Freedom from FGM

By Candace Walsh
Issue 140, January/February 2007

When I got back from Africa, folks wanted to know why I'd gone there. When I told them it was to attend Equality Now's annual conference on female genital mutilation (FGM), the conversation invariably bumped up against a stopping point: once you know about FGM, there really is no way to conscionably go on without doing something to help.

Unless you can think of a reason not to. There is the Africa reason: "Africa is hopeless and always beset by violent crises." And the busyness reason: "I have enough things to worry about and tend to in my own family and community." And circumcision reason A: "It's just like the circumcision of boys. I respect the tradition of circumcision for religious reasons in this country, so why would I concern myself with it as it relates to African girls?" And circumcision reason B: "I am an intactivist for baby boys in this country, so that's my contribution." And the cultural-sensitivity reason: "If that's their cultural tradition, who am I to interfere?" Let's not forget simple horror: "It's horrifying and upsetting and I don't want to think about it." And, finally, the helpless reason: "I can't go over there and make people stop it, can I?"

Many of these justifications passed through my own head before I went to Nairobi last October. My tendency is to be an ostrich—I like to be as unaware as possible of things that I find upsetting. But there's a difference between avoiding upsetting things I can do nothing about and making a dramatic, lifelong difference in the lives of little girls. Those little girls may have radically different contexts and be thousands of miles away, but they still cry when they're hurt, just like our own daughters. They still have nerve endings all over their bodies, and their bodies start out with the integrity of our own babies', although that integrity is at risk from the day they are born. By throwing in our lot with them, we affirm our own worth as women who were once girls. When we dismiss the FGM crisis, we reveal how much we have internalized our own culture's devaluation of ourselves as women.

I have held the warm, strong hands of young girls who lost their families forever when they ran away to escape mutilation. I have watched film footage of a four-year-old undergoing FGM and heard her cries—a sound I will never forget. I was sent to Nairobi to learn more about FGM, but I returned with an ineradicable brand of knowledge. I now know that in Africa, December is FGM cutting season. I know that Africa's high rates of infant and maternal mortality are linked to FGM. And I know that radical, positive change is taking place every day, and that we are close to a tipping point.

Applying money to the problem is key. Right now, donations to Equality Now's Grassroots Fund to End FGM go directly to local activists, paying for transportation, teaching materials, and campaigns to enact and enforce laws against FGM. On the ground, these activists counsel girls and their parents about what deep harm FGM inflicts on the physical, emotional, and psychological levels. There is so much room for "sensitizing"; i.e., education. One former circumciser thought that her own mutilated daughter screamed every time she had to urinate because evil spirits were hurting her. Now she has put that livelihood behind her and does better making soap for a living.

The American dollar has massive clout in Africa; the $6 that buys you a latte and muffin here would pay for a week of school for a Kenyan girl. Education is a crucial component for delaying early marriage, boosting employability, and increasing girls' self-determination. Even better, the Pond Foundation has donated a matching grant to Equality Now's Grassroots Fund to End FGM; when you donate to the Fund, your $6 now becomes $12.

Additionally, you can join Equality Now's Women's Action Network. At no cost, they will give you targeted information about where and to whom to send letters supporting the end of FGM. Or order an Ending Female Genital Mutilation Activism Kit from www.actionpacks.net ($10). The kit contains contact information for decision-making and government officials in FGM-practicing countries, as well as a list of postage costs to the different countries, and other useful components.

It's easy for me to be resolute and devoted to ending FGM—I was flown into the center of the storm. I think that if each Mothering reader experienced what I did in Nairobi, the positive change would go off the charts. Because that's not possible, the next best thing is to directly address all of the reasons why people do not engage with this issue.

Compassion fatigue for Africa? Dismissing a whole continent as a lost cause is incredibly easy to do. But think about it in terms of individuals: As mothers, we are about process. Pregnancy is a process. Childbirth is a process. Little by little, fingernail by fingernail, we create human beings. Little by little—meal by meal, laundry load by laundry load, bath by bath, skinned knee by skinned knee—we care for and feed children until they are sound-bodied adults. This kind of project is our specialty. We know the power of a little love and energy judiciously applied over time. We know not only that Rome wasn't built in a day, but that it was built by thousands over time. And it was built.

Too busy? The secret is that giving time, energy, and resources to a solvable problem gives back to you immediately, whereas hoarding same shuts you down. These are the immediate returns of giving: Perspective—you immediately know what's important and what isn't. Joy—you tap in to the power of giving good a boost, which also gives you energy. The absence of guilt isn't bad either. Do we need to feel paralyzed with guilt because we live in a privileged society? No, but if we just consume, hoard, and coast along without giving anything back, it's hard to avoid feeling guilty. Now that I'm on the other side, I would much rather commit myself to a cause and see my entire life in fresh relief; see the things that used to upset me—a shrunken garment, a missed appointment—as SLFWPs (silly little first-world problems).