What We Take for Granted…

By Leila Alfaro

The beautiful Andes, somewhere south of Mendoza

July 22nd, 2019

This is my last week in Mar del Plata. The last month has been tough for my family and me, as we have struggled with maintaining our Argentinian routine, so different from our regular one, and have been feeling homesick, missing our family and friends. I am very excited to head back home, but I am also very thankful for my time here, for the encounters I have had, the things I have learned, the places I have visited and the memories I have made. As the weeks progressed, I often had to fight the disconcerting thought that my presence here would ultimately prove to be useless and that in the end, I would realize just how little I had accomplished this summer.  I partly blame this on the slow pace of life here but these fears, certainly, were also anchored on the notion of just how complex issues pertaining to disability rights are, and that there is no single way of tackling them without eventually uncovering further underlying issues of a more complex nature. Exploring the field of disability rights, namely in a country with a fragile economy, proved to be beyond frustrating at times. A cloud of helplessness and desolation was hanging constantly over my head, as I had to come to terms with the extent to which ableism is embedded in the structures of society and just how limited the impact of rights and laws on paper can be, when there is simply so much that has to change in order to guarantee a dignified life for members of such marginalized group.

While I had no experience whatsoever in the field, especially in the Argentinian context, I found myself learning so much, so quickly. By learning from the situation in this foreign country, I inevitably felt the urge to find out more about the reality back in Canada. One of the most interesting moments in the context of the workshops with people with disabilities was when I was able to present a brief overview of how Canada approaches voting rights for people with disabilities. By communicating the reality of my country, I was able to share interesting links, like how the issue of an aging population has an incidence on the existing efforts of accommodation.

Curiously, when I elaborated on how there is still much to accomplish in Canada as well, I was met with what felt like skepticism. Argentinians certainly hold Canada in high regard, since they see our institutions as well-funded, efficient and “serious”. The irony is not lost in me, that as much as they admire said efficiency, they do not seem interested in a more rapidly-paced lifestyle. Indeed, such tradeoffs are inevitable, and we are not always in a position to be adequately critical of them given our own biases and perspectives which are ultimately limited by our personal realities.

Being abroad, I have mostly been able to reflect on the things I take for granted (like the people who are part of my daily life, the comfort of my home or some of my favourite foods!), but I have also learned about what people here take for granted. As I have become interested in the topic of voting rights for people with disabilities, I have begun working on a research project of my own. As I debated on which topic to present to the Centre for approval, I ultimately felt the strong urge to address the mandatory aspect of Argentinian suffrage. I found it fascinating how the people with whom I interacted could be so comfortable communicating their own frustrations regarding their system yet seemed very willing to justify it when I would question factors such as mandatory voting. I was surprised to find that virtually no literature exists on the subject in relation to disability (I was told there had been some kind of project done in another university that tackled this issue, but I have yet to learn more about it). I quickly became under the impression that, while Argentinians do recognize the particularity of their voting system in this regard (mandatory voting), they are quite satisfied with it. When it comes to discussing and promoting the ability to vote, basically no attention was brought to how the principle of mandatory voting might also impact persons with disabilities. This notion exemplifies the degree of ableism in society in terms of what the State expects from its citizens, seemingly ignoring the existing gap between those who have impairments and those who do not have any.

While I was pleased to hear that my research project relied on a novel outlook of the situation, I expect to gain more insight on the underlying ambiguities of mandatory voting, especially given the historical context of the Argentinian political scene. In elaborating on this topic, I hope to encourage other researchers and clinical workers to become more sensible to how the obstacles people with disabilities face are linked to more complex structural factors of society that we tend to take for granted.

My going-away dinner with members of the Extension Group on Voting Rights for PWD, comprised of graduate students and faculty from multiple fields

 

The last workshop in which I participated, especially tailored for people with visual impairments

On Electra & Venezuela

By Natalia Koper

Electra was an angry daughter. No wonder, her mother Clytemnestra, in a vengeful act, had killed her father Agamemnon after he had sacrificed his eldest daughter, the innocent Iphigenia on the altar of war. Being a daughter of a murdered father and a mother-murderer has marked Electra’s identity throughout literary history.

The story of Electra has been recounted many times partly because it exposes the complexity of human suffering; partly because the ease of reproducing violence resonates with our experiences and histories. Electra individualizes and humanizes the different facets of pain: her tragedy in the midst of the Trojan War is not discarded as one of many. At the same time, Electra’s struggle touches on some (perhaps) universally pertinent dilemmas. How to break with the cycle of violence? Where is the line between vengeance and justice? How does an ‘after’ for a survivor of violence even look like?

This year, I experienced this famous product of Greek mythology from a completely unexpected angle. In Lima’s Teatro la Plaza, a group of Venezuelan actors relived Electra’s story, adding to it that of their nation.

Poster, source: Larcomar <larcomar.com/electra-de-sofocles-a-clavier-de-grecia-a-venezuela/electra>

The actors signalled their message early on: the play began by the actors approaching the edge of the stage, introducing themselves, and explaining how long they have lived in Peru. Peru has observed a consistent increase of people arriving from Venezuela since the living conditions there began to deteriorate drastically in 2017. Currently, the country is the second-largest recipient of Venezuelans fleeing the violence of the Nicolás Maduro’s regime. Out of more than 800,000 Venezuelans residing in Peru, about 80 percent – including the actors in front of me – sought refuge in Lima.

The play, however, took us to the modern-day Caracas. It revolved around a family gathering, celebrating the birthday of Aegisthus, Clytemnestra’s lover and accomplice. It was a glimpse into a fallen kingdom of prosperity. “Soon there will be nothing left to sell from this beautiful villa,” noticed one of the party invitees. (Actually, the comment served also as a meta-joke on the minimalist scenography). The purchase of birthday balloons, forming into Aegisthus’s name, met with Electra’s disapproval too.

The scenography

In this reality, Electra’s resentment towards the impunity of her father’s death gets mixed up with quarrels over a chicken missing from the fridge. Not so surprisingly, these two dimensions of the quarrel belong together here. In Venezuela, the aggravation of the institutional order, the restraints on civil rights, and extrajudicial killings go in pair with the economic crisis, extreme hyperinflation, and the consequent lack of access to basic social services. The economic fiasco of Maduro’s politics fuels the public discontent, which, in a strong democracy, would force him out of power. To hold on to his seat, Maduro resorts to the militarization of the public “safety” and the criminalization of the opposition. Extreme poverty also affects crime rates. All these factors combined push people to leaving the country, which further contributes to limiting access to social services and shortages of food and medical supplies. For example, by 2017, more than 40 percent of doctors who have graduated in the last decade decided to emigrate. Of those who remained in Venezuela, 75 percent still intend to leave. In short, Electra’s family perpetual cycle of violence coincides with what Venezuelans experience in real life.

In the play, the Caracas of 2019 finds itself contrasted with other moments from the 20th-century history. In particular, this Greek royal family holds on to the memory of better days, manifested in the abundance of everyday resources and the right to manage them in a carefree, wasteful manner. It’s not exactly clear whether that refers to the 1980s when Venezuela’s elite thrived on U.S-backed oil deals or to the more recent social welfare project of Hugo Chávez. Both of these “happy times” remind us, however, about the unstable foundation of the Venezuelan economy. By relying almost entirely on oil exports, the country is susceptible to economic collapse every time the oil market prices drop significantly. Economists call this phenomenon a natural resource curse, which again brings back the ancient Greek notions of fate and doom.

Electra didn’t manage to escape her family’s cycle of pain. Instead of joining her brother Orestes in Peru and leaving her fate behind in Venezuela, she completes the cycle the moment we hear behind-the-scene shots. Vengeance for her father’s death is executed, turning Electra into yet another murderer. What will be of Venezuela now?

 

Meeting human rights defenders: when one falls, ten will rise

By Natalia Koper

Winter in Lima is a multisensory experience. The streets are dusty and polluted, and the chilly humidity is difficult to get used to. The hustle and bustle of traffic and street vendors continues long after dusk and resumes at full volume from the early morning hours. The sky is murky every day, giving the city a feel of suspense and unease. It’s been over a month since Lima welcomed me and crossing a busy street is still an adventure. Here, the green light is merely a suggestion – never a guarantee. Instead, drivers approach honking, announcing their presence in defiance of traffic norms.

It was a pleasure to hang out with Emilie de Haas, a former IDEHPUCP intern from McGill, while she was visiting her friends in Peru.

Despite its tense and mysterious side, Lima is also lively and passionate. I wake up every day listening to the sweet tweet of the birds. Every household in my neighbourhood has a colourful garden of tropical flowers and plants. And then there’s soccer: I didn’t need to watch Copa América (the South American soccer championship) to know the current score whenever Peru was playing, as the entire city would hold their breaths and then cheer wildly into the streets every time their compatriots scored a goal.

If Lima were a person, she would be a moody rule-breaker, but also creative and spirited.

My amazing colleagues from the Institute. Thank you for being so welcoming!

This is the setting of the Institute for Democracy and Human Rights (IDEHPUCP in Spanish), a leading Latin American research facility, and it is where I’m spending my summer. The Institute, born in 2004 from the work of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (CVR), continues to examine the causes and implications of the internal armed conflict, which raged in Peru for two decades between 1980 and 2000. The work of the Institute goes beyond this mandate, by striving to build a stronger civil society through research, publications, and education programmes. I’ve been so grateful for the opportunity to participate in the very diverse initiatives that the Institute is undertaking.

Last week, I attended workshops organized by the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR). Together with the only other foreign intern Weronika (who is a third-year political science student at Yale and coincidentally Polish, like me), we reported on the events taking place throughout the week. There were 60 human rights defenders from twenty Latin American states, selected from almost 3000 applications. On the first day, everyone introduced themselves and briefly described their line of work. Among different dimensions of human rights work, the defenders discussed women’s rights, LGBTQ rights, Indigenous and Afro-descendant rights, environmental rights, migration rights, rights of prisoners, freedom of expression, and rights of victims of armed conflicts. I felt honoured to be in the presence of this diverse group of extraordinary individuals who put their lives at risk to defend values and causes worth fighting for. Spending an entire week with them was truly a humbling and inspiring experience.

At the beginning of the IACHR course, participants identified key challenges for the human rights field in Latin America.

I had the pleasure of speaking to a few of these activists, one of whom monitors prison conditions in Venezuela. As she described, prisoners in Venezuela are dying from a lack of the most basic medical care – anything from tuberculosis to ear infections. They are also subjected to torture, with cases of deaths registered as suicides. Prisons are so overcrowded that some people stay in tiny custody cells at police stations for months after being convicted. This phenomenon has led prisoners to establish a rotation system for who will get to sleep on a particular day.

I also met an immigration lawyer from Guadalajara, Mexico who recounted challenges faced by stateless immigrants trying to register their children in Mexico. Some people who arrive in Mexico from rural areas of Central America do not have any documents, no birth certificate, nothing. When they turn to the Mexican authorities for registering their children’s birth certificates, the immigration authorities refuse to process the documentation, which means further marginalization and limited access to public services. This is why Luis’s FM4 Paso Libre is committed to providing comprehensive assistance to those in need, including shelter, psychological help, and social reintegration, and legal advice.

The main objective of the course was to train human rights defenders in accessing the inter-American human rights system, composed of the IACHR (same guys who organized the course) – whose doors you can on knock first if you’d like to denounce human rights violations in an OAS country – and the Inter-American Court of Human Rights – the main organ of the inter-American system (where Kelly O’Connor is completing her internship placement right now). The participants engaged in a series of interactive lectures and mock hearings led by the IACHR staff (and recently appointed Commissioner Julissa Mantilla, who is a law professor of some of my colleagues at the Institute). At the end of the course, they were committed to imparting what they learned in their organizations and communities.

The participants tried out different roles during a mock IACHR hearing. The fact pattern concerned the urgency of granting adequate protection measures to the wife of an Indigenous community leader.

A recurring theme of the week was the safety of human rights defenders. Three out of four murders of human rights defenders occur in Latin America, as was emphasized by Commissioner Francisco José Eguiguren during a conference that inaugurated the week. In 2018, Colombia and Mexico alone accounted for 54% of the total killings, according to Front Line Defenders’ report. In addition, the activists face threats, criminalization, harassment, stigmatization, and arbitrary detentions. Some of the participants have already experienced violence or are beneficiaries of precautionary measures, which are granted by IACHR in serious and urgent situations in order to prevent irreparable harm.

Human rights defenders play a critical role in protecting the rights and wellbeing of their communities. Their voice holds governments and businesses accountable to the international community and the public in general. As such, it is disheartening to hear about activists labelled as ‘terrorists’ and peaceful protests equated with ‘inciting rebellion.’ Arguably, it’s in everyone’s interest to keep rights-upholders safe. Am I naïve to think that everyone wins if rights pertaining to each and every one of us are recognized and respected? For some reason, the dynamic of human rights defence has always been binary and adversarial: activists versus the government; the community versus the corporation etc. As a result, the mistaken pursuit of power and wealth has led many private actors to believe that human rights pose a limitation to business. But the way I look at it, businesses thrive where rights are respected because they operate more efficiently in an environment of political and economic stability, transparency, and accountability.

On the last day of the IACHR course, everyone had a chance to reflect on the past few days and to celebrate its diversity of perspectives and cosmovisions. There were many tears and expressions of gratitude for being heard by the IACHR. Within one week, these people exchanged accounts of violence and other challenges they face daily, realizing to their surprise that they shared many of the same experiences. It was very powerful because, simply put, it meant that they were not alone in their fight and that they could look for support among each other. In the end, a participant from Chile shared with the group a Mapudungun message of hope: when one falls, ten will rise.

On the weekends, I try to travel as much as possible. I’ve never been to Peru before and there is so much to see!

A condor at Colca Canyon.

Here, Paracas National Reserve, home to Humboldt penguins, sea lions, and breathtaking landscapes.

The said penguins at Islas Ballestas, in Paracas National Reserve.

Time, Suffrage and Disability

By Leila Alfaro

If I had to choose one aspect for which I am most grateful when travelling, it would be the resilience I am forced to develop as I find myself in new, challenging situations. Beyond my love for visiting new sights, tasting different foods and meeting new people, I appreciate being challenged when facing cultural aspects so different from my own to the point I must undertake a process of deep introspection, contemplating the Other as well as my own reflexes and the things and practices I take for granted. Since arriving to Argentina, I have had plenty of time to experience and, most importantly, to reflect on not only the cultural, but also the geographical, infrastructural and economic gaps between this side of the pole and home, up in the North.

Having had the privilege of knowing Mexico and most of Central America, I knew coming here that I should brace myself for an experience in which time could not be measured the same way as back home. It amazes me that, even with everything I know and have lived, I am still surprised seeing how time can move so slowly here. Through meetings postponed, messages unanswered, workshops cancelled, last-minute schedule changes and strikes, my patience has been tested on several occasions. However, as I learn to expect the unexpected, I grow more comfortable with this kind of difference, knowing I am being confronted to my biggest flaw (impatience) and that at the same time I have the opportunity to build on some very valuable skills, namely autonomy, resourcefulness and, of course, resilience.

While I recognize the slow tempo of the city has kept me from achieving the most of this experience work-wise, I also recognize the good it entails – I appreciate this stress-free lifestyle, which is a nice break from the North American way. I also admire the role of family in Argentina, the importance of making time for those around us and for self-care. More time on my hands also means I can enjoy more walks on the beach and more delicious parillas with my family. It also allows me to be more critical about the experience itself; whenever a situation arises, I can truly take a moment and reflect on the why and the implications of whatever is happening for the Argentinian people and for me as a visitor (strikes related to the weakened economy, classes cancelled due to bad weather affecting infrastructure, unavailability of certain goods are some examples of circumstances which I have faced during my time here).

Work may be slow here, but it still happens. I have had the chance to join an interdisciplinary, graduate clinical group working on promoting voting rights for people with disabilities. So far, this has taken the shape of workshops in schools and community centers for individuals with disabilities, lectures aimed at undergraduate students and inter-faculty discussions. I take this work very seriously as it has taught me a great deal about political perspectives and disability rights in the region. In any democracy, we can reasonably expect people with disabilities to have more difficulty enforcing their right to vote without proper accommodations provided by the State – but, what happens when voting is also a duty? In Argentina, an absence to the polls must be justified in order to avoid sanctions; this certainly entails a new set of complex challenges for anyone, and for citizens with disabilities in particular. Because of the unique nature of suffrage in Argentina, addressing it in light of issues of diversity and inclusivity is of utmost importance. I appreciate this opportunity especially given the precarious situation in the country in the context of the upcoming elections this fall.

As the last half of my internship begins, I am starting to feel a bit homesick, but I look forward to new learnings and to continue discovering what this country has to offer (I am excited to visit Mendoza and Buenos Aires this upcoming week!), and in the end I know it will have seemed like it all happened in the blink of an eye.

On being “American”

By Sara Gold

My last day in San José, Costa Rica – September 8, 2018

“Along the way we have even lost the right to call ourselves Americans […]. For the world today, America is just the United States; the region we inhabit is a sub-America, a second-class America of nebulous identity” (Eduardo Galeano, Open Veins of Latin America, 1971, p.2)

What does it mean to be “American”? In the English language, this word often refers to the United States rather than to the continent, whose name it derives from. Frustration with this idea has been publicly expressed as early as 1971 by Galeano in Open Veins of Latin America. The concept remains part of present day discourse in the English-speaking world.

No individual better exemplifies this line of thinking than President Donald Trump. Throughout his campaign and in his published foreign policy, he explicitly stated that his “foreign policy is putting the interests and security of the American people first”. [1] Informally, this notion bleeds in our day-to-day speech; I myself have often carelessly referred to the people of the United States as “Americans” or to my travels to the United States as a trip to “America”.

“Being an American, for me, is being born or living in the United States. I’m not sure if it’s because of geography or intention, but firstly, the word South America represents me the best and secondly, Latin America, but not America”.Colleague from Argentina (translated from Spanish)

But what does it mean to be “American”? [2] Interning at the Inter-American Court of Human Rights this summer, working with colleagues from all over the Americas, and then subsequently travelling by land and sea through Costa Rica, Panama, and Colombia allowed me to reflect on this question.

“Being American is a commitment. A commitment of having to bear the burden of unfairness, from the past and the present, but always worrying how to help. Being American is being proud of the mixture of races, ways of thinking and belief systems that constitute the American continent. Being an American is to live life’s hardship and trying your best in dealing with it”.Colleague from Colombia (translated from Spanish)

First, my experience at the Inter-American Court of Human Rights in Costa Rica showed me the implications of a regional human rights protection system. In my opinion, this institution interprets “being American” as being a member States of the Organization of American States (OAS) and as being located on the continent. After all, it is the Inter-American system; all countries are considered as part of the Americas. The decisions issued by this Court have often been tailored accordingly to regional considerations.[3] Unfortunately, they have also reflected the consequences of the tragic side of this continent’s history, which has been marked by conflict, exploitation, and inequality.

Being American is not limited to being born in this great continent, it implies belonging to a great multicultural heritage, full of traditions, and thousands of different ways of seeing the world and living life. Americans enjoys a rich history that continues to be written every day, in which we are all its characters. – Colleague from Mexico (translated from Spanish)

Second, my experience working with colleagues from all over the Americas allowed me to realize that “being American” cannot be defined in one singular way. I worked with individuals from the United States, Mexico, Costa Rica, Venezuela, Panama, Colombia, Chile, Argentina and Brazil. I learnt about their legal systems, their customs, their slang, their prejudices, their food, their realities. I learnt that everyone’s preoccupations are different, but that many are concerned about things that I take for granted, like their country’s democratic process, like their right to safe and free abortion, like their job security, like their future as a young lawyer in their countries, just to name a few. These concerns reminded me of how privileged I am, which is easy to forget in the daily grind of McGill Law and Montreal.

For me, “being American” has a double meaning which, despite the political rhetoric coming out of my country lately, is not mutually exclusive. In one respect, I am American because I am from the United States. I probably think of this aspect of my identity fist when I hear the word “American”, not because I believe that only people from the US are Americans, but because we do not have another word to describe our nationality, and this is the aspect of my identity with which I come into contact most regularly. However, and equally important, I am American because I am also from one of the many rich cultures of the Americas. This aspect of my identity locates me on a global scale and ties me in a much larger community. Colleague from the United States of America

Third, following my internship, I furthered reflected on what it means to be American throughout my travels by land and sea in Costa Rica, Panama and Colombia. In these countries, I witnessed the inequalities that are very much part of the Americas. I listened to individuals tell their stories, list their concerns, reflect on their history, and debate their place in the world today.

These stories led to two current issues that have strongly impacted me. Both are related to migration. The first is the influx of migration of Nicaraguans into Costa Rica, and the extreme racism they face on a daily basis. Second, is the mass exodus of Venezuelans into neighbouring countries. While in Colombia, I encountered many Venezuelans who had left the country, in search of safety and stability. I learnt about what actions countries like Colombia, Ecuador, and Peru are taking in order to try and alleviate the crisis. I wondered what the role of other Americans was in order to help our fellow citizens.

Finally, I realized that being American means sharing your culture with others. On several occasions, I was welcomed into people’s homes (such as my former colleague), shared life stories, and was invited to discover what made their country unique. This generosity allowed me to realize that “being American” does not only mean living in and being from the Americas, but also means being part of a larger community, that shares, that supports, and that helps. Ultimately, as my colleague from Costa Rica put it, maybe the term that should prevail is “human”.

“For me being “American” is a label that is useful for expressing a distinct cultural process that took place in the past. However, it is often used merely for reasons of discrimination, criminalization, stigma, etc. Nowadays it seems to me that the label “American”, “European”, “African”, etc. loses legitimacy as we mix more and more, it is social myopia to deny multiculturalism. In my opinion, the label that must ultimately prevail is “human”. Colleague from Costa Rica (translated from Spanish)

 

My colleagues from all over the Americas 🙂

 

[1] See: https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefings-statements/president-donald-j-trumps-foreign-policy-puts-america-first/

[2] Note: I asked five colleagues from the Inter-American Court, all from different countries, to reflect on what it means to be American. Their reflections can be found in the Italic portions of this text.

[3] The Inter-American Court (alongside the Inter-American Commission) were created to “safeguard the essential rights of man in the American continent”. See: http://www.corteidh.or.cr/index.php/en/about-us/historia-de-la-corteidh

 

Plenary Guardianship: Persons with Disabilities Made Vulnerable

By Roger Bill

 

It’s been over 2 months now since I’ve arrived in the Federal District of Mexico. The cultural shocks come less and less, my skin doesn’t burn so easily, I don’t mind the altitude when I run, and the chilangismos (local slang) roll easily off my tongue. As settled in as I feel, I’m often startled in my work by the large divide between the law on paper, and the reality in the streets.

In the day to day, this reality would be evident to any Canadian visitor like me, not just those working in human rights. Traffic laws are a great example. There are laws on the books, but what matters is what the other motorists are doing, not what colour the lights are. For example, I had a lively cab driver a couple of weeks ago. He was happy to be taking me and two friends across town for a decent fare. So, when a police officer pulled him over for running a red light and was at his window telling him he had to pay a fine and leave us to find another cab, what mattered was how quickly he could leave the police car in his tracks, not the picture of his car caught by the traffic camera.

After an adventurous flight from the police with my aggressive cabbie, I realized that what holds for cabbies holds for people with disabilities: there are laws on the books, but people will do what they can get away with.

Unfortunately for people with disabilities, the people bending the rules are their legal representatives, or public servants who don’t want to make reasonable accommodations for them, or administrators of psychiatric institutions where they are indefinitely detained.

A large part of my work in the first month of my arrival was creating this year’s Zero Project Report, a study of the implementation of the UN Convention on the Rights of People with Disabilities (CRPD). The study examines not only what legislative changes have been made in Mexico to bring the law in line with the convention, but what the practical reality of the implementation of the convention is. Sadly, the reality usually falls well short of the laudable goals and aspirational language of recent legislative reforms.

Disability Rights International advocates for the rights of people with disabilities, and particularly tries to attain the ideals promised by article 19 of the CRPD: to have people live inclusively in the community rather than in isolated institutions where they suffer abuse. The organization fights to have the reality of institutions mirror the rights guaranteed by law. This is a laudable goal and I’m very happy to participate in it through our different advocacy initiatives.

Currently we are trying to end institutional abuse in a Central American psychiatric hospital through motions before the Inter-American Commission of Human Rights. The abuse is terrible: people administered therapy without their consent, others locked up for life with no possibility to review their status and live again in the community, sexual abuse, human trafficking, and horrendous living conditions. We hope to stop the terrible abuse perpetrated by the institution. However, bringing about de-institutionalization is no mean feat. Realistically things won’t change overnight, and people with disabilities can do little to help themselves when they are locked up in psychiatric wards in deplorable conditions.

So, I’m very happy to be participating in a project to empower people with disabilities and give them the tools to change the situation in the hallways of hospitals. Along with pressuring the government to improve conditions and offer community service as DRI constantly does, we are attempting to reform the laws of legal capacity in Mexico so that people with disabilities can have more control over how they live their lives.

DRI is part of a working group composed of the National Council for the Development and Inclusion of People with Disabilities (CONADIS), Rehabilitation International, several strategic litigation firms which specialize in disability rights, and other invited experts. The project aims to propose amendments to the civil code of the Federal District, as well as proposing a draft legislation creating a supported decision making scheme. Through these two changes, we hope to create a strong example for the other Mexican states to follow. It is a monumental task, and our proposal may not get adopted on its first pass in the national assembly, but it is step in the right direction.

A report by the Secretary General of the UN on the progress of efforts to ensure the full recognition and enjoyment of the human rights of persons with disabilities [A/58/181] perhaps says it best:

“The right to recognition as a person before the law is often neglected in the context of mental health. The concept of guardianship is frequently used improperly to deprive individuals with an intellectual or psychiatric disability of their legal capacity without any form of procedural safeguards. Thus, persons are deprived of their right to make some of the most important and basic decisions about their life on account of an actual or perceived disability without a fair hearing and/or periodical review by competent judicial authorities. The lack of due process guarantees may expose the individual whose capacity is at stake to several possible forms of abuse. An individual with a limited disability may be considered completely unable to make life choices independently and placed under “plenary guardianship”. Furthermore, guardianship may be improperly used to circumvent laws governing admission in mental health institutions, and the lack of a procedure for appealing or automatically reviewing decisions concerning legal incapacity could then determine the commitment of a person to an institution for life on the basis of an actual or perceived disability.”

Throughout Latin America and much of the world, the laws governing legal capacity must be reformed to protect the rights of people with disabilities. Hopefully, Mexico City can take a leadership position for the rest of the country, and eventually for other nations in Latin America.

Some thoughts from the IACHR

perri By Perri Ravon

Close to 30 interns are working at the Inter-American Court of Human Rights this summer, assisting the Court’s legal secretariat. Most come from Latin America, where the Inter American system has gained unquestionable political and cultural resonance in the last decades. Others, like myself and a few fellow Americans, are truly discovering a new legal world within the human rights field: case law, judges, advocacy, diplomacy, media…

While working on urgent provisional measures, drafting memos for judgments and monitoring states’ compliance, I have also given thought to the “bigger picture”: the success and the limits of international human rights law, the meaning it has for individuals throughout the Americas… And beyond such theoretical questionings, I am also very interested in the impact such a system can have, today, in a country such as Canada which has not recognized the jurisdiction of the Court, yet which cannot ignore its legal developments. How much can we learn from the Court’s interpretation of the American Convention, from its unique approach to reparations, from its analysis of such issues as gender and economic migrants? How much can be quickly discarded given the immense differences between a regional human rights court and the Canadian legal system? And how much cannot?

Of course, I am fully aware of Canada’s “dualist” nature in terms of its reception of international law, and indeed I am not even alluding to the effects the actual American Convention could have in Canada. Yet, with respect to fruitful influences for future developments in Charter interpretation, the Inter-American Court’s case law may have a greater role to play than would at first appear.

Blog authors are solely responsible for the content of the blogs listed in the directory. Neither the content of these blogs, nor the links to other web sites, are screened, approved, reviewed or endorsed by McGill University. The text and other material on these blogs are the opinion of the specific author and are not statements of advice, opinion, or information of McGill.