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This chapter argues that a neoconservative, market-friendly vision of human rights gained hegemony during the first four years of Helmut Kohl’s chancellorship (1982–1986). Christian Democrat Heiner Geißler, the Konrad Adenauer Foundation, Nicaraguan anti-Sandinista activists, market-friendly human rights advocates from the IGFM, and neoconservative thinkers worked to vilify Sandinista Nicaragua and the Salvadoran guerrillas as human rights violators. Claims by market-friendly human rights advocates conflicted with reports from NGOs such as Amnesty International or Americas Watch. Their evenhanded assessments served market-critical advocates to rebut conservatives’ exaggerated claims. However, government officials opted to accept the conservative interpretation. Foreign Minister Hans-Dietrich Genscher and State Minister in the Foreign Ministry Jürgen Möllemann presented El Salvador as a successful example of democratization that Nicaragua ought to emulate. By 1986, West German government officials dropped the ”silent diplomacy” and took human rights claims seriously in the making of foreign policy. But they also chose a diluted version that excluded social and economic rights.
This article continues a long-term investigation into the nature of legislation, regulation, and administration across United States history. In contrast to persistent myths about an original American legal and political inheritance dedicated primarily to private rights, limited government, and laissez-faire economics, this article explores the earliest roots of American public rights, popular lawmaking, and regulatory policymaking. In the very first activities of revolutionary Provincial Congresses and Committees of Safety, this article locates a surprisingly robust template for the future development of American state police power, public provisioning, general-welfare legislation, and socio-economic regulation.
In late eighteenth-century Havana, residents frequently referred to the existence of large communities of negros and pardos as “officers in the trade of painter” and the authors of “exquisite works.” But who are these artists, and where can we find their works? What sort of works did they produce? Where were they trained, and how did they master their crafts with such perfection? By centering the artistic production and social worlds of artists of African descent in Cuba since the colonial period, this revisionist history of Cuban art provides compelling answers to these questions. Carefully researched and cogently argued, the book explores the gendered racial biases that have informed the constitution of the Cuban art canon; exposes how the ideologues of the slave-owning planter class institutionalized the association between “fine arts” and key attributes of whiteness; and examines how this association continues to shape art historical narratives in Cuba.
Contrary to Central America, the politics of emergency remained an essential framework for solidarity activists with the Southern Cone. However, these activists mobilized an explicitly market-critical interpretation of the human rights problems in Chile and Argentina. Grassroots human rights advocates criticized the lack of thoroughgoing judicial accountability, and the continuation of the economic policies imposed by the outgoing military regimes. Government officials, conservative politicians, and market-friendly NGOs such as the IGFM rebuffed these demands. They endorsed market-friendly democratization, the cornerstones of which were a negotiated ending to military rule, continuation of the neoliberal reforms initiated by the military regimes, and the non-prosecution of most perpetrators of human rights abuses. Pro-Pinochet activists favored a protracted process of democratization in Chile to ensure the continuation of his economic policies. This clashed with the efforts of Christian Democrats Heiner Geißler and Norbert Blüm, who wished to speed up the end of Pinochet’s rule and endorsed the acceptance of left-wing political asylum seekers to the FRG on humanitarian grounds.
The Association of Women of El Salvador, an organization composed of combatants, peasants, and exile, redefined revolution to mean the overthrow of both capitalism and patriarchy. The sites of feminist praxis included guerrilla territories in El Salvador, refugee camps in Costa Rica and Nicaragua, and solidarity networks in Mexico, Nicaragua, and the United States. Within the guerrilla territories, AMES members actively participated in community councils, an experiment in popular democracy, and generated a feminist praxis that linked the exigencies of wartime survival to the long-term liberation of women. At the international level, Salvadoran women collaborated with other radical women from Latin America and the United States to push their organizations in more feminist directions.
In the mountains, guerrilleras politicized the organization of reproductive labor, as their memories of armed struggle make clear. Their efforts embodied the everyday making of a liberated territory based on feminist interpretations of revolutionary values. I focus on the two largest guerrilla groups rooted in opposite ends of the country: the Popular Liberation Forces in Chalatenango department and Revolutionary People’s Army in Morazán department. I show how women fought to collectivize food production, gain access to sanitary napkins, navigate reproductive choices, and pressure FMLN leaders to punish infidelity and sexual violence. Such efforts resisted sexism within the ranks, transformed camp norms, and challenged sexist definitions of who constituted a revolutionary. From these everyday experiences, combatant women developed a vision of women’s liberation and fought to put it into practice, using documentaries to disseminate their message. In doing so, they helped to shape the political discourse of the insurgency.
The Preface introduces some of the key questions and analytical points of the book, its sources, and some of its contributions. It details how the book was inspired by an art exhibition that the authors co-organized with art historian Bárbaro Martínez-Ruiz and the process through which some of the questions posed by the exhibition became a book project. It discusses how it was frequently difficult to assess whether an artist was racialized, at least in some social contexts, as a person of African descent, and the author’s strategies to handle this question.