The problem of female genital mutilation in Britain

Campaigners are worried that cuts will mean organisations working with women and children will close down.

When Leyla Hussein began campaigning against female genital mutilation (FGM) a decade ago, it provoked a violent reaction from some of her fellow British Somalis. The threats against her grew so severe that she was forced to move home several times, and was issued with a panic alarm.

"I was one of the first people who started saying, 'stop painting FGM as a cultural practice, call it what it is: it's child abuse,' and that really painted me as a girl who'd betrayed her people," she says.

Today she works for Daughters of Eve, a charity she co-founded in 2010 to protect and support girls at risk of FGM, and says she has few regrets. "I know the horrors of FGM, and they are far worse than what I was experiencing."

Hussein's experience is an extreme example, but a fear of speaking out is one reason there's so much ignorance surrounding FGM. 6 February is the International Day of Zero Tolerance to FGM, and although genital cutting is commonly understood to take place abroad — across Africa, the Middle East, and Asia — few know it's a UK issue too.

An estimated 66,000 British women have undergone FGM, and 24,000 British girls under the age of 15 are deemed by the Home Office to be “at risk” from genital cutting.

There are four main types of FGM, ranging from the removal of all or part of the clitoris, to infibulation, or “type 3”, where the vaginal opening is narrowed by cutting and sewing together the outer labia, sometimes first removing the inner labia and clitoris.

FGM is rarely carried out by a medical professional, and as well as causing pain and psychological trauma, women face a permanent risk of infection, difficulties urinating and menstruating, and complications during child birth.

Alia was seven when she was sent from the UK to Djibouti to undergo type 3 FGM. The procedure was carried out by a traditional cutter and without anaesthetic.

From her mother — who today maintains she did Alia a "favour" and made her look "prettier" — to her teacher who dismissed her experience as a "cultural practice" similar to a Bar Mitzvah, to the doctor who reversed her infibulation five years later after Alia suffered repeated urinary infections, "nobody ever asked me if I was OK," she tells me.

Nor did the doctor report Alia's case to social services, although he operated on her in the mid-nineties and FGM has been illegal in the UK since 1985. In fact, no one has ever been convicted in the UK for carrying out FGM.

"People know the UK's a soft touch," says Alia. "There are a large number of Swedish, Dutch and other European girls who have moved to the UK, just so they can undergo FGM."

Hussein confirms that she too has spoken to families who say they moved to the UK for this reason. "Britain is one of the richest, safest countries in the world, but now it's becoming a place where girls' genitals are being removed," she says.

She's keen for FGM to be included in mandatory child protection training for medical professionals, social workers and teachers: the lack of awareness of FGM among these groups was raised by everyone I spoke to.

In November 2012 there were signs of increased government resolve to clamp down on FGM. Keir Starmer, director for public prosecutions, launched a plans he hopes will increase referrals and prosecutions for FGM, and the Home Office issued a health passport, a booklet relatives can take abroad, explaining that FGM (even when carried out abroad) carries a maximum 14-year prison sentence.

Sara, a Somali anti-FGM advocate, believes the health passport could prove a useful resource for her community (provided they can read English). "Often women coming home with their daughters are hearing from their grandmothers, 'you're becoming so Western, why are you not carrying on our traditions?' So this is a reminder to them to resist," she tells me.

Nevertheless Sara is concerned that in trying to clamp down on FGM, professionals overlook the need to care for victims. Having undergone FGM herself, it took three months for a doctor to convince her to have a smear test, because she feared his reaction. Some "women prefer to have a baby in Somalia, because they are so scared of the midwife ringing social services," she says.

"It's not seen as a priority, how to care for these women" says Kekeli Kpognon, head of UK programmes at anti-FGM charity Forward, "You talk about prosecution, punishment and prevention, fine, but you don't talk about everyday care and support."

Kpognon also believes the government hasn't thought through the implications of increasing prosecutions for FGM: "It's not clear what kind of support or legal aid is being offered. People also need to realise it will mean the end of family life as it was, and what will that mean for a young girl: will her parents end up in jail? Will she go into care?"

Forward fears that a renewed focus on prosecution could divert resources away from community outreach work. It says that following its training sessions with affected women, which cover the health risks of FGM and tackle common misconceptions, such as that the practice is religiously proscribed, most women change their views, and want to convince their peers to abandon the practice too.

The lack of resources being diverted to the issue is also Hussein’s biggest worry. "I'm so scared that with all of the cuts happening at the moment, that organisations working with women and children on this will close down. I feel so worried that in the next 5-10 years, FGM will get lost in the air again.

Some names have been changed to protect identities.

 

Intervention on FGM is complicated - for some women, it could be the end of family life. Photograph: Getty Images

Sophie McBain is a freelance writer based in Cairo. She was previously an assistant editor at the New Statesman.

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The Women's March against Trump matters – but only if we keep fighting

We won’t win the battle for progressive ideas if we don’t battle in the first place.

Arron Banks, UKIP-funder, Brexit cheerleader and Gibraltar-based insurance salesman, took time out from Trump's inauguration to tweet me about my role in tomorrow's Women’s March Conservative values are in the ascendancy worldwide. Thankfully your values are finished. . . good”.

Just what about the idea of women and men marching for human rights causes such ill will? The sense it is somehow cheeky to say we will champion equality whoever is in office in America or around the world. After all, if progressives like me have lost the battle of ideas, what difference does it make whether we are marching, holding meetings or just moaning on the internet?

The only anti-democratic perspective is to argue that when someone has lost the argument they have to stop making one. When political parties lose elections they reflect, they listen, they learn but if they stand for something, they don’t disband. The same is true, now, for the broader context. We should not dismiss the necessity to learn, to listen, to reflect on the rise of Trump – or indeed reflect on the rise of the right in the UK  but reject the idea that we have to take a vow of silence if we want to win power again.

To march is not to ignore the challenges progressives face. It is to start to ask what are we prepared to do about it.

Historically, conservatives have had no such qualms about regrouping and remaining steadfast in the confidence they have something worth saying. In contrast, the left has always been good at absolving itself of the need to renew.

We spend our time seeking the perfect candidates, the perfect policy, the perfect campaign, as a precondition for action. It justifies doing nothing except sitting on the sidelines bemoaning the state of society.

We also seem to think that changing the world should be easier than reality suggests. The backlash we are now seeing against progressive policies was inevitable once we appeared to take these gains for granted and became arrogant and exclusive about the inevitability of our worldview. Our values demand the rebalancing of power, whether economic, social or cultural, and that means challenging those who currently have it. We may believe that a more equal world is one in which more will thrive, but that doesn’t mean those with entrenched privilege will give up their favoured status without a fight or that the public should express perpetual gratitude for our efforts via the ballot box either.  

Amongst the conferences, tweets and general rumblings there seem three schools of thought about what to do next. The first is Marxist  as in Groucho revisionism: to rise again we must water down our principles to accommodate where we believe the centre ground of politics to now be. Tone down our ideals in the hope that by such acquiescence we can eventually win back public support for our brand – if not our purpose. The very essence of a hollow victory.

The second is to stick to our guns and stick our heads in the sand, believing that eventually, when World War Three breaks out, the public will come grovelling back to us. To luxuriate in an unwillingness to see we are losing not just elected offices but the fight for our shared future.

But what if there really was a third way? It's not going to be easy, and it requires more than a hashtag or funny t-shirt. It’s about picking ourselves up, dusting ourselves down and starting to renew our call to arms in a way that makes sense for the modern world.

For the avoidance of doubt, if we march tomorrow and then go home satisfied we have made our point then we may as well not have marched at all. But if we march and continue to organise out of the networks we make, well, then that’s worth a Saturday in the cold. After all, we won’t win the battle of ideas, if we don’t battle.

We do have to change the way we work. We do have to have the courage not to live in our echo chambers alone. To go with respect and humility to debate and discuss the future of our communities and of our country.

And we have to come together to show there is a willingness not to ask a few brave souls to do that on their own. Not just at election times, but every day and in every corner of Britain, no matter how difficult it may feel.

Saturday is one part of that process of finding others willing not just to walk a mile with a placard, but to put in the hard yards to win the argument again for progressive values and vision. Maybe no one will show up. Maybe not many will keep going. But whilst there are folk with faith in each other, and in that alternative future, they’ll find a friend in me ready to work with them and will them on  and then Mr Banks really should be worried.