A Salvadorean woman marching for abortion rights. Photo: Jose Cabezas/AFP/Getty Images
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El Salvador, the country where women get jailed for having a miscarriage

In the UK, it can feel like Latin America had simply been wiped off the map, but women there are facing terrible injustices that completely escape our attention.

When Guadalupe Vasquez was raped by her employer’s neighbour, she didn’t report it. She came from a poor family and was only 17. She didn’t think she would be believed – and in any case, the neighbour had warned her not to tell anyone.

She decided to keep the baby. She had little other choice, being from El Salvador, where abortion is illegal under all circumstances, including rape, incest, and even when the mother’s life is in danger, or the foetus is not viable. But Vasquez seems to have loved her baby, despite his violating conception. She prepared for his birth. She gave him a name: Gabriel. Her body started to change; her belly started to swell.

And then she started bleeding. When Vasquez felt the intense pain across her back and abdomen, she asked her employer to let her go to hospital. The employer refused. A few hours later, Guadelupe gave birth to Gabriel on her own in her room. He cried once, and then died. 

Faced with a dead baby and a still bleeding mother, Vasquez’s employer finally allowed her to go to hospital. “I don’t want to deal with two dead in my house.” At the public hospital, Vasquez was treated for her haemorrhage. Her life was saved. And then the police were called.  

Vasquez woke to find herself handcuffed to the hospital bed. Within four days she was standing trial for trying to abort her baby; when the prosecutors found that Gabriel was not born dead, Vasquez’s charge was upgraded to aggravated homicide. She was sentenced to thirty years in jail.

Vasquez’s case is far from isolated. She is one of seventeen women, dubbed “Las 17”, who have been imprisoned after having a miscarriage. The women have other things in common beyond their imprisonment. Most come from impoverished backgrounds and are working in low-paid, menial jobs. They have neither the money nor the education to mount a successful defence against the chronically cursory trials to which they are subjected before having their lives stolen from them. 

One of the most glaring injustices of the El Salvador system is the divide between women with money and those without. Women who can afford private hospitals are not only able to access medical care when they miscarry without the threat of being reported to the police, it is also estimated that thousands of abortions take place in private hospitals every year in El Salvador. Women without means are resorting to “clothes hangers, metal rods, high doses of contraceptives, fertilisers, gastritis remedies, soapy water and caustic fluids such as battery acid” in order to deal with unwanted pregnancies. Other women are killing themselves: suicide has become the third most common cause of maternal mortality, and, in 2011, was the “most common cause of death among 10-to-19-year-old girls, half of whom were pregnant, according to Health Ministry figures”. Between 2000 and 2011 in El Salvador, 129 women were prosecuted for abortion or aggravated homicide. Of these, 49 were convicted. 

A report released by ActionAid this week reveals the women who are fighting back against such injustices around the world. We hear about the garment workers in Cambodia who, in the face of police brutality, took to the streets in 2014 to demand an end to poverty waves, and who continue to join unions despite threats from their employers. We meet the lesbian women in South Africa fighting back against a misogynistic culture that considers rape a “corrective” to their desires. And we meet the women in El Savador who are standing up to a justice system that does not believe women.

When we report on the injustices faced by women around the world, Latin America doesn’t tend to figure at the top of the agenda. When I spoke to Valeria Bonfiglio, an Argentine psychotherapist who volunteers at the Latin American Women’s Rights Service, she tells me that coming to the UK felt like Latin America had simply been wiped off the map. No one was talking about it. 

The reasons for this ellipsis are not clear. Perhaps we think women in Latin America are doing OK – but if we do, our belief is misguided. Action Aid’s research found that, unlike Africa and the Middle East, where a number of women’s organisations report a sense of optimism, who feel that the situation is improving, without exception, the Latin American respondents indicated that they either felt less safe, or much less safe in their work. Women from Brazil, Argentina and Nicaragua speak of the rape and death threats they are increasingly facing online. One woman from Nicaragua reports having been “violently arrested” by police simply for providing legal advice. They reported the incident, but have heard nothing. Another woman from Nicaragua talks about how the government presents one face to the world, but that, in fact, “the reality is different. The state is supporting and protecting aggressors”.A woman from Mexico reports having received “direct threats”. Asked from whom she feels most threatened, she replies, “the government. The police”. “We are afraid” said one woman who was too scared to reveal which country she came from.

They are afraid. But they don’t stop. All these women are still fighting for their rights. And, as the Action Aid report reveals, some are having success. When I last researched the situation in El Salvador, I came across an interview with the freelance journalist Nina Lakhani, where she spoke about Las 17. Having exhausted all legal avenues by this point, the only hope remaining to them was a presidential pardon – and Lakhani did not consider the hope to be great. Granting a pardon would not be ‘seen as a politically smart move’, she said. 

That was in May 2014. By February 2015, Guadalupe Vasquez had been released, pardoned by the El Salvadoran Legislative Assembly. The pardon came after tireless campaigning by the Agrupación Ciudadana por la Despenalización del Aborto, (Salvadoran Citizens’ Coalition for the Decriminalization of Abortion). Vasquez had served over seven years.

Vasquez’s pardon is the first granted to a woman imprisoned for abortion. It is a significant victory. But the fight is far from over. Campaigners have been informed that there are no plans to pardon any of the other 16 women. They are to remain, for the foreseeable future, in overcrowded prisons, subject to intimidation and harassment for having been convicted of terminating their pregnancies.

Caroline Criado-Perez is a freelance journalist and feminist campaigner. She is also the co-founder of The Women's Room and tweets as @CCriadoPerez.

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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war