[/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_empty_space][vc_column_text]Las SLAPP (siglas en inglés de “demanda estratégica contra la participación pública”) son una forma de acoso judicial que tiene por objetivo intimidar y, en última instancia, silenciar a las personas que denuncian problemas de interés político o social.
Este cuestionario está ideado como herramienta práctica, no para sustituir a un asesoramiento jurídico.
Las preguntas incluidas en este cuestionario se basan en investigaciones realizadas por Index on Censorship acerca de las formas más habituales que toman las SLAPP contra periodistas. Cuanto más coincidan tus respuestas con los síntomas más comunes de una SLAPP, más probable será que se te indique que te enfrentas a un caso de SLAPP. Por ejemplo: en los casos de SLAPP es más probable que se presenten demandas personales contra los/as/es periodistas, aunque trabajen en plantilla para una agencia o medio informativo. Por lo tanto, si indicas en el cuestionario que se ha presentado una demanda personal contra ti, será más probable que te indiquen que te enfrentas a un caso de SLAPP.
Tus respuestas son totalmente anónimas, ya que Index on Censorship no las comparte con terceros ni almacena direcciones IP.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_btn title=”Accede a nuestra herramienta SLAPP” shape=”square” color=”danger” size=”lg” link=”url:https%3A%2F%2Fwww.indexoncensorship.org%2Fslapps-tool-espanol%2F|title:(no%20title)”][/vc_column][/vc_row]
I can’t remember my first protest. I was born into a family where participating in a protest was a normal part of my childhood. My mum claims that my first protest was before I was born – she was eight months pregnant at a demo against mine closures in Scotland.
I have been on marches to save jobs, demos against political extremism, protests against injustice and vigils of remembrance. I’ve even organised a few. I have waved banners, handed out leaflets, marched, chanted and on occasion cried for more decades than I am prepared to acknowledge. I’ve exercised all of my democratic rights – hard-won – to campaign for change and to seek to remedy injustice to fight for a better world. And as an MP I was also protested against. It’s the democratic tradition that I was born into and one that I hold very dear.
Which is why events of the last fortnight in the UK have been so disgusting.
Index has been highlighting how repressive regimes, and others, have been using the Covid-19 pandemic to impose restrictions of their citizens since the start of the crisis. How free expression was being limited and our human rights curtailed. In the UK, most of us have taken it on faith that these were temporary measures and that liberal values would prevail – after all protests have continued throughout the pandemic. But not this week.
This week it wasn’t the Chinese Government in the frame for arresting people in Hong Kong, or Lukashenko’s regime in Belarus, or the military coup in Myanmar – it was the British Government and some very over-zealous policing of a vigil for a murdered woman.
Many people have written about the impact of Sarah Everard’s awful murder. Personally, I cannot stop thinking about her family and how distraught those that loved her must be. A vigil to remember her and as safe place for women to unite to highlight their lived experiences and their daily fears does not seem an extremist request – even during a pandemic. There are always ways to make sure that these things are done safely.
But as awful as the images were of women being forced to the ground and arrested by male police officers on Saturday night were, it was what came next that is so worrying for those of us who cherish the right to freedom of expression, the right of protest, the right to engage in the political process.
On Monday the Government brought forward new legislation in the Police, Crime, Sentences and Courts Bill which specifically restricts the right to protest. In fact according to the BBC: “The proposed law includes an offence of ‘intentionally or recklessly causing public nuisance’. This is designed to stop people occupying public spaces, hanging off bridges, gluing themselves to windows, or employing other protest tactics to make themselves both seen and heard.” The law specifically targets people who protest alone.
Demonstrations by design are meant to disrupt normal activity. They are meant to annoy and irritate the establishment – because they are designed to challenge the status quo, or highlight an injustice. Rarely do people organise a protest because they are happy with the actions of their Government.
As the DUP MP Gavin Robinson said during the debate: “The loose and lazy way this legislation is drafted would make a dictator blush. Protests will be noisy, protests will disrupt and no matter how offensive we may find the issue at their heart, the right to protest should be protected.”
This bill needs to be amended. Our right to protest needs to be protected. And we need to defend it – loudly.
To be clear – Index will always defend the right to protest, even during a pandemic, because it’s one of our basic human rights.
Violence against women and girls begins and ends with censorship. Domestic abuse, sexual violence and all forms of exploitation rely on silence and censorship above any other weapon.
Without curtailing the freedom of a woman’s speech, you cannot curtail her physical and sexual freedoms. Every perpetrator knows that you must convince a victim that if she speaks things will get worse:
“They will take the children off you if you tell anyone.”
“If you say anything, I will have you deported.”
“I will lose my job if this ever gets out and then we would lose the house.”
And of course, the most chilling of all, the threat we associate with tyrannical regimes in faraway lands which is happening on pretty much every street in the United Kingdom:
“I will kill you and the kids if you don’t do what I say.”
The outpouring of grief by women in the wake of the death of Sarah Everard is not just because of our sorrow at her loss and the loss of all the other 119 women who fell to her death at the hands of a violent man in the last year.
The case of the killing of Sarah Everard has reminded women that we have been self censoring on behalf of society who didn’t want to hear about our fears and our pain. We have been putting on a face.
Women say to their friends when they leave them on the street, “text me when you get home.” It is our way of saying I love you and I want you to be safe from likely harm. We have made our language palatable and chipper to mask the reality of what that means. 2.3 million people are living with domestic abuse in the UK, you are likely coming across them week after week.
When you ask them how they are they say that they are fine, because even if it was safe to tell you, it isn’t socially acceptable to do so. She says she’s fine and that she is looking forward to seeing her family again, she knows you cannot bear the truth. She is censored by social norms. She literally cannot move through life truthfully because while we claim to want women to come forward, in reality you don’t want to hear about her rape last night in the queue at Tescos.
Society colludes with perpetrators of abuse by feeling too awkward to confront the scale and reality of violence suffered by women. For the last three years more than half of all violence crime was committed against women. The complaint of women over the past week, months and years and the constant drum beaten by the women’s sector is that women’s voices are not listened to.
Too often we fail to criminalise rape or sexual violence because the police and courts simply cannot find away to give a woman’s voicing of her account an equal billing to that of a man. 55,000 rapes were reported in the UK last year, less that 10 per cent were charged and made it to court and 1,800 rapists were convicted. Does this statistic scream come forward we can hear you?
All state and most private institutions don’t put in place specific measures to enable victims of violence and abuse to be freed from their social and personal censorship. It is on all of us to learn the language that helps these people speak, because at the moment we are all colluding in keeping women pretending and censoring every day. We have done this to such an extent that most women stopped noticing that they were pretending.
Society must get better at confronting and talking about the tyranny of male violence against women because if we don’t we are actively supporting tyranny on our shores.
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image=”116379″ img_size=”full”][vc_column_text]I was a teenage journalism student when I first discovered the magnificent Nellie Bly.
It was my first week at university in Northern Ireland and my tutor handed each person in our class a list of suggested books to read for the upcoming term.
When scouring the shelves of the campus library, I stumbled across ‘Cupcakes and Kalashnikovs’, a book which, 15 years later, I still pick up and flick through when I need a dose of inspiration.
Put together by the wonderful Eleanor Mills and Kira Cochrane, it is one of the first detailed collections of groundbreaking and history-making journalism by women over the last 100 years.
It includes powerful pieces such as Martha Gellhorn’s ‘Dachau’; Audre Lorde’s haunting ‘That Summer I left Childhood was White’ and the late Ruth Picardie’s deeply emotive, and last ever, Observer column, ‘Before I Say Goodbye’.
It was in this breathtaking anthology that I found Nellie, a fierce female who trailblazed her way through newspaper journalism and paved the way for female investigative reporters around the world.
Born Elizabeth Jane Cochrane in 1864, she began her career after her parents’ deaths by writing a letter to the editor of the Pittsburgh Dispatch.
That letter – signed simply ‘Lonely Orphan Girl’ – piqued George Madden so much, he immediately hired her.
It was Madden who suggested she change her name to Nellie Bly, taken from a popular Stephen Foster song at that time, and the rest, they say, is history.
From the moment she entered journalism, Nellie refused to conform.
Instead of writing about society gatherings and parties, a genre many women journalists were pigeonholed at that time, she sunk her teeth into social issues affecting women, from divorce laws to factory working conditions.
When working for the New York World in 1888, she feigned insanity to be committed into an asylum where she lived side by side with vulnerable women to expose the horrific, rat-infested and abusive conditions they were incarcerated in.
Her fearless piece, ‘Ten Days in a Madhouse’ led to the City of New York spending an extra $1,000,000 per annum on the care of those with serious mental health issues. She risked her freedom and her welfare for the truth.
She saw it as a small price to pay to highlight injustice, particularly for women who at that time didn’t even have the right to vote.
It’s been over 100 years since Nellie Bly penned her last article, but the bravery, tenacity, and resilience she showed back then still inspires me today.
In her own words: “I said I could and I would. And I did.”
