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Why prioritising women and children in the refugee crisis is a terrible idea

As the UK agrees to take in more Syrian refugees, there are calls to put "women and children first". But such prioritising won't help.

As the tide starts to turn in favour of helping refugees instead of building taller fences, we are starting to see calls to prioritise “women and children”. But this is a terrible mistake.

You might think that, as a feminist, I’d be fine with prioritising women.  But instead my reaction is quite the opposite. Partly my reaction, I admit, is an emotional one:  I find myself wondering at what age my now ten-year-old son would count as no longer worth saving (16? 18? 21?); and knowing that my partner, brother and father would already be deemed so.  But not all the reasons for rejecting this idea are so emotional.

The “women and children first” idea has deep roots in the idea that women are, like children, in special need of protection because they are unable to fend for themselves. The country that brought us Jessica Ennis-Hill, who just won her second world championship at the Heptathlon a year after giving birth, should know better. More generally, the dismissal of women’s capacities makes no sense in the modern world.

There is, however, an enlightened reason to pay special attention to the needs of women along with children. Women may face particularly difficult barriers to resettlement in a new country. In many countries, including some of those producing large numbers of refugees, women less likely to be able to acquire much in the way of language skills and employment experience, and this means they may be more in need of certain sorts of assistance than men.  But this is all the more reason not to separate them from their husbands, brothers and fathers.  If someone is in extra need of support, the very last thing you should do is deprive them of their existing support system.

To fully understand the desire to prioritise women and children among refugees, I suspect, we also need to acknowledge that, for some, this has its roots in suspicion of foreigners, especially Muslim ones. The willingness to make exceptions to this suspicion is better than the refusal to do so. But the idea that women and children are innocent and therefore exceptions is not only patronising to women, but appalling in its attitude toward men. To cast the men under this cloud of suspicion is to deny their humanity and their equal right to a life free from terrible persecution.

This attitude is especially shocking, it seems to me, in its casual willingness to destroy families – to say “we will help your wives and children, but leave you to see if you can make a life under Isis”.  When discussing domestic matters, politicians always strive to affirm their family values, and there is particular contempt reserved for fathers who abandon their families. Is it really right to demand such abandonment from fathers in circumstances more desperate than we can imagine?

And this brings me, finally, to Kindertransport. There are now calls for a new Kindertransport. This massive humanitarian effort is often thought of as the pinnacle of British compassion, and it would indeed be far better than the current situation were we to institute it for the crisis taking place now. But there is a horrific fact that is too often forgotten: nearly all the family members of the children saved died in the Holocaust.

We can do better than this today: it is not enough to only save the children, or even the children and the women. We must stop trying to choose the groups of refugees deserving enough of our help. There is a reason the Declaration of Human Rights uses the term “human”.  These are rights we all have.

Professor Jennifer Saul is from the University of Sheffield's Department of Philosophy.

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Why we should still care about the Commonwealth

It may be a relic of the Empire, but smaller countries in particular benefit from remaining members. 

On the face of it, the Commonwealth is a strange beast. A hotchpotch of 53 nations, covering a quarter of the world’s land-mass, its leaders represent (after a fashion) a third of world’s population.

Born out of the Empire, it was Whitehall’s answer to the conundrum of what to do with an imperial estate that had grown rapidly and uncontrollably. What to do with this giant mess troubled civil servants as early as 1887, and was discussed at a series of imperial conferences. It was only in 1949 that the term “British” was dropped from its title and the modern Commonwealth was born.

Yet, despite its odd history, it remains an attractive option, especially for the world’s smaller states. The Commonwealth is rather like a battered, mended, shabby coat that almost anyone can put on. Its Secretariat resides in the fading grandeur of Christopher Wren’s Marlborough house on Pall Mall. It’s a place Commonwealth leaders can pop into during visits to London; to complain about the rudeness of British politicians, or to ask for advice.

This gives a hint as to just why leaders like it. States like Australia or India have little need for the organisation. But how else would tiny Nauru, in the Central Pacific, with a population of just 10,900 ever have its voice heard? Britain, with its seat on the Security Council, has a responsibility to oblige. The British gift to this week’s meeting is a £61m fund to fight plastic pollution in the oceans.

Leaving aside the concerns of Commonwealth leaders, I was struck by how often I came across the organisation during my time as the BBC’s World Service’s Africa News Editor. Tramping through the East African bush I would stumble across men such as an Indian vet, who had been flown in at short notice to help stamp out some virulent livestock disease. Commonwealth connections can provide assistance from everything from farming to the judiciary. It is this kind of quiet backup that is really important in an unassuming sort of way.

The Commonwealth is full of strange nooks and corners. The CDC (until the Blair government reformed it, the Commonwealth Development Corporation) funds commercial investments. Some investments have been criticised by organisations like War on Want for being too commercial. But for cash-strapped businesses in Africa and South Asia CDC can be a lifeline, committing $1.3bn of direct funding since Commonwealth leaders last met in 2015. Its investments support businesses with over half a million employees.

A brand-new code of conduct to help the media has just been drawn up; put together by a group of journalists drawn from across the globe, with a fair smattering of former BBC staffers. It is full of the sort of worthy aspirations that such drafts normally include. The state and prime ministers are unlikely to give it a second thought.

It was only at last week’s launch that its importance was brought home. One journalist after another stood up to explain the pressures their colleagues were facing: the death threats in rural India, or the attacks on the press in Rwanda. The principles urge Commonwealth leaders to ensure that “journalists can work without fear of attack, intimidation or interference, and to take prompt measures to protect them when they face a serious threat of harm or are subject to attack”. Without sanctions or a monitoring mechanism it is unlikely to be of much immediate help, but slowly – perhaps imperceptibly – it might seep into the patina of the organisation. World leaders don’t like to be called to account.

Britain itself is unlikely to benefit directly from this week’s Commonwealth summit. It is certainly no substitute for membership of the European Union. As Peter Mandelson argued: “for most Commonwealth producers the UK was chiefly an easy route into Europe.” Perhaps the people who have gained most from the gathering have been the Windrush generation. Acute embarrassment at their plight, just when so many Commonwealth leaders were in London, forced Theresa May’s government into a sharp U turn and an abject apology.

Perhaps the Commonwealth is not so bad, after all.

Martin Plaut is a fellow at the Institute of Commonwealth Studies, University of London. His most recent book is a biography of Robert Mugabe with Sue Onslow.