

There are acute shortages in medical resources, like medicines and blood products, which threaten life-saving obstetric care for pregnant women and other health needs. There are an estimated 183 women per day expected to give birth in Gaza, with 15% expected to need additional medical assistance that is already dangerously low. As a result, health care providers in Gaza report that maternal procedures, like cesarean sections (C-sections), have been done without electricity or anesthesia (Elnakib et al., 2024). There is a critical shortage of “medicines used to induce or augment labour; blood plasma to treat women who are hemorrhaging, and medicine to treat pre-eclampsia- all vital to preventing maternal deaths and complications” (United Nations Population Fund, 2025b). Many supplies vital to the health of mothers and newborns rest at the border, such as ultrasounds, incubators, midwifery kits that could aid 15,000 women (United Nations Population Fund, 2025b). Pregnant women must nourish their bodies to healthily grow their child(ren), yet during the first year of war more than 17,000 women were categorized to be severely starved (United Nations Population Fund, 2025b).

The healthcare system in Gaza is so overwhelmed that many hospitals do not offer maternity care, and it is extremely difficult for mothers to receive postpartum checkups (Medecins Sans Frontieres, 2024). Other shortages include sanitary products; many menstruating women and girls must use tent scraps instead, and others take norethisterone tablets, which are meant for excessive menstrual bleeding, endometriosis, and other disorders. Women and girls are resorting to using norethisterone tablets and other forms of birth control because despite the blockade; they have been easier to attain than menstrual products, such as sanitary napkins and tampons (Alsaafin & Amer, 2023). The severe lack of privacy and overcrowded camps only make it more difficult for menstruating women and girls to receive care. At least 700,000 menstruating women and girls are experiencing a “silent menstrual hygiene emergency” (United Nations Human Rights, 2025d).

Attempts to even reach a clinic or hospital for childbirth can be life-threatening in Gaza. In a report by the Al Mezan Center for Human Rights (2025), retired midwife Rajha Al-Moghrabi spoke of her experience aiding internally displaced people in a tent in Gaza where women gave birth. Al-Moghrabi recounted how she and fellow aid workers had no access to painkillers or medication, and they had to use flashlights on their mobile phones as the source of light because there was no electricity. She said that she could not provide care when complications arose because there was no other choice. As women were giving birth in the makeshift clinic, many were emotionally distressed due to their husband or close relatives passing away. Most of the women spoke of experiencing extreme hunger, as well as embarrassment due to the lack of privacy in the tent (Al Mezan Center for Human Rights, 2025). In the same report, Director of Al-Awda Hospital Dr. Mohammad Saleha claimed the IDF intentionally targeted pregnant women traveling to the hospital by shooting at them and their companions. Saleha recounted a pregnant woman in labor and her brother-in-law arriving at the hospital, terrified and crying, after the IDF shot at them and hit the woman’s mother-in-law. They were interrogated by the IDF and ordered to leave the hospital while she was still admitted (Al Mezan Center for Human Rights, 2025). Deliberately attempting to prevent births in a group is prohibited under the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (United Nations, 1951).

Loss of Children

Data shows that Palestinian children are targeted by Israeli forces, despite special protections under international law. The United Nations Convention on the Rights of Child says that “States Parties recognize that every child has the inherent right to life [and] States Parties shall ensure to the maximum extent possible the survival and development of the child” (United Nations, 1989, Article 6). Yet during the Israel-Hamas War, Israeli forces kill a child every 45 minutes (Hussein & Haddad, 2025). More than 18,000 deaths out of 52,535 were children, meaning that nearly 35% of Palestinians killed were children. At least 50,000 children had either been killed or injured by May 2025, including 274 infants killed by IDF attacks, 876 children who didn’t make it to their first birthday, 17 children who died in displacement camps from freezing temperatures, and 52 children who starved to death or died from acute malnutrition (Palestinian Information Center, 2025). Thousands are unidentified, and many more children are presumed dead under the rubble.

The Optional Protocol to the Convention on the Rights of the Child on the Involvement of Children in Armed Conflict condemns “the targeting of children in situations of armed conflict…including places that generally have a significant presence of children, such as schools and hospitals” (United Nations Human Rights, 2000). Since December 2023, at least 1.4 million Palestinians have been displaced to churches, mosques, schools, and medical centers – all places prohibited from being attacked under international law (Levitt & Walker, 2023). As of March 2024, the IDF has either directly hit or damaged 86.2% of schools in Gaza, and 188 of the 320 schools used for displacement shelters have been either directly hit or damaged.  There have been over 100 attacks on hospitals that have caused significant casualties, including the deaths of civilians and healthcare workers, like doctors and nurses. The attacks have also caused the near-complete destruction of civilian infrastructure, which will be assessed later in the section on domicide (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs – Occupied Palestinian Territory, 2024). After an attack on a church where people were seeking refuge, a father whose three children were killed said: “They bombed my angels without warning. They killed our children, the children of cousins, relatives” (quoted in Hussein & Haddad, 2025). Attacks on hospitals are considered grave breaches under the Geneva Convention (International Committee of the Red Cross, 2021), yet UN reports show that children bear the brunt of attacks against hospitals, both directly and indirectly (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs – Occupied Palestinian Territory, 2024). Some of the women and children killed at hospitals are reported to have been holding white pieces of cloth, which is a sign of surrender (United Nations Human Rights, 2024c).

Children’s rights to develop, live, and flourish are threatened daily. Between August and November 2024, approximately 19,000 children had to be hospitalized for acute malnutrition, according to UN deputy Secretary-General Amina Mohammed (quoted in Lederer, 2025). A UN report found that the Israeli government has “deliberately inflicted conditions of life resulting in the destruction of generations of Palestinian children and, potentially, the Palestinian people as a group” (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs – Occupied Palestinian Territory, 2024). If you were in a room with 100 Palestinian children, “two have been killed, two are missing and presumed dead, three have been wounded, many critically, five have been orphaned or separated from their parents, and five require treatment for acute malnutrition” (Hussein & Haddad, 2025). James Kariuki, Britain’s Deputy Ambassador to the UN, told the UN Security Council in January 2025 that “Gaza has become the deadliest place in the world to be a child. The children of Gaza did not choose this war, yet they have paid the ultimate price” (quoted in Lederer, 2025).

Israeli and U.S. officials consistently claimed that Hamas is the group inflicting these conditions of life upon Gazan children. Danny Danon, Israel’s Ambassador to the United Nations, claims that it is not Israel that is causing violence and despair to Palestinian children, but rather it is Hamas (Lederer, 2025). Yet countless cases provide evidence to support a claim made by Ayed Abu Eqtaish, an official with the Defense for Children International Palestine: “Israeli forces have signed a death warrant for Palestinian children in Gaza as they carry out nonstop attacks” and continue the blockade of all aid (quoted in Defense for Children International Palestine, 2025). Examples include surprise attacks on 18 March 2025 that led to the deaths of 400 children (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs – Occupied Palestinian Territory, 2025) – one of the largest one-day death tolls in Gaza’s history (Defense for Children International Palestine, 2025). Two of the children killed were Omar al-Jamassi (aged 15) and his sister, Layan (aged 16). Layan was to begin the new school year hours after she was killed. Omar and Layan’s mother and siblings also died in the attack (Uddin, 2025). In another case, a family of seven was trying to flee the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood that was being bombed when their car was targeted by an Israeli tank. Five-year-old girl Hind Rajab survived the initial attack and managed to call the Palestine Red Crescent Society, yet she was on the phone with emergency services for at least three hours while Israeli forces prevented medical services from reaching her. The bodies of her entire family and two medical personnel sent to rescue her were found twelve days later (Hussein & Haddad, 2025). The UN investigated this case and found that the shelling of the ambulance, the killing of the medical personnel, and the deaths of the family constitute war crimes (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs – Occupied Palestinian Territory, 2024).

It is estimated by UNICEF that every child left in Gaza needs mental health and psychosocial support, with that being roughly one million children (Uddin, 2025). A UN report says that both adult and child detainees in Israeli military camps have been subjected to abuse, violence, torture, rape, and other forms of sexual violence, including attacks to detainees’ sexual and reproductive organs and being forced to perform “humiliating and strenuous acts” while being stripped as punishment – all of which constitute war crimes (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs – Occupied Palestinian Territory, 2024). (There is also a report that the IDF forcibly transferred at least one female infant into Israel, which is also a war crime (United Nations Human Rights, 2025c). The forcible transfer of children to another group is prohibited under UN Genocide Convention (United Nations, 1951). Another UN report describes how children are “severely traumatized, unaccompanied, with limited ability to locate or communicate with their families” after leaving Israeli detainment (United Nations Human Rights, 2024). Given the treatment and targeted deaths of Palestinian children, Ammar Ammar of UNICEF has said that “Gaza is a graveyard for children” (Uddin, 2025).

Familicide

Israeli forces have targeted and killed near-to-entire Palestinian families, constituting systemic familicide. Familicide refers to the killing of one or more family members by another family member (Tavone et al., 2023). In the context of this paper and specifically in Gaza, “under the conditions of genocide, colonialism, settler-colonialism, and violent conflict more generally familicide refers to the often-deliberate killing, separation, punishment, and disablement of families by military and paramilitary forces” (Jones et al., 2025). Familicide in Gaza is regarded as an explicit facet to genocide. Israeli forces have obliterated Palestinian families, some of which have been destroyed completely. As of October 2024, the largest number of people killed in single families within the first year of war are: Al-Najjar (393), Al-Masry (226), Al-Astal (225), Ashour (166), Shaheen (164), Hamdan (151), Al-Madhoon (146), Ahmed (145), Obeid (144), Hijazi (141) (Hussein et al., 2024).

Data from the first year of war show the scope of familicide in Gaza. Reports show that 902 entire families were eliminated, 1,364 families were reduced to one surviving member, and 3,472 families were reduced to two surviving members (Hussein et. al., 2024). Hours after the October 7 attacks, Israeli forces bombed a three-story residential building that killed 15 members of the al-Dos family, including seven children. The bombing killed two parents, Adel and Ilham al-Dos, and all five of their children. The youngest victim was Adam, 18 months old (Amnesty International, 2023). Mohammad al-Dos told Amnesty International (2023): “Two bombs fell suddenly on top of the building and destroyed it. My wife and I were lucky to survive because we were staying on the top floor. She was nine-months pregnant and gave birth at al-Shifa hospital a day after the attack. Our entire family has been destroyed.” Amnesty International (2023) investigated the bombing and found no evidence that military targets were in the building.

Other examples unfortunately abound. Three days after the October 7 attacks, 18 members of the al-Najjar family were killed by an Israeli airstrike, including five children. One of the children, Zein, was two months old. Of the family name al-Najjar, 393 members have been killed and victims range from two months old to 55 years old (Hussein et. al., 2024). On that same day, 12 members of the Hijazi family were killed by an Israeli airstrike, three being children. One of the surviving members, Kamal Hijazi, lost his sister, two brothers, two sisters-in-law, two cousins, and five nieces and nephews (Amnesty International, 2023). Kamal told Amnesty International (2023): “Our family home, a three-story house, was bombed at 5:15 pm. It was sudden, without any warning; that is why everyone was at home.” On 26 October 2023, the al-Astal family suffered the loss of 38 members, including 20 children and 7 women. The attack ranged across three generations of the family, from under one year old to 65 years old (Hussein et al., 2024). A Palestinian who survived the bombing of his home said, “I saw death today. It didn’t take my life. [It took] my family’s. I wish I was killed too…I will mourn them for the rest of my life’” (quoted in Mhawish, 2023). On 18 March 2025, at least three families lost a total of 63 members after airstrikes hit Gaza, killing at least 970 Palestinians, most of them women and children (The New Arab Staff, 2025).

Domicide

Israeli forces have systematically demolished infrastructure in Gaza, constituting domicide. Domicide is “the purposeful and widespread destruction of homes and buildings to make a place unlivable” (Bravermen, 2024). Domicide in Gaza is also intricately connected to genocide. In the first two months of war, the UN reported that at least 46,000 homes were destroyed and another 274,000 were damaged (Rigdon & Choi, 2023). Over the next six months, those numbers rose to at least 79,000 homes being destroyed and another 370,000 damaged (Lederer, 2024). This makes up about 85% of all housing units in Gaza (Patil, 2024). Churches, colleges, mosques, and other various buildings have been completely obliterated by the IDF (Alfonseca et al., 2024). The Palestinian Civil Defense reports that as of May 2024, there are an estimated 100,000 people missing underneath the destruction in Gaza (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs – Occupied Palestinian Territory, 2024). The IDF has systematically leveled homes and buildings on the eastern border between Gaza and Israel to create a buffer zone between the two territories. Palestinians who lived there were either forced out or killed to make room for the buffer zone (Diamond et al., 2025). The zone now takes up about 30% of Gaza (UN, 2025).

The following principles are helpful for understanding limitations on domicide under international law: military necessity, principle of proportionality, and collective punishment. First, international law strictly prohibits the destruction of property when it is not deemed fit for military use. For something to qualify as “military use” in armed conflicts, “the only legitimate military purpose is to weaken the military capacity of the other parties to the conflict” (International Committee of the Red Cross, n.d.b). Second, the principle of proportionality under the Geneva Conventions says that the indiscriminate killing of civilians, “which would be excessive in relation to the concrete and direct military advantage anticipated,” is illegal (International Committee of the Red Cross, n.d.c). In other words, a retaliation attack must be proportional to the attack of the aggressor.[3] Third, the principle of collective punishment under the Geneva Conventions says that if a person is not personally responsible for a crime, this person is protected under law and should not be punished. This includes measures such as intimidation or terrorism (International Committee of the Red Cross, n.d.a).

Human rights organizations have called for international courts to open an investigation into the Israeli military’s war crime of wanton destruction, yet the Israeli government has justified domicide with claims that it is necessary for self-defense against future attacks. However, Amnesty International (2024a) contends that the possible use of structures by armed groups does not in itself convert civilian infrastructure, like homes and churches, into military objectives. Even though civilian infrastructure may have been used by armed groups before, punitive demolition of these places is regarded as a form of collective punishment, which is prohibited under international law (Amnesty International, 2024a). The IDF is not just destroying infrastructure used by Hamas, but they are using claims of Hamas to destroy much else belonging to civilians. The Special Rapporteur with UNOCHA said that “such injustice is not only unacceptable but a stain on our collective conscience” (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs – Occupied Palestinian Territory, 2025).

There are many questions about Palestinians ever being able to return to Gaza given the amount of destruction that has taken place. In 2024, the United Nations Development Programme claimed that human development has been set back at least 20 years in Gaza due to the war, and the longer the war continues, the higher that number will be (Alfonseca et al., 2024). In addition to the setback of human development, the UN also claims that it could take up to 80 years to rebuild all the destroyed homes in Gaza (Patil, 2024). As previously noted, the IDF continues to target hospitals and medical units despite prohibitions under international law; between 7 October 2023 and 20 June 2024, at least 27 hospitals and 12 other medical facilities were hit by at least 136 strikes (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs – Occupied Palestinian Territory, 2024). Attacks on hospitals have left northern Gaza with nearly no access to sufficient healthcare (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs – Occupied Palestinian Territory, 2024). Husam Zomlot, the Palestinian ambassador to Britain, said that “Israel’s plan is to destroy Gaza and make it unliveable and lifeless. Israel’s goal has always been to make it impossible for our people to return to their land’” (quoted in Abraham et al., 2024). In a televised address after the attacks on October 7, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said: “All the places that Hamas hides in, operates from, we will turn them into ruins” (quoted in Federman & Adwan, 2023). He told the 2.3 million Gazans to get out of Gaza immediately, even though most of them have no way to leave (quoted in Federman & Adwan, 2023).

Familicide and domicide are interconnected because of the relationship between the destruction of a home and the destruction of a family. In attacking and demolishing a home, this also demolishes the family who lived there – whether that be in the physical destruction of the family, or also in the mind and soul of the family. Houses hold memories, storing the lives of family members in the floorboards and the walls; there is an inseparability of houses and families. Craig Jones et al. (2025) explains this by saying that “there is a sense in which home is so essential to life and identity that the destruction of home is experienced as a form of death.”

Moving Forward

There is a dire need to protect Palestinians and their families from further family rights violations – many of which also constitute mass atrocity crimes such as war crimes, ethnic cleansing, and genocide. Human rights organizations such as the Al Mezan Center for Human Rights (2025) stress the need for direct actions, such as the immediate end to blocking humanitarian aid such as food, fuel, and medicine. There needs to be an immediate ceasefire, the return of hostages on both sides of the conflict, and accountability for officials who violate international human rights laws and norms. The buffer zone between Gaza and Israel needs to stop expanding and land must be returned to Palestinians. Health care facilities, schools, and religious buildings need to be protected. The rebuilding of Gaza must be supported.

Although the focus of this paper is family rights in Gaza, it is important to make some points about moving forward from the Israel-Hamas War. There is a global condemnation of Israeli actions in Gaza. This is not to be confused or likened with condemnation of the existence of Israel. Both Israel and Palestine deserve to exist as peoples; that is not (or should not be) disputed. Both Israel and Palestine deserve to exist as states. Both groups have cultural ties to the land and have created generations of families who live there. Meanwhile, fear of retaliation by Israel and/or its ally the United States must not deter members of the international communities from calling out blatant violations of human rights law. Accountability should extend to those who authorized the continued support of arms, ammunition, and near-unwavering support to the Israeli government and IDF in its human rights abuses.

Accountability and postwar recovery are only possible with the protection of family rights in Gaza. Gazans must be able to return to their homes and their land, and they need to be given the resources to do so – including adequate food, water, and shelter. The reunification of separated families must be prioritized. To protect maternal and reproductive healthcare, women need access to clean water, antibiotics and medicines, ultrasounds, equipment for medical procedures, and medical personnel to perform the procedures (United Nations Population Fund, 2025a). The loss of children reminds us that children require immediate protection in all circumstances, including in cases of child combatants. There are several global organizations that work to aid and protect Palestinian children (including the Defense for Children Palestine, Save the Children International, UNICEF, and War Child) and all should be generously funded and supported. Recovery from familicide and domicide will never be easy, but requires justice and pathways toward rebuilding. The restoration of Gaza should be globally funded, as every single state has a responsibility to support the rebuilding of what they stood by and watched be destroyed. Governments such as the United States must be held accountable for their complicity in genocide, as recorded in the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (United Nations, 1951).

This conflict is not just a war on Hamas combatants, but it is a war on families. With the mass violation of family rights, including the targeting of women and children, we see attempts to eradicate the Palestinian people. United Nations Special Rapporteur on the Occupied Palestinian Territories Francesca Albanese says: “Palestine is a wound. What is happening to the Palestinians is a tragedy foretold, and a stain on Israel’s history for which we bear collective responsibility. It is never too late for the world to stand up and do the right thing” (quoted in United Nations Human Rights, 2025a). From the Mediterranean Sea to the Jordan River, it is of the utmost importance to recognize Palestinian resistance and resilience, and to protect, rebuild, and support Palestinian families.

References

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© Copyright 2025 Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights. All rights reserved. 

Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights is an academic journal that provides space for undergraduate students to explore human rights issues, challenge current actions and frameworks, and engage in problem-solving aimed at tackling some of the world’s most pressing issues. This open-access journal is available online at www.webster.edu/rightingwrongs.

[1] In September 2025, a UN study found that Israeli forces have committed four out of five acts prohibited under the Convention of the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, constituting genocide with deliberate intent to wipe out Palestinians in Gaza (United Nations Human Rights, 2025e).

[2] Notably, a UN report outlines forms of sexual violence that have been perpetrated by the IDF against Palestinian women and girls, such as being strip searched by male IDF officers, being raped or threatened with sexual violence, and being photographed in “degrading” circumstances and uploaded online (United Nations, 2024).

[3] This principle falls into a grey zone with the lack of adequate specificity for proportionality. Israeli forces have justified attacks on the Shifa hospital in Gaza under the proportionality principle and claim that Hamas militants were operating underneath the hospital. Attacks on the hospital left the sick, wounded, elderly, and newborns with even less resources (Wolfendale, 2023).

COMMENT – Abortion Views in the United States and the Impact of the Dobbs Decision

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Few U.S. Supreme Court decisions in American history have sparked as much debate and protest as the reversal of Roe v. Wade in 2022. The 1973 Roe v Wade decision had established a national right to abortion under the due process clause of the Constitution’s Fourteenth Amendment that protected the right to privacy. The Supreme Court overturned the Roe v. Wade ruling on June 24, 2022, with their decision in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization. The Dobbs decision ended nearly 50 years of constitutionally protected abortion rights at certain stages of pregnancy. The Dobbs decision determined that the Constitution does not explicitly or implicitly state that abortion should be legal or guaranteed, and that the right to abortion is therefore not guaranteed by the Fourteenth Amendment after all. This ruling effectively returned authority to regulate abortion laws and reproductive rights to U.S. states.

In the years immediately following this decision, citizens across the United States have held mixed opinions. A 2022 Gallup poll found that 55% of Americans identify as “pro-choice,” the highest percentage since 1995, and only 39% identify as “pro-life” (Saad, 2022). Some Americans strongly agree or disagree with the Dobbs decision, while the greatest percentages of Americans hold views on abortion that fall within a political middle ground – often believing abortion should be legal in some circumstances, but not all (Deckman et al., 2023). The Dobbs decision has made abortion rights a more prominent feature of American political debates and has influenced public opinion on this matter. This essay argues that the Dobbs decision is an important moment in U.S. legal history that requires us to think deeply about how the public perceives human rights issues and how this debate impacts American democratic ideals.

The Dobbs decision marked a pivotal moment in United States history because it fundamentally reshaped the legal status of abortion, which has affected women across the country. The Supreme Court asserted that the Dobbs decision was “guided by the history and tradition that map the essential components of the nation’s concept of ordered liberty, the Court finds that the Fourteenth Amendment clearly does not protect the right to an abortion” (Justia, 2022). Rather than protecting abortion rights in relation to the right to privacy and the Fourteenth Amendment, the Court determined that abortion did not warrant protection by the due process clause. Notably, three quarters of the states made abortion a crime at all stages of pregnancy when the Fourteenth Amendment was adopted (National Constitution Center, 2022). By eliminating federal abortion protections and returning authority to the states, this new shift allowed each state to enact its own laws based on local political and cultural views. Within six months of the Dobbs decision, 19 states passed laws prohibiting abortion within the first trimester (Maril, 2023). For many pro-choice advocates, the Dobbs decision was not just a legal shift; it symbolizes a broader threat to bodily autonomy and democratic representation. From that perspective, millions who supported abortion access were overridden by a judicial majority that interpreted the Constitution differently than when Roe v. Wade was decided.

Debates about the Dobbs decision highlight deep divisions in how Americans think about abortion, religion, race, and politics. At the most broad and basic level, individuals who tend to be more conservative and religious (and who often align with the Republican political party) tend to agree with the Dobbs decision, while those who are less religious and more progress (and who often vote Democrat) tend to disagree with it. Yet beliefs about abortion can be far more complicated than that. Some studies find that there is a correlation between beliefs about race and opinions about abortion access (Deckman et al., 2023). Support for abortion is influenced by personal factors such as financial instability, lack of parental readiness, and the absence of social or family support (Jozkowski et al., 2024). Support for abortion rights is sometimes linked to concern about children’s rights and well-being; children born into families where they are unwanted or underprivileged might struggle to have their basic needs met, including emotional support, while the children of underaged parents could face similar challenges and vulnerabilities to neglect (Jozkowski et al., 2024). These real-life and complex concerns demonstrate how the topic of abortion isn’t simply an issue during pregnancy and at childbirth, but rather it impacts an individual’s entire lifespan. The Dobbs decision is therefore viewed by many pro-choice advocates as failing to account for the broader consequences that come from limiting reproductive options.

Examining the Dobbs decision through a democratic lens is crucial for understanding the public attitudes about women’s bodily autonomy and abortion rights. Many citizens view the overturning of Roe v. Wade as a threat to democracy because it infringes upon individual liberties, such as the right to privacy for women. Some contend that Dobbs reinstalls government control over private individuals, including the decision of whether to become a parent (Huberfeld et al., 2023). Because these restrictions most severely impact poor women (who cannot travel to another state or country to have an abortion), some argue that the Dobbs decision results in another way that health care access is determined by socioeconomic status (Deckman et al., 2023). There is a growing concern that relying on states to legislate abortion access, rather than having federal guarantees, leads to unequal protections for U.S. citizens based on their state of residency. Indeed, the Dobbs decision has raised questions about challenges to American democracy more generally, since the right to bodily autonomy is central to fundamental human rights and freedoms, and how such challenges will impact gender equality (Maril, 2023). As women across the United States share stories about how Dobbs has personally affected them, some argue that the decision is a direct attack against women’s rights that is fueled by sexist, masculinist preferences (Alvaré, 2023). Many question how this ruling will impact women’s healthcare, including access to birth control and in vitro fertilization (IVF), and point to the emotional toll this takes on women whose health care is threatened (Cherry, 2024).

The topic of abortion has always been a controversial issue in the United States, even during the Roe v. Wade era, and it continues to shape political conversations. The Dobbs decision impacted reproductive rights by shifting the power to legislate abortion to the states, leading to restrictions that many believe privilege controlling women’s bodies over protecting rights to privacy and healthcare.  Contrasting public opinions remind us that abortion will remain a hot topic within U.S. society with human rights implications.

References

Alvaré, H.M. (2023). Denying Dobbs, Dodging the Demos. Houston Law Review, 60(4): 865-900.

Cherry, A.L. (2024). “I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free”: A Lamentation on Dobbs v. Jackson’s Pernicious Impact on the Lives and Liberty of Women. Cleveland State Law Review, 72(2): 301-393.

Deckman, M., Elder, L., Green, S., & Lizotte, M. K. (2023). Abortion, Religion, and Racial Resentment: Unpacking the Underpinnings of Contemporary Abortion Attitudes. Social Science Quarterly, 104(2): 140-152.

Huberfeld, N., McClain, L.C., Ahmed, A., & Lomboardo, P.A. (2023). “A Vigorous Campaign Against Abortion”: Views of American Leaders of Eugenics v. Supreme Court Distortions. Journal of Law, Medicine & Ethics, 51(3): 473-479.

Jozkowski, K.N., Bueno, X. LaRoche, K., Crawford, B.L., Turner, R.C., & Lo, W. (2024). Participant-driven salient beliefs regarding abortion: Implications for abortion attitude measurement. Social Science Quarterly, 105(2): 374-391.

Justia. (2022, August 9). Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization: 597 U.S._(2022). Retrieved from https://perma.cc/3MC3-PD8F.

Maril, R. (2023). When It Happens Here: Reproductive Autonomy, Fascism, and Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization. Pace Law Review, 43(2): 399-432.

National Constitution Center. (2022). Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization (2022). Retrieved from https://constitutioncenter.org/the-constitution/supreme-court-case-library/dobbs-v-jackson-womens-health-organization.

Saad, L. (2022, June 2). “Pro-Choice” Identification Rises to Near Record High in U.S. Gallup. Retrieved from https://news.gallup.com/poll/393104/pro-choice-identification-rises-near-record-high.aspx.

© Copyright 2025 Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights. All rights reserved. 

Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights is an academic journal that provides space for undergraduate students to explore human rights issues, challenge current actions and frameworks, and engage in problem-solving aimed at tackling some of the world’s most pressing issues. This open-access journal is available online at www.webster.edu/rightingwrongs.

REVIEW – Matika Wilbur’s Project 562: Changing the Way We See Native America

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Some people in the United States and beyond have a very narrow idea of what being Indigenous means and what it looks like. Media representation is fairly limited to stereotypes that caricaturize Indigenous people as a monolithic culture where all members are wise and stoic, often serving only to aid white protagonists in their personal actualization. Characters like Tonto in Lone Ranger embody the “loyal Indian” trope, while Little Big Man subverts the “Indian sage” caricature prevalent in many American Westerns. In Disney’s Pocahontas, Pocahontas embodies the image of the young, beautiful “Indian princess.” These are caricatures; one dimensional representations of peoples and cultures that are made to play certain roles, fulfill certain plots, and drive certain agendas. These tropes are both genuine falsehoods and actively harmful to Indigenous people, who often lack the opportunities to tell their own stories following a long U.S. history of genocide, colonization, forced relocation, disenfranchisement, and a host of related human rights violations.

Matika Wilbur’s Project 562: Changing the Way We See Native America[1] challenges these depictions, creating space for Indigenous people to take back their autonomy and choose how to represent themselves. The subjects of this photo project chose where they would be photographed, what they would wear, and which words were used for the photo captions. The narrative was put back in their hands. Project 562 features photos of people engaging in cultural ceremonies and practices; there were photos of people in their homes, at their jobs, farming, posing, dancing, in plain clothes, in cultural dress, and in whatever context they wanted to portray themselves in. This presentation of Indigenous people enjoying their human rights to enjoy art, religion, belief, culture, and expression inspires a sense of both joy and admiration. The project’s focus on individual choice and freedom allows Indigenous people to represent themselves in the contexts they find to be most important. Indigenous people aren’t the stereotypes often assigned to them; they aren’t limited to the roles forced upon them. Throughout the United States, they are neighbors, friends, coworkers, students, and family. They may live on a reservation – or not; they are old, middle-aged, young; they may be queer; they may hold another racial identity; they may be women, men, or another gender identity; they may be public figures or private people. Indigenous people are not a monolith. Not as individuals, and not as a group.

Project 562 is an effort to represent all 562 Indigenous nations recognized by the U.S. government when the project started. These include a wide variety of groups with their own cultural practices, beliefs, and histories – from the Kānaka Maoli in Hawai’i to Aleuts in Alaska, from the Navajo in the Southwest and the Arapaho of the Great Plains to members of the Haudenosaunee confederacy in the Northeast. As of September 2025, there are 574 federally recognized American Indian tribes and Alaska Native Villages in the United States (U.S. Department of the Interior, n.d.). This number doesn’t include Indigenous nations that are not recognized by the federal government; more than 200 unrecognized tribes face additional challenges without federal recognition and ensuing aid (O’Neill, 2021). Although it is not possible to represent every Indigenous person and culture in one photo project, Wilbur’s approach was intentionally broad in scope, inclusive, and aimed at breaking down the stereotypes of Indigenous people that permeate Western media.

Project 562 is a wonderful way to widen perspectives of Indigenous people and to counter harmful tropes. Reflecting on this project as a white American, I had never met someone whose primary racial identity was Native American until I started college in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Like many Americans, my ideas about Indigenous people were not shaped by real-life interactions, but rather by media representations of people I simply did not know. Many people live in such ignorance, reinforced by the suppression of certain history lessons in the U.S. public education system (Dhenin, 2025) and budget cuts targeting the preservation of Indigenous history (Rickert, 2025). This lack of accurate information and personal interaction can be a barrier to fostering empathy, supporting ethical and fair legislation, engaging in fair and unbiased judicial procedures, fostering inclusive and truthful media, and more. It is difficult to understand Indigenous communities in the United States, for instance, without acknowledging the human rights abuses their communities suffered at the hands of the U.S. government. These include genocidal violence, sexual abuse, forced assimilation, disappearances, displacement, loss of property, disenfranchisement, arbitrary arrest and incarceration, and other abuses that continue to impact Indigenous communities today (see Native American Rights Fund, n.d.).

Yet human rights abuses, past and present, are only one part of Project 562. This project allows Indigenous people to tell their stories how they choose – whether that be reflecting on settler colonialism and the ways they have overcome oppression, or focusing on another aspect of their lived experiences – including their successes and joys. This project breaks down stereotypes and replaces them with rich portrayals of individuals and the diverse cultures of Indigenous nations. Wilbur’s work puts Indigenous people in charge of their own narratives, combined in a genuinely beautiful collection of photos that is both educational and compelling.

References

Dhenin, M. (2025, May 21). Educators Fight Suppression to Teach America’s Real History. Yes! Solutions Journalism. Retrieved from https://www.yesmagazine.org/political-power/2025/05/21/teaching-accurate-black-latinx-history.

Native American Rights Fund. (n.d.). Issues. Retrieved from https://narf.org/issues/.

O’Neill, E. (2019, April 17). Unrecognized Tribes Struggle Without Federal Aid During Pandemic. NPR. Retrieved from https://www.npr.org/2021/04/17/988123599/unrecognized-tribes-struggle-without-federal-aide-during-pandemic.

Rickert, L. (2025, April 21). Trump Cuts to NEH Funding Threaten to Erase Indian Boarding School History. Native News Online. Retrieved from https://nativenewsonline.net/opinion/trump-cuts-to-neh-funding-threaten-to-erase-native-boarding-school-history.

U.S. Department of the Interior. (n.d.). Indian Affairs – About Us. Retrieved from https://www.bia.gov/about-us.

Wilbur, M. (n.d.). Project 562. Homepage. Retrieved from https://www.project562.com.

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Righting Wrongs: A Journal of Human Rights is an academic journal that provides space for undergraduate students to explore human rights issues, challenge current actions and frameworks, and engage in problem-solving aimed at tackling some of the world’s most pressing issues. This open-access journal is available online at www.webster.edu/rightingwrongs.

[1] This photo exhibition was on view at Webster University’s Kooyumjian Gallery from February 10-April 22, 2025. Wilbur is a Swinomish and Tulalip social documentarian whose crowdfunded Project 562 engaged with people from more than 562 sovereign tribal nations in North America. To learn more, visit https://www.project562.com.