Several protesting farmers, trade union workers, labor rights activists, journalists are now arrested from the protesting sites in India during the farmers protest and sit-ins. Some names we know, most we do not.
Right now the protesting farmers and supporters are barricaded with four layers of barbed wire, nails on concrete, concrete obstacles and other things. They do not have access to toilets and other essentials. Those who tried to cover the protests and police brutality were randomly picked up and taken into custody. One such journalist, Mandeep Punia was arbitrarily detained, tortured and was in custody. While there, he interviewed several jailed farmers and took down notes on his injured arm. Hopefully those reports will come out sometime soon and we will be able to put names on the numbers.
The other prominent person who has been arrested and brutally tortured, ranging from sexual violence to other physical torture, is Nodeep Kaur, a dalit labor rights activist who was picked up on 12th of January. Her bail plea has been rejected. Below is a statement from people campaigning to get her released, issued during a press conference.
From Campaign for the release of Nodeep Kaur:
On January 12th, as the Kisan Andolan continued unabated, Nodeep Kaur, a 24-year-old dalit woman worker was arrested by the Haryana Police from the Kundli Industrial Area adjacent to Singhu Border. After violently dispersing a rally by workers in the area and firing at the gathered workers, the police grabbed Nodeep Kaur, took her to Kundli Police Station, filed two FIRs against her under a wide range of fabricated charges. This was followed by brutal custodial violence by male police officers including targeting her genitals amounting to sexual violence. She is currently in judicial custody in Karnal Jail without adequate medical care.
This arrest comes following the targeting of a workers organisation in Kundli Industrial Area, Majdoor Adhikar Sanghatan (MAS) (workers right collective) which has been at the forefront of forging solidarity between workers and the struggling peasantry at Singhu Border. The numerous worker marches and rallies taken out by MAS in support of the Kisan Andolan ensured that workers of the Kundli Industrial Area were a regular presence at the Kisan Andolan. This support was amply repaid by the peasantry, many of whom aided MAS in ensuring payment of wages to around 300 workers. Fearing a shift in power in Kundli, the Harayana Police at the instigation of the Kundli Employers’ Association launched a vicious attack on MAS, beating and firing shots at protesting workers and arresting Nodeep Kaur. This attack is not only an attack on workers and a trade union but an attack on the growing solidarity between workers and the peasants agitating at the Singhu Border.
Abduction and enforced disappearance have been increasingly used by oppressive regimes globally. Torture and enforced disappearances have been a structural problem of state punishment and repression rather than being exceptional instances of it. Used by colonial powers and liberal democracies these techniques have been widely shared and circulated between states as modes of extracting confessions. In many of these cases, people have been subjected to arbitrary arrest, detentions without a warrant, and sexual violence. This strategy has been frequently used in places like Argentina, China, Egypt, Kashmir, and Turkey. The speakers speak to these politics from their experiences in Egypt, Kashmir and “Xinjiang”.
With Ahmed Said, Ather Zia and Vincent Wong. Moderated by Mahvish Ahmad.
Key leaders of the Pashtun Tahaffuz Movement have been arrested in Pakistan in a new round of crackdown. The first person arrested in this round (there’s been other rounds of arrests before) was Ali Wazir on 17 December, a member of parliament who was on his way to an event commemorating an attack by the Pakistan Taliban on an Army Public School in Peshawar. Commemorations of the event are extremely tenuous, since the attack indicated that the military is completely incapable of providing security even to their own children; it throws their claims that they are providing national security into doubt. To date, the military has not allowed mothers of the 120 children who were shot dead to launch a proper inquiry into how the school could be raided.
Ali Wazir’s decision to attend the commemoration of that attack and the children that were killed was seen as an affront to the military since he is a major leader within the Pashtun Tahaffuz Movement, which has mainly pointed the finger at the collusion of military, militants and American empire (through drone attacks) in violence against the cross-Afghanistan/Pakistan border Pashtun community. He’s a Marxist Pashtun, an immensely popular leader, and this is not the first time he has been arrested. Several other leaders in the movements have been arrested since Wazir’s arrest, including Abdul Haq and Dr Said Alam Mehsud. Of the 45 who were arrested about 2-3 days ago a few have been released.
There have also been a series of other abductions and killings around Pakistan, less covered because the activists who have been abducted or killed are not as famous as PTM leaders.
Read more about the arrest of Ali Wazir on December 17, 2020:
Professor Keymer Ávila is a Researcher at the Institute of Criminal Sciences at the Central University of Venezuela and a Professor of Criminology at the same university. He is one of the foremost scholars and critics of institutional violence and criminal justice policies in current Venezuela. In this interview, originally published on July 6 and 7 at No Borders News, Venezuelan Workers Solidarity members Elvira Blanco and Alejandro Quryat asked him about the nexus between racism and State violence in our country.
All notes between brackets are the translators’.
Photo credit: observatoriodeviolencia.org.ve
What forms does racial oppression take in Venezuela? What groups face systematic racialized discrimination?
The first thing I must clarify is that my field of research is not focused on the topic of race, but on institutional violence, specifically that of the criminal justice system. Criminal justice systems are characterized for being discriminatory, classist, racist and xenophobic. It is from this field that I can approach the topic of racism.
In a very general manner, what I can tell you is that racism in Venezuela is not admitted or owned up to as a problem, it remains nearly taboo. We’d be talking here of a latent, symbolic and cultural racism, that is presented as something folksy or comic, aesthetic, along with a cluster of prejudices, as well as subtle and indirect forms of oppression, discrimination, stigmatization and exclusion. These go from the non-recognition or hiding of one’s own African or Indigenous heritage, to self-discrimination. It’s the racism exercised by those who suffer discrimination themselves, in what is known as endoracism, a concept developed in our country by Esther Pineda. This is what makes it difficult to confront it. It doesn’t reach the institutionalized and extreme levels that it has in the U.S., but, no doubt, it waters the grounds to later legitimize other forms of violence against oppressed groups.
Who would be part of these groups? The poor, Afro-Descendants, and Indigenous people. Until a few years ago, when our country was receiving immigrants, Haitians, Trinidadians, Colombians, Ecuatorians and Peruvians were also part of these groups. By contrast, migrants from Spain, Italy and Portugal were given a much more privileged treatment. So it wasn’t just about xenophobia: there was implicit racism and classism against these peoples. Nowadays this situation is mirrored, since Venezuelans serve as scapegoats in many countries, given the enormous exodus of at least 13% of our population.
Further down would be the majority of the country, which is fundamentally mestiza, of mixed white, Black and Indigenous origins. It is precisely this condition of identifying ourselves as the product of this blend is what makes it difficult for us to accept that we have problems with racism.
In the popular classes, there are more Afro-descendants and Indigenous people than in the middle classes. We can say that, in terms of mestizaje [denoting people of mixed-race backgrounds] our social structure is shaped like a rhombus or a diamond: as you approach either the top or the base there is less mestizaje , while in the middle layers it is much greater; moreover, the amount of melanin decreases at the top and increases as you move to the bottom.Therefore, in our country, class segregation tends to be deeply linked to racial segregation.
Was Chavismo an advance against racism?
Some could posit the 1998 electoral victory of Chávez as a symbolic success, because he was the first President of Indigenous and African descent and of a popular background in the country. However, class played more of a role than race here. As I mentioned earlier, the topics of race and class are intimately linked in Venezuela. On the part of the traditional Opposition, racist and classist discourses flourished. But two decades after this event, one cannot say that the most excluded classes are faring better than before, nor that this meant an empowerment of these sectors. On the contrary, today poverty, inequalities, exclusion and repression are greater.
In the present, under Nicolás Maduro’s regime, how do police or security forces interact with groups racialized or oppressed by racism? How do these forces respond when these groups organize for their rights?
When we denounce that in Venezuela police forces have been carrying out a drop-by-drop massacre against young people in popular sectors, we are referring to racialized and poor youth. Here, the criminal justice system is as racist and as classist as in other countries in the region. The main difference could lie in its high levels of deadly force.
The so-called forces of order, everywhere, are meant for the disciplining, control and repression of the popular classes, which ruling elites always consider dangerous. The real reason for their existence ––which is covered up by different types of discourses, predominantly normative ones, that invoke the general interest and public safety–– is, in essence, the protection of the few that hold political and economic power.
This all dates back to our colonial history. The Colony was always a police state. The arrival of the so-called ‘rule of law’ that would set limits and rules on power in the metropolis did not work in the same way in the peripheries. The inhabitants of the colonies were not considered citizens but savages, deprived of rights and subject to a state of exception. This idea is still deeply rooted in our countries. Thence come some of the justifications for the excesses of institutional violence, and especially that of the police.
In the specific case of Venezuela, the security forces have been marked from their origins by their militarization, their instrumentalization by political parties, and their excesses against the popular classes. The military logic that imposed itself in the confrontation with the [Leftist] armed struggle of the ‘60s and ‘70s, with thousands of cases of violations of human rights, was displaced in the following decades to the daily practices of security forces. Cases like the “Pits of Death”, the massacre of El Amparo, or the repression of the 1989 Caracazo rebellion would become emblematic of the last decades of the 20th century.
The share of these cases in relation to the total number of violent deaths also climbed in that same period, from 4 percent to 33 percent. This means that, at present, one out of three homicides that happen in the country is a consequence of the intervention of state security forces. This, in a country whose homicide rates of 50 per 100,000 might already be considered a slaughter. In 2018, fourteen Venezuelan young people died every day on average at the hands of the police.
To get an idea of the dimensions of this problem, consider that in Brazil this class of homicides totals about 7 percent of the total number. In 2017, Venezuela suffered more deaths from public force interventions than its neighbor, whose population is 7 times greater: Brazil had 4,670 deaths, Venezuela 4,998.
In another striking contrast, human rights data analyst] Patrick Ball estimates that between 8 and 10 percent of all homicides in the United States are a consequence of security forces’ interventions. In Venezuela, that percentage is three times higher.
These are some of the summaries that characterize the current government. Far from weakening it, these dynamics actually strengthen it, because it operates with a necropolitical logic. As material conditions of life deteriorate, life itself seems to also lose its value. In that process, the government exercises greater and more effective controls over the population; the more it is accused of being authoritarian and dictatorial, of generating terror, the more vile it becomes. That is where its main political capital lies. Its legitimacy is not found in votes, or in the people’s will, but in the unlimited exercise of power and force. Fear is one of its main tools.
This exceptionality has only continued to extend itself under the pandemic, granting more power to those who already controlled the entire State apparatus. During the first two months of the quarantine ––a period in which it was expected that, with the reduction of social mobility, urban violence would decrease as well––over 428 people died at the hands of State security forces. 99 of those were prisoners in flight attempts or protests against the precarious conditions of precinct jails or prison complexes. This amounts to 7 deaths per day; deaths that do not scandalize anyone. Over that same period, according to official numbers, COVID-19 had taken the lives of ten people, meaning one death every six days. For Venezuelans, State security forces are forty-three times more deadly than the pandemic ravaging the world.
It is important to mark a distinction on a topic that, due to class and race prejudices, is often manipulated in the media when approaching the topic of Venezuela: the numbers I just pointed out, of thousands of deaths, pertain to young people from popular sectors massacred under the excuse of “public safety”. We are not talking of political dissidents or about demonstrations, and it is important to highlight these differences. This does not mean that in Venezuela repression against demonstrations is not brutal, but lethal institutional violence is expressed in a more massive, systematic, permanent, and daily manner against young people in popular sectors.
State repression is always political. ‘Public safety’ only serves as an excuse for it. This repression is socially distributed in a differentiated manner: in the impoverished barrios, it is unlimited and lethal, while in demonstrations, it depends on who is protesting. When the poor protest, repression is greater, as seen in the demonstrations of the last days of January 2019, which left over fifty dead in less than two weeks. By contrast, when the protesters are young people from the middle classes, or university students, institutional violence generally expresses itself in less deadly ways, through arbitrary detentions, torture, illegal massive raids, military judicial processing of detained civilians, etc.
You saythat there was “a deepening of everything that was already profoundly wrong”. What policies led to this? What transformations happened in police institutions under Chavismo, that would explain this rise in homicides at the hands of the police?
As I mentioned earlier, the decades of the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s were not a fairytale and Venezuela was not Disneyland. From 1998, and at least until the death of President Chávez, the dominant discourse in approaching the problem of public insecurity was one with a social focus. Starting in 2013, the Government’s discourse became much more repressive, ideologically very near to that of its alleged adversaries. Thus, we can clearly distinguish two stages in the discourse and the official policies regarding public safety in twenty-first century Venezuela.
A first stage can be identified between 1998 and 2013, beginning with the first government of President Chávez, who succeeded in capitalizing on the discontent with the political system as a whole. Chávez transformed that discontent into hope through a project that promised radical transformation and rupture with the previous order. This involved the “refoundation” of the Republic, a new Constitution, and a series of institutional reforms. The political and the social were the topics of discussion. “Public safety” was not on the agenda, and when it was broached, it ended up diluted in the discourse of social policies. The line was the classical social sciences Mertonian discourse: the lack of opportunities creates conditions for the most impoverished to commit crimes. What does this recipe call for, then? To improve their living conditions.
In the field of legislation, the rationality of previous governments was maintained: increases in sentencing guidelines, decreases in welfare, broadened criminalization of behaviors, etc. Far from contributing to the improvement of the criminal justice system, all of this over-burdens it, making it slower and more arbitrary and violent.
From an ideological standpoint, it is important to highlight that the rhetoric of some allegedly progressive public opinion shapers, which attempts to trace a cause-effect link between poverty and violence, inadvertently coincides with classist, conservative and right-wing discourses, while seeming to superficially suggest that the State should only intervene socially. Critical criminology––especially its English strand–– began to overcome this idea towards the end of the 70s, and with it a romantic and idealized vision of the criminal: it set itself the task of analyzing, understanding and intervening in concrete criminal justice politics. This gave way to a more acute awareness of the fact that those most affected by violence and lack of safety are the most impoverished themselves, and that something must be done about this.
However, this was the discourse that President Chávez adopted from his rise to power to the day of his farewell. The causes of violence were understood to be factors associated with exclusion, inequality, poverty and lack of opportunities; as a consequence, the priority was to reduce these factors. Beyond the issue of public safety, what we must ask nowadays is whether in all those years, these needs were genuinely fulfilled in structural, universal, institutionalized, permanent, uninterrupted and non-conjunctural ways––if the purported Social State effectively came to be and if it achieved sustainability––or, on the contrary, if these changes were just another conjunctural redivision of the oil rent in times of abundance.
In terms of discourses, criminal justice politics during this period were seemingly dissolved into social policies, without heeding one of the great warnings of the [critical criminologist] Alessandro Baratta, namely, that public safety policies must be integrated into general social policies that encompass them. A public safety policy outside a framework of general social policies makes no sense. Social policies must not be confounded with public safety policies and social policies must not be ‘criminalized’ through their elaboration from security spaces. This is a very common error, and a very tempting one, for allegedly progressive approaches.
On the other hand, general social policies that do not guarantee the institutional presence of the State as mediator and intervenor in conflicts as a defender of the most vulnerable in situations that threaten or put at risk their enjoyment of their rights can suffer internal crises, as happened in the Venezuelan case.
The most emblematic concrete public safety policy during this early stage was the 2006 creation of the National Commission of Police Reform (CONAREPOL). This Commission was created in the context of an election year that coincided with a rise in homicides in the country, and with cases that shocked public opinion, Kennedy, Faddoul, Sindoni. [In reference to the murders of three university students in the Kennedy sector of Caracas, the murder of the businessman Filippo Sindoni, and the ransom kidnapping and murder of the Faddoul brothers, teenage sons of a Lebanese-Venezuelan businessman.] These cases, instrumentalized by the Opposition for electoral ends, involved police officers, and the high profile of the victims meant that the demands for justice around their cases gained plenty of steam.
What was the Government’s response to these demands? The CONAREPOL. The creation of this space was a correct political decision by the Government because, facing a crisis, it formed a consensus and exercised the elaboration of public policy in a serious and rational way. A new police model was designed, framed in legislation and in dozens of progressive resolutions between 2006 and 2013. With this impulse, a new institutionality was formed, in terms of narratives and forms. However, it is important to understand that the design of a policy is one thing and its implementation another. The police and military apparatuses maintain their own agendas, and have corporate, self-serving interests that any reform seeking to impose limits and institutional and legal controls upon their proceedings will affect.
Thus, while police reform was at the center of Government propaganda, in reality, a “counter-reform” by the State security forces was being carried out in the streets. This counter-reform, paradoxically, hid behind the “new model”, whose sets of norms were not applied. The ‘new model’ was useful to show off in times of crisis, to touch up the appearance of the police and to politically and socially re-legitimize it, and to refurbish its image in the press. Its merely discursive character served to invisibilize routine police practices that ended up becoming more and more dangerous and damaging. In terms borrowed from Robert K. Merton’s sociology, one could say that the process of police reform fulfilled a manifest function of designing a new police model, dignifying its service, and making it consistent with the protection of human rights and progressive goals. But the CONAREPOL had several latent functions: to cover up what was happening in reality and to oxygenate and expand the police apparatus, while deepening its discretionary powers and militaristic logics. The idea of a “civic-military union” never ceased to be present in how these institutions were to really operate.
With the death of President Chávez in 2013, the social discourse and focus were put aside, along with references to the civilian and preventive “new police model”, to begin a new stage that runs to our days. Right away a different discourse was taken up that put aside the more social perspective to mainly focus on aspects of repression. The new President [Maduro] took the topic of public safety as a central axis of his policies.
The governmental discourses and criminal justice policies took a radical turn, ideologically approaching the right-wing “realism” popularized towards the end of the 1980s by Reagan and Thatcher. With this turn, the poor were transformed from victims into victimizers, to be treated as ingrates who, in this view, insisted in committing crimes despite the Government’s social policies. Through the prism of a more conservative Left they are seen as “lumpen”, acting as an obstacle to the advance of the Revolution. These views would provide the ideological excuses for giving carte blanche to the military and the police to carry out a sort of “social cleansing” in which everyone who bears the features of ‘delinquency’ as promoted by classist and racist stereotypes must be neutralized through intimidation, incarceration or physical elimination.
The Government has changed its “enemies.” Earlier, it had all-powerful ones in “The Empire”, “Capitalism” and “the bourgeoisie.” Nowadays, the enemies are the barrio poor, the ingrate “lumpen.” Thus, an “anti-imperialist” “class struggle” has morphed into an intra-class struggle that criminalizes poverty. In this way, the Government has hardened its policies of police and military control. It carries out militarized police operations against marginal populations, with increasingly deadly consequences, as I described in the previous answer. The most recent examples of these are the Operations for the Liberation of the People (OLP) and the actions of the Special Action Force (FAES). Finally, the landscape of the past two decades confirms the existence of a structural problem in the continuity and follow-up of policies. In 58 years of “democracy”, Venezuela has had over 43 Ministers of the Interior [responsible for policies over police and public safety]. These, on average, don’t even last a year and a half in office. A consistent implementation of policies based on minimal institutional agreements that transcend the actors conjuncturally holding power cannot be found. The only continuity one can appreciate is the decay and corruption of the institutions that have recently reached new levels, increasing the vulnerability and defenselessness of citizens to institutional and criminal violence, which are more and more difficult to distinguish from one another.
In what ways do social and economic indicators (such as access to education, healthcare, employment, housing, among others) evidence discrimination against oppressed groups?
Data and statistics in Venezuela are currently precarious. As I mentioned, the topic of racism has not been owned up to as a problem, so it is not addressed or registered.
According to the 2011 National Census, in terms of racial self-perception, only 2% of the population recognized themselves as ‘Black’ or ‘Afro-Descendant’, while 49% identified as ‘Brown’ [‘moreno/a’]. There is no consciousness of Blackness. This hinders the formation of strong organizations with anti-racist perspectives, as exist in the U.S. and Brazil. In consequence, debates, mobilizations and struggles in this sense are rare, having limited reach and impact.
Furthermore, in a context of a generalized crisis linked to the fulfillment of the most basic needs of the population, the ordering of priorities is also of a different nature. In Venezuela, over the past few years, social rights have severely regressed. The general scarcity of foodstuffs and medications correlates to the reappearance of diseases that were thought eradicated, such as malaria, diphtheria, measles, dengue fever, Chagas disease, meningitis, tetanus and tuberculosis. Over the past thirteen years, the currency has been deflated over 100 million times, reaching an inflation rate estimated at over 1 million percent, similar to Germany’s in 1923 or Zimbabwe’s in the 2000s. According to the National Survey of Living Conditions (ENCOVI), between 2014 and 2017, poverty by income increased from 48% to 87%, while extreme poverty grew from 23.6% to 61%. In the last yearly report of the UNDP, only Syria and Libya, two countries suffering from prolonged wars, have fallen farther in the Human Development Index than Venezuela, which fell 25 spots between 2012 and 2018. The most recent report of the World Food Program places us as number four in the world with the most ‘urgent need of aid’, with 9.3 million people, 32% of the population, suffering from food insecurity.
What movementsare there in Venezuela today for racial justice, understood in broad terms? What dynamics do they take, what obstacles do they face?
As I stated earlier, I think in the country, in general terms, there is a greater consciousness of class than of race. I suspect that some of the few organizations that exist are promoted by the Government or have been coopted by it as part of its official propaganda apparatuses. This makes their field of discourse an action quite limited. But it would be better if you asked a specialist on the topic about this.
What consciousness is there in Venezuela about racism in the United States, the Black Lives Matter movement, and the on-going rebellion? What meaning do discussions about these take in the Venezuelan political context?
I’m thankful for this question, because it allows me to say several things I think are important, and that I don’t see addressed in public discussions.
Unfortunately, the national leadership has taken Venezuelans to a situation of increased defenselessness: the country is the object in imperialist disputes between the United States, Russia and China. This objectifies the country in different ways: for the great powers and for their ‘progressives’ it is a sort of laboratory where we as Venezuelans are the guinea pigs. At the same time, we find ourselves, in Foucaultian terms, in an enormous institution of reclusion.
In this context, it is not only useless but naive to attempt to reduce this complexity to dichotomous visions of Government-Opposition, or even more ridiculously, of Right-Left politics. In reality, despite the enormous and increasing rejection faced by the Government, the Opposition is almost non-existent. The Government plays alone in the national chess-board, and little remains in it of a Leftist character, beyond its aesthetics and the propaganda that some ––thankfully shrinking––sectors of a conservative left still consume, whether from lack of knowledge or from complicity.
Thus, we see sectors that condemn police violence in the U.S., but legitimize and justify the slaughters that security forces carry out in Venezuela. These sectors are mirrored by those who justify police violence in the U.S. but vehemently condemn it in Venezuela. In the end, the fans of Trump and Maduro are quite similar on these topics as they both follow structurally authoritarian, repressive and anti-democratic projects. They may define themselves as antagonistic, but they rather complement and legitimize each other, using one another’s excesses in their propaganda to cover up or justify their own crimes.
In Venezuela, for instance, the Government uses the terrible case of George Floyd in its tirades and propaganda against the U.S. government, with the end of seducing some well-meaning dupes among international progressives. With this, they distract attention from the disaster that they have made in the country and the massacres that their own security bodies execute.
On the side of the more traditional Opposition, Black Lives Matter will not be well received because, in the end, these are conservative, racist and classist sectors that agree with this type of excess against the excluded; they will only raise their voices when the victims are their own militants, middle-class youth in the context of a political demonstration, or when it is beneficial for their own media agenda. They care very little about the deaths of thousands of racialized and impoverished young people caused by police interventions.
As I mentioned earlier, I think that race consciousness is still in a state of gestation in Venezuela. The Left in our country is predominantly and majoritarily conservative and Eurocentric; it does not ask itself these questions because race does not fit well in its cheat-sheet of “class struggle”. Moreover, much of it is in a process of self-destruction, having been co/opted by the Government’s apparatuses, logics, and rhetoric––hence their oscillation between justifications, denying reality, and an abetting silence towards the State’s excesses and human rights violations. Only minority sectors, with little weight, remain active in struggle. Fortunately, the international left and progressive sectors are becoming increasingly aware of what is really happening in Venezuela, and little by little have been putting aside automatic solidarities towards its Government.
Institutional violence and human rights violations must always be energetically condemned. There are no good violators of human rights, and their behaviors should not be justified in any way. This double standard to condemn some excesses and justify others does enormous harm to societies and states, and to politics itself.
It is not enough to speak out against the corruption of the Lebanese and the Iranian governments and demand efficient management. It is not enough to speak out against privatization. It is not even enough to expose these states as exploitative capitalist and authoritarian. It is evident that Iran’s militarized and religious fundamentalist state capitalism plays an important role in promoting the suffering of the people in the region, including Syria, Iraq, Lebanon and Yemen. Lebanon, despite being perceived as a “democracy’, has been very quickly entrenching the authoritarian aspect of its regime through state and militia crackdowns.
While acknowledging this reality, what we need , are active forms of solidarity between the current mass protests in Lebanon and the labor struggles in Iran. We also need active solidarity between feminist activists in both countries. Our respective struggles need to clearly spell out radical goals that go beyond simply opposing the current political system. We need to explicitly state that without a fundamental transformation in labor conditions, without ending the dehumanization of women, without ending the Kafala system in its variety of forms, without ending anti-Black racism, without ending discrimination against Kurds and other oppressed minorities including sexual minorities, and without preserving and detoxifying our environment, we will not move forward.
Read the full statement on the website of the Alliance of MENA Socialists.
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In November 2019, mass street protests broke out in hundreds of cities and towns across Iran. Initially triggered by a state-imposed gasoline price hike that month, the unrest was more broadly a reflection of long-building societal frustrations over worsening economic conditions, governmental mismanagement, corruption and political repression in the country.
The violence of the state’s response – indiscriminate firing of live ammunition into crowds of civilians which resulted in at least 304 deaths (with many documented shots to the head, neck and chest, indicating lethal intent), untold injuries from gunshots, tear gas and beatings, and more than 7000 arrests in the span of roughly a week—represented a level of state violence not seen in Iran since the 1980s. In addition, a state-imposed shutdown of the internet in Iran for approximately one week and a news blackout allowed this violence to be carried out away from public scrutiny.
Protests flared again less than two months later, in January 2020. This unrest was fueled by outrage over the Revolutionary Guards’ shooting down of an Ukrainian passenger flight on January 8, 2020, which killed all 176 people aboard—and the government’s admission of the downing only after three days of public denial.
Coming only days after 56 people died in a stampede at a badly managed funeral for Iranian General Qasem Soleimani on January 7, the protests reflected public fury at the government’s incompetence and lack of transparency, even though many in the nation had briefly united against the killing of the General by the US days earlier.
The January protests were also quickly crushed by the state by mass arrests and violence that included the firing of pellets and other unknown ammunition at protesters, the use of tear gas and water cannons, and beatings of protesters by security agents.
These protests were in essence a continuation of unrest that had begun in Iran in December 2017, which differed significantly from previous protest in Iran. Up until that point, protest had certainly been an enduring feature of the Islamic Republic’s political landscape. Despite the government’s intolerance of dissent and the ever-present risk of state violence, arrest and imprisonment, protest had persisted—by students, including major protests at universities across the country in 1999 and 2003; by massive numbers of citizens who demonstrated against the disputed presidential election results in 2009; by women (and men) against forced hijab; and by steel workers, teachers, heavy machinery workers, bus and truck drivers, railway workers, nurses, sugar mill workers, bazaar merchants, petrochemical workers, farmers and many others in continuous labor protests over the last few decades.
Yet the unrest that broke out across Iran in December 2017 was different; it was diffuse, unorganized, leaderless and less focused on specific grievances. These protests grew quickly in number and participants to encompass hundreds of cities and towns across the country, with protesters voicing a fundamental rejection of the country’s political and economic system. Expressing rage over economic hardships and inequities, these protests were prevalent in working class areas in the provinces that had previously been a strong base of support for the Islamic Republic, and included large numbers of young men who had left drought-stricken smaller towns for provincial cities where they were typically unemployed.
The unrest continued into January 2018, until the state’s crackdown, which included mass arrests and the widespread beating of protesters and detainees by security agents, as well as a brief (approximately 30 minutes) shut down of access to the global internet, seemed to somewhat quiet things down.13 Yet protests continued sporadically throughout 2018, for example by farmers14 over severe water shortages that summer in areas hit by drought and environmental mismanagement, by workers15 protesting unpaid wages and the imprisonment of their labor leaders, and by merchants of the bazaar16 —until November 2019, when mass protest began again across the country.
In the following report, the Center for Human Rights in Iran (CHRI) has detailed and documented the state response to these latest two clusters of protest—November 2019 and January 2020—which were both characterized by extraordinary and lethal state violence, massive arrests and detainments, blatant due process violations, the muzzling of the press and prolonged internet shutdowns.
In addition, there have been widespread reports documented here through firsthand accounts obtained by CHRI, that officials refused to notify families of those detained, injured or killed, and refused to release the bodies of those killed to the families until either payment by the families was made and/or pledges made by the families not to speak to the press or hold mourning ceremonies, and to bury their dead quietly in ceremonies and cemeteries dictated by the state.
Throughout there has been a complete lack of transparency, which has meant that there is still significant uncertainty regarding the number of deaths, lack of information on the number of injured (other than credible and consistent reports that hospitals were overflowing with the injured), and little information on the actual number of arrests, the number of people who remain in detention, their condition and the state of their cases. To date, the Iranian government has issued no official numbers on any of the above.
In addition, as of this writing there has been no accountability for the deaths or injuries that occurred during the protests. Even regarding instances in which credible reports indicate that unarmed civilians were chased by security forces, cornered, fired upon and killed, there has been no independent investigation or actions taken to determine and enforce accountability.
CHRI has based this report on dozens of firsthand accounts and interviews with eyewitnesses, victims, their families and lawyers and verified photos and video obtained from eyewitnesses on the ground in Iran, during the period from November 15, 2019 through February 2020, and desk research that included extensive review of Iranian media, both traditional and social, review of Iranian government, parliamentary and judicial decisions and statements, UN assessments and statements, and reports by other reputable and trusted human rights organizations to corroborate and supplement our findings.
Draft law reduces leading bar associations’ authority, leads to creation of rival groups, the ICJ and Human Rights Watch said today. The Turkish government’s plan to allow for multiple bar associations appears calculated to divide the legal profession along political lines and diminish the biggest bar associations’ role as human rights watchdogs, they added.
The current bar associations have not been consulted, and 78 bars out of 80 signed a statement opposing the plan.