Nigeria is a male-dominated, chauvinistic country stifled by culture, tradition and social ranking that make the Indian caste system look feeble. There is simply no place in Nigeria today for a woman to head a country of 170 million including men who often see women as second-class citizens or simple objects of desire. Today, Nigeria is a man’s country. Live with it.
Comment on Sarah Jubril’s candidacy for president, the only woman seeking that position in the 2015 election1
Even though it is true that women live in a man’s world, life without women would be like that of a person without blood.
Dan Donkor, Daily Times, 23 June 1981
Although it will undoubtedly take generations for the region to recover from the crisis, plans must be made now for a more equitable and sustainable post-conflict society. Even under the best of circumstances, where there is robust international support, strong pre-existing institutions, a tradition of female activism, and adequate funding for gender-sensitive programming, post-conflict redevelopment and reconciliation are difficult undertakings. Given that none of these conditions exist in north-east Nigeria, one wonders what a post-Boko Haram world will be like for women when the conflict draws to a close.
Yet, there are reasons not to give in to cynicism or despair about the future of the region. In planning for the post-conflict era, Nigeria can observe the successful endeavours of other countries and benefit from the recent swell in research on how crises can accelerate social change to rectify gender inequality in the country’s political, economic and social systems. As Winston Churchill advised, you should ‘never let a good crisis go to waste’; more specifically for post-conflict Nigeria, Elisabeth Wood observed that post-conflict ‘legacies are not uniformly negative: the wartime destruction of some forms of political and social domination and the emergence of new actors may facilitate new forms of political order and participation in its wake’.2 The obvious economic implications of war and conflict, in addition to some tentative work into the ways in which post-war behaviour trends towards altruism, suggest that the post-conflict era can be an opportunity to introduce egalitarian, stabilising social norms.3
This is particularly true with regard to gender. Evidence from a number of other post-conflict African states suggests that the disruption of social norms and the breakdown of the political economy – though devastating – provide an opportunity for countries to undertake sweeping, progressive reforms to improve the status of women that would have taken generations had the previous power structures remained intact. Evidence from other sub-Saharan African countries suggests that targeted legislative reforms enacted within a specific post-conflict window can produce rapid increases in female political participation and representation. Coupled with research on the importance of female inclusion for social stability and durable peace, it becomes clear that Nigeria’s future must be female if it is to be peaceful.
Squandering opportunities by putting women on the sidelines in Nigeria
Although the inclusion of women would increase the durability and effectiveness of post-conflict programming, such engagement has not yet materialised in north-east Nigeria. As the discussions above have revealed, issues specific to the women affected by Boko Haram have not been given due attention by Nigerian politicians or the international community. One could even argue – given the legislative defeat of the proposed Gender and Equal Opportunities Bill in 2016 – that there is a national political climate that is hostile to women’s empowerment and inclusion.4
Nigeria is not unique in sidelining women in the post-conflict era. According to Fionnuala Ní Aoláin, ‘the absence of a gender dimension in the establishment, revision, and operation of new legal and political institutions in post-conflict societies has generally been acknowledged’.5 Given that roughly half of all post-conflict countries relapse into war within the first ten years of peace, it is clear that the predominant approach is in need of reform.6
The World Bank identified in 2002 that the absence of gender-sensitive programming goes hand in hand with the top-down approach to post-conflict programming that has come under fire in recent years. This managerial style often marginalises communities during the planning period, and often leaves them vulnerable to continued violence. The World Bank report Addressing Gender Issues in Demobilization and Reintegration Programs concluded that:
With the absence of a bottom-up approach, vulnerable people, especially women, play a minor role in the preparation of development plans. Formal institutions, like cooperatives or village councils, are often the vehicle for most development assistance. Hence, poor, uneducated women, not fully accepted by the community (criteria which generally characterize female ex-combatants or ex-combatants’ widows), do not participate in these formal institutions and therefore do not benefit from development assistance.7
Marginalising women undermines redevelopment efforts and in many cases further victimises women. Female-headed households are likely to become the norm in the region in the aftermath of this crisis, meaning that redevelopment and social reintegration will depend on women and their incorporation into post-conflict programming.
Conflict not only disrupts economies, it also results in social debates about gender norms. The result is often an atmosphere in which ‘anxiety about what is a “good woman” or a “good man” seems pervasive’.8 Evidence from other post-conflict countries suggests that ‘so strong is the tie between men’s self-worth and earning capacity that it may be difficult for men to even acknowledge their dependence on women’s incomes’.9 In a number of countries, the stigma and shame surrounding a woman engaging in work outside the home remain potent.
This stigma makes it difficult to gauge how economically active women are and the effects of their labour market participation on their domestic lives.10 As a report by the Wilson Center’s Maame Esi Eshun observed, ‘sometimes the trauma and frustration of their marriage partners are projected on them; hence rates of rape and assault may increase’.11 The fragility of masculinity (in particular, the rigid sort of masculinity practised in Nigeria) coupled with the lack of female advocacy groups in the north-east mean that women face an uphill battle in the aftermath of this crisis.
The failure to recognise the specific manifestations of discrimination against women in the post-conflict era leaves women more vulnerable and communities less stable by undermining women’s new social, economic and political positions. The cessation of hostilities does not signify a return to the status quo; societies are irrevocably shaped by conflict, forcing communities to come to terms with new gender roles and sources of authority. However, the specific ways in which women are discriminated against in the post-conflict era will be made clear only if an effort is made to consult regularly with women.
Political empowerment and legal reform can improve women’s status in the aftermath of conflict and lay the groundwork for more stable, peaceful societies, but prior to discussing such reforms, it is important to highlight that women in northern Nigeria will likely require significant external assistance to advance their agenda in the post-conflict era. The lack of women’s groups in the region means that they face not only a social and organisational hurdle but also a steep learning curve as they begin their campaigns and programming. A review of the human rights-oriented civil society groups in north-east Nigeria in 2013 found that fewer than 25 per cent are headed by women, suggesting that women have limited input on a variety of social issues.12 Since that survey, there has been little to suggest a drastic change in this marginalisation.
As previously discussed, the post-conflict era presents an opportunity to reshape social norms in favour of marginalised groups, in particular through legal and institutional reform. Aili Mari Tripp observes that ‘conflict had a significant and independent impact on women’s political representation in sub-Saharan Africa and correlates strongly with the sharp increase in female legislative representation in sub-Saharan Africa, which tripled between 1990 and 2010’.13 This acceleration was part of a concerted effort to increase women’s political participation, often through the adoption of gender quotas. According to Tripp’s research, effective women’s advocacy groups that are capable of influencing domestic political change and an encouraging international environment (replete with thoughtful partnerships) in the post-conflict era are crucial components in advancing women’s rights. The international community must recognise the dearth of such organisations in the north-east and compensate for this lack.
This assistance needs to bear in mind, however, that participation in NGOs can be a burden on already beleaguered women. This was evident in northern Uganda, where development initiatives that sought to empower women encouraged them to ‘form groups as a pre-condition for accessing services, loans, farm inputs and grants’, thus placing an additional burden on the shoulders of women.14 ‘As women struggle to stay afloat, they are bombarded with demands for paperwork before they can qualify for assistance,’ one report concluded.15 The need to be a member of a group in order to access critical benefits prompted women to join a multitude of groups, ‘leading to a “burden of participation”’.16 In northern Nigeria, where there is no long-standing culture of public female political participation, the international community should help carve out a space for these nascent groups in a manner that does not eclipse women’s ability to engage in other activities. These groups’ near simultaneous formation and integration into policy programming will likely be a process of trial and error – international advocacy groups should be aware of this learning curve and build in regular assessments of their effectiveness.
FOMWAN is one notable exception to the generally low-profile nature of local NGOs working on women’s issues in the region – and it is all the more important and impressive because it was explicitly founded by and for women. FOMWAN is an umbrella group that connects more than 500 Muslim women’s organisations in all 36 states in Nigeria. Its primary focus is advocating for girls’ education and the spread of Islam.17 FOMWAN’s forward-facing religiosity helps to sidestep any of the assumptions about the incompatibility of Islam and feminism.18 Engaging with FOMWAN and others like it will help the international community identify partners in affected communities throughout the north-east, as well as serving as a mechanism for mobilising support from around the country.19 FOMWAN has the potential to synthesise a similarly diverse set of NGOs willing to prioritise women’s empowerment; however, international support in this endeavour is necessary, in terms of helping to frame a unified agenda and helping to mobilise additional resources. There is no better time than the present to start a tradition; planting the seeds for female-centred civil society in the post-conflict era will require not only supporting the nascent domestic women’s networks that exist, but empowering women to form new groups based on their specific post-conflict needs.
A long way home: reintegrating women
If economic reintegration is important, social and psychological reintegration is crucial.
It is too simplistic to argue that economic empowerment is sufficient to combat effectively violence against women. History is filled with evidence to the contrary.20
Despite the persistent insecurity that women returning to newly liberated communities face, a number of women across the north have attempted to return to their homes and restart their lives. These women are vulnerable not only to violence from the insurgency, but also due to the attitudes of the communities that they are returning to.
Early into the process of return, reports are already emerging of women and girls being rejected by their communities and families for their perceived association with Boko Haram. UNICEF and International Alert’s joint report ‘Bad Blood’: Perceptions of Children Born of Conflict-related Sexual Violence and Women and Girls Associated with Boko Haram in Northeast Nigeria concluded that ‘all women and girls who have experienced sexual violence during the conflict face stigmatization from communities at large’.21 They observed, however, that ‘the stigma and potential rejection from families and community members has been much more acute for those who are perceived to have been associated with [Boko Haram] – as abductees, those living in [Boko Haram] strongholds, or those who were “wives” of [Boko Haram] combatants either by choice or force’.22
There is widespread fear of and disdain for women thought to be Boko Haram wives – including those who were brought into the sect unwillingly. Community leaders expressed concern that the ‘ideas and ways of life’ of women who had lived under the insurgents would negatively affect their communities.23 Even the immediate families of many of the women are refusing to take them in, rendering these women vulnerable and isolated. Any association with the insurgency, real or imagined, leaves women ‘tainted’ and untrusted. International Alert and UNICEF reported that female IDPs arriving in communities were often considered to be ‘hyenas among dogs’, making it difficult for them to integrate into their host communities.24 There is a troublingly widespread belief that the women deserve the marginalisation and brutality directed against them. When asked about the women who had joined Boko Haram willingly, now being held by the government in Giwa Barracks and a handful of other detention centres or camps, a vigilante said very simply: ‘If they are released, they should release them with a body bag because we will kill them.’25
Even those who are tasked with providing care and protection to women sometimes express distaste for the girls. A CJTF soldier leaning back in a flimsy plastic garden chair outside Safe House reported that he ‘would only marry one of these girls if she came attached to millions of naira and a house’.26 Fatima a social worker, laughed with the guard at Safe House about the prospect of anyone marrying these girls. With an emphatic shake of her head, she told me: ‘I would not allow my sons to marry these women or their children. They are just from a different dimension.’ Fatima’s opinion reflects a widely held fear that the girls will convert their sons to Boko Haram if they are married. She concluded that the women and girls who had married insurgents willingly ‘are not real IDPs’, and that they are not worthy of the very services she is paid to provide them with.27
The difficulty in determining which women joined voluntarily and which were forced to join – and the lack of programming directed at the specific needs of both of these categories of women – has resulted in mistrust and fear of many of the women who have come into contact with the insurgents. While it is certainly possible that communities will be able to distinguish between abducted women and those who joined willingly, many women who cannot prove their non-participation in atrocities or who are suspected of sympathising with Boko Haram face intense stigmatisation.
Women who are made pregnant (willingly or unwillingly) by insurgents face an additional burden. The children of Boko Haram face violent rejection and discrimination. They are often considered to have Boko Haram’s ideology ingrained in them at birth. The discrimination against this generation of children will present a significant hurdle to social stability for years to come. Women who have been forcibly impregnated generally do not have access to abortion. The country’s abortion regulations are strict, prescribing narrow conditions under which abortion can be conducted legally, while sentencing for illegal abortion can entail up to 14 years in prison and a fine.28 The UN has urged the country to ease its anti-abortion laws for women raped by the insurgents. However, no such reform has been undertaken at the time of writing.29 Even if such reforms were enacted, the issues of access to medical care and the stigma surrounding abortion would remain.
The fragility of masculinity
One cannot think about women in a vacuum. Conflict affects all of society; men, too, have faced a sea change as a result of the Boko Haram insurgency. As elsewhere, changes in men’s status have ramifications for women in the region. Thus, another critical issue in the post-conflict period is the need to address the damaged masculinity of displaced men. Formal employment is often difficult for displaced men to come by, and women often replace men as the primary economic provider. This uncertainty and frustration helps explain why domestic violence often increases in the aftermath of conflict. As Eshun notes, the loss of this social marker can lead to stress that manifests itself in violent ways.30 Further, ignoring the gender norms during social change overlooks the very real possibility that men will consider women to be a threat to their masculinity, generating tension and potential violence.
Although shifting gender norms can generate insecurity, these changes also present an opportunity to accelerate gender equality. As previously discussed, much of the assistance in post-conflict contexts is service-oriented, rather than focused on fostering egalitarian social change. With regard to promoting women’s rights, this is especially problematic. Within the context of the Boko Haram crisis, there is a particularly significant role for the international community to play in helping establish gender equity through post-conflict assistance that advances women’s ability to organise and advocate for themselves. Peace must be secured for women both in the public sphere and within their own homes.