Billed as the first summit between the Ethiopians who produce the coffee and the US and Canadian companies that buy it, this week's meeting showcased real unity and support for Ethiopia's efforts. Ethiopia has asserted ownership of the names of its coffees so that it can increase the coffees' value, gain more leverage, and receive an equitable price in the market. Already some companies, such as Green Mountain Coffee Roasters, have agreed to work with Ethiopia on this initiative. Their representatives showed their support by attending the meeting.
"Now that the trademarking work is becoming fruitful, many in the specialty coffee market are happy with us and accept that we want to increase our negotiating power and ensure greater returns to small farmers," said Tadesse Meskela, manager of Oxfam partner, the Oromia Coffee Farmers Cooperative Union.
As the three-hour meeting unfolded, I was struck by the achievements already realized by the Ethiopians. It was clear that everyone in the room was ready to work together to help Ethiopian farmers get an equitable share of the coffees, which have sold for as much as $26 a pound in the US. The stakeholders and coffee companies left the meeting with a "To Do" list and a promise to meet again in the coming months.
It was a tremendous achievement for Oxfam's partners, three farmer cooperative unions, to sit side-by-side with private exporters, government representatives, and foreign coffee buyers, discussing ways to improve the livelihoods of Ethiopia's coffee farmers.
During the meeting, I had the opportunity to speak about the tremendous global support Ethiopia's efforts have garnered. Since October, more than 90,000 Oxfam supporters from around the world have voiced their solidarity for Ethiopia's initiative. Through their efforts, these supporters have sent a clear message that coffee companies must recognize the legitimate right of countries and farmers to use the names of their coffees and their unique reputations to compete in global markets and realize higher incomes.
While much attention has been paid to Starbucks's unwillingness to recognize this right, I left the meeting feeling inspired. The conversation has moved from whether Ethiopia has the rightful ownership of its coffee names to how the coffee industry should recognize those rights and act accordingly.
As Ashenafi Argaw of Oxfam partner, Sidama Coffee Farmers Cooperative Union, said, "Our farmers deserve a better price than they are getting right now. Let's plan and discuss ways to get them better benefits from the market."
]]>For them, the fact that they were playing soccer together at all was what counted.
A few short years ago, school boys in Moyale—a southern Ethiopian border town where bursts of violence plague the region—would never have joined a game that teamed children from one ethnic group with those from another. The Gabra, the Borena, the Guji, the Gari—they just didn't get along.
But with assistance from Oxfam America, that dynamic has begun to change. The agency helped to plant the seed of peace at the Moyale Primary School, and its roots are now spreading throughout the district.
Through a series of three grants, Oxfam helped the Moyale Primary School, which now serves 3,000 students in grades one through eight, construct three new classroom buildings and equip them with materials, including books and computers. In conjunction with that, school officials launched a massive public education campaign, targeting parents in particular.
The message? Ethnic conflicts coupled with cultural expectations about the limited role of girls had caused enrollment in the school to plummet. A divided administrative system, with different ethnic groups aligned with each of the two divisions, had also left the school severely short of funds. The end result meant a generation of students was at risk of not being able to get the education that is so vital to their future success.
The solution? Improve the school facilities with the understanding that the buildings—and the opportunities they represent—belong to all the students and their families, regardless of their ethnicity. The school would also serve as a place for conflict resolution.
The parents embraced the idea.
"They are beside us today," said Tsegaye Desta, who recently became the coordinator of the school system after serving as the principal of the Moyale Primary School during its transition. "Before the coming of Oxfam America, the enrollment of students was very low. Now it's very high."
Work has helped pull the families together around a common cause. About 25 percent of the new construction on the school grounds has been carried out by community members, including students and their teachers.
"When they do it together, they build not only construction, they build peace," said Desta. "When there is peace and unity, it is possible to do a lot."
A small tree nursery inside the school compound has also served as a place for students to get to know each other.
"They forget about conflict. When they work in the nursery, they discuss things as friends would," added Desta.
With those new friends kicking up clouds of dust on the soccer field behind him, 15-year-old Tegalu Sale, took a break from the game to describe how things have changed since Oxfam began helping the school.
"Before the construction, there was no sitting place and not enough books," he said, sweat beading on his forehead. "We ran to the class to get a bench. The others did it too. Then, things happened."
And now?
"The conflict is minimized—and that's why we're here exercizing together," Sale said.
Besides the new construction, which has allowed class sizes to drop from as high as 120 students down to 50, the school has incorporated discussions about peace-building into its curriculum.
Teacher Aschelew Mokinnin doesn't have to look far for material for his students.
"Mostly we take the surrounding problems as an example, and the solutions—they're always discussing (those) face to face," said Mokinnin.
"There is great improvement," added Mulu Seba, an eighth-grade teacher. "The students' interaction is very nice. It's positive."
And that bodes well for students like Sale: His dreams stand a good chance of becoming true. "In the future, after I complete school, I will help myself and my family," he said. "I'd like to be a teacher or a master of a school."
]]>Onokoko was working at a human rights organization in Bujumbura, Burundi, where an ethnic conflict similar to that which tore apart Rwanda in 1994 was driving a long civil conflict. "I saw in the market Tutsi being chased by Hutu armed with knives and revolvers, they wanted to kill them. I opened the doors to my office to hide them, and people there said to me, "Gaspard, if you do that, they will kill you too," and I said to them, "let them come kill me."
And they tried. "They destroyed my house, they wanted to kill me because I was defending the lives of others," Onokoko said. "Well, they did not kill me. I am here with you."
This was just one incident in his human rights work in central Africa, which eventually led to his imprisonment in Burundi. Thanks to the intervention of foreign human rights organizations, Onokoko, a Congolese citizen, was released and eventually found refuge in Senegal 10 years ago.
He says he was never scared. "If you are fearful you cannot defend human rights. If you are scared you can't build peace and development. It is an act of courage."
A trained teacher, Onokoko turned his attention back to education. "I could hear a lot of talk about resolving conflict, but I could see in the schools there was no program of peace education and human rights," he said. "So I was one of the first to introduce [it] in the schools."
Onokoko concentrated his work in the Casamance region of southern Senegal, the scene of more than 20 years of conflict between the government and separatist rebels. In 2003 he began a collaboration with Oxfam America, and developed a primary school curriculum complete with teacher training guides, student workbooks, and other material to help teach young people about peace, human rights, and citizenship. By 2006 he had convinced the Ministry of Education to allow the curriculum to be introduced in over 200 primary schools, and started expanding the student mediator program, in which students learn to resolve conflicts, into high schools in Casamance.
"Peace education in Casamance is having very positive results," Onokoko said. "Students who used to willingly go into the bush to join the rebellion now are not interested in this—they know that peace is more important than war, and that if there is war, they can't go to school and there will be no development. Their parents are delighted that their children speak of peace, and human rights. This is very satisfying for me personally, and it is thanks to Oxfam."
Onokoko, now 51 years old, lives in less danger in Dakar, Senegal, and travels frequently to the south to promote the peace education curriculum he developed with his organization GRA-REDEP. With the recent peace agreement in Casamance there is less violence, but many challenges to peace remain, including widespread poverty and land mines.
But Onokoko is taking the long view. "To build peace you have to have a lot of patience, it takes time to change people's behavior, and change their hearts."
]]>Mamadou Diedhiou, the school's director, takes the high enrollment as a compliment. "Our school district has one of the highest levels of attendance in the country," he says proudly. "And we are building schools all the time."
Four of Diedhiou's teachers have been using the Oxfam-funded GRA-REDEP peace education curriculum for the last three years, and others are learning about it and integrating it into their classes also. The teachers are seeing a real difference in the behavior of the students at Basembo Diandy: fewer fights, more tolerance, and more engagement with the faculty on school issues. The students understand what it is to be a citizen, says Pathé Diatta, one of the teachers. "When we used to raise the flag here most students weren't interested,"" he said in the school library. "But after we taught them about citizenship, they attend the flag raising every morning."
Citizens enjoy certain rights, and this is a key lesson taught in Professor Djibril Faye's class, held in one of the concrete block buildings, where there is a charcoal outline of the African continent on the back wall. The students, roughly 40 kids between 10 and 15, can name their basic rights: the right to live in peace, the right to medical care, the right to food.
And then the big one comes up: the right to an education. The discussion revolves around why some families don't let their girls go to school, just the boys. Many students don't understand the issue completely. When asked for reasons why a father might not allow a daughter to attend school, some think it might be because there is no money for clothing, transportation, or school fees.
But that is not it. Professor Faye wants them to discover the gender dimension of this human rights issue—a basic injustice based on the roles society imposes on females. "Maybe the father wants his daughter to work around the house, so when she gets married she will know what to do," one boy suggests. The unfairness comes out clearly to the students. Now they see why girls might be more likely to be kept home from school—a violation of their right to an education.
Seynabou Sène, a slim 13-year-old student, took the lesson to heart. "Girls need to go to school," she said after the class. "If my father told me I could not go to school, I would force him to take me so I can have a better future. I want to be a teacher."
]]>As the government of Senegal stepped up its counter-insurgency campaign in Casamance, her family was touched in many ways. They were forced to move away from their home at an agricultural technical school where her father was a teacher because the campus was occupied by the military, making them a target for rebels.
"I also saw one of my cousins killed by the rebels, and another one was badly wounded," Kouka said. "So I had to live through this insecurity as the conflict unfolded." Her experience in Casamance inspired her to work on development and social justice, with peace as the focus of her efforts. "I became more aware of the conflict as I grew up and could see the serious poverty here," she said. "It was a direct impact of the conflict in Casamance."
After joining the staff at Oxfam America's office in Dakar in 2003, Kouka began working on the Control Arms campaign when it kicked off that year. In Senegal, the campaign has three goals: Support the Control Arms goal for an international arms ban treaty, push the Economic Community of West Africa States (ECOWAS) to convert its temporary moratorium on the trade in illegal arms into a binding permanent convention, and finally, get the government of Senegal to update its 1966 law on the possession of weapons to also include the trade in small arms.
Kouka and Oxfam's allies in the Control Arms campaign, including Amnesty International and the International Action Network on Small Arms, celebrated a victory in West Africa after ECOWAS voted to make the arms trade ban permanent in the region last June. And although a conference at the UN in June failed to create any meaningful progress in a global arms ban, the UN's General Assembly voted 153-1 (with 24 abstentions) in December to take up the issue in 2007, a tremendous victory for the Control Arms campaign.
The next phase of the Control Arms campaign in Senegal will involve pushing the legislature to ratify the ECOWAS convention on the illegal trade in small arms, and become one of the nine countries needed to sign the convention so it can enter into force.
Working with young people in Senegal proved crucial in the campaign to gain support for the ECOWAS ban within the Senegalese government. Pressure from young people who gathered signatures for national petitions helped make Senegal a leader in the arms convention issue in ECOWAS. "We turned our attention to working with youth, as armed conflict touches them directly," Kouka said. "That is how we came to the Senegal Boy Scout Association. In Casamance we contacted the Scout movement as well as other youth associations in Ziguinchor and Kolda."
Kouka spent numerous weekends training scouts and other youth groups in how to gather signatures for the Control Arms campaign, and working with Oxfam's partners and allies on campaign strategy and organizing. "If you work with students, or Boy Scouts, they are not available during the week—they are only available on the weekends," Kouka said.
But her commitment goes beyond just the practical—she wants to see concrete results. "I like to see work done correctly. I don't like to see things done half way. That is why I make a personal commitment, and invest so much time to do this work. I work with a lot of different partner organizations and allies, and I really want to build good relations with all of them. So whenever they need me I want to be ready to help them, so we can get this work done, whether it is on a weekend or whenever."
]]>About a dozen students came from Lycée Djinagbo in the city of Ziguinchor, a vast campus of low buildings scattered around dusty grounds bounded by withered trees and walls. On a windy day, clouds of dust blast between the buildings, obscuring the walls and students walking to class in their khaki uniforms. With nearly 4,700 students and 125 teachers, it is the biggest school in the city.
Keeping a school like this running has its challenges: The Casamance conflict has destabilized the entire region, and Lycée Djinagbo as well. There are fights between students, and problems between students and teachers. Like many high schools in Senegal, students sometimes go on strike to protest funding cuts and other school policies, making it hard to finish studies within the academic year.
Abdoulaye Sidibé, an advisor to the student mediators at Djinagbo says that the school is a bit less chaotic since students underwent the mediation training last January. "Since this program was initiated, there's a lot more stability. Fewer problems between students, between students and teachers, and between Muslims and Christians. It's partly due to the team we have here responsible for the resolution of these conflicts. When they are confronted with a conflict their first reaction is to ask themselves, 'How can I help resolve this in a peaceful manner?'"
Mamadou Lamine Diatta, a 21-year-old literature student and mediator at Djinagbo, explained how his training helped him stop a fight between two students, and teach them a lesson of nonviolence: "One student got a bad grade—and the other was teasing him; they came to blows. I broke it up and took one aside to talk it over, and to allow him to express his frustration. Then I did the same with the other. After that I brought them together—but I did not ask them to repeat their story in front of the other, so as to avoid more anger. Instead we focused on the merits of friendship and the need to tolerate one another."
Maty Thiam, one of Djinagbo's 1,876 female students, is also a trained mediator with a confidence and wisdom well beyond her 17 years. She greets visitors, looking them directly in the eye, with a firm handshake. The mediation training changed her outlook on conflict completely. "Before the training, I understood conflict existed, but I did not know it could be mediated," she explained. Thiam has keen analytical skills, which help her understand the issues and move those in conflict towards peaceful resolutions. The most important thing she has learned from the training? "It is how to listen to people in conflict to get to the heart of the problem. Always avoid telling one or the other he is right. Then create a way to resolve it to show both that they have contributed to the resolution, but also that they have both gained something from the resolution."
High school students see their training resolving school quarrels as important preparation for their professional life. Boubacar Baldé, 18, a trained student mediator at an agricultural technical school outside Ziguinchor, says he wants to create a more peaceful relationship between farmers and livestock herders, two groups who routinely come into conflict all over Africa. "I am a Fulani," he said with pride. "We are known for cattle. But we live near people who grow crops, so we struggle to find grazing lands. And there are many conflicts. My experience will help me negotiate to reserve part of the land for pasture, and the rest for growing crops, and educate villagers in ways of mediating any problems that come up."
]]>"What are some countries now at war?" the teacher asks. The kids explode into a mass of raised hands; they snap their fingers, pleading to be called on, shouting "Monsieur! Monsieur!" Several get their wish, and the countries in conflict come spilling out and onto the blackboard: "Congo!" Then, "Côte d'Ivoire!" and "Bissau!", Senegal's neighbor to the south, Guinea Bissau.
"Any others?" the teacher asks. One student—eager to be called on but unable to think of another country in conflict—blurts out "France!"
Well, no, France is not at war, so the lesson turns to peace. The teacher asks the children to write sentences on the importance of peace, and how it can be achieved. They read them before the class, and they are as noble as any diplomat's address to the United Nations: "We have to forgive each other and be as one." "We have to stop fighting each other and respect one another."
One of the smallest boys in the class walks to the front, tucks in his shirt and hitches up his pants, and most of the class starts laughing. His smile changes to a serious look, and everyone settled down for a moment. He said "In Senegal we need solidarity for peace. We want to live in a region of nonviolence."
This class, taught by Vieux Malang Diedhiou, was based on curriculum developed by a Senegalese organization: Research Group for Education on Children's Rights and Peace (known by its French initials GRA-REDEP). Working closely with Senegal's Ministry of Education, the curriculum was created over three years ago with about $40,000 from Oxfam America. Gaspard Onokoko, a committed Congolese human rights educator and president of GRA-REDEP, has criss-crossed Senegal, traveling in "bush taxi" mini buses and on foot in the heat and dust to work with education officials to introduce the curriculum to 195 elementary schools in the troubled Casamance region alone. GRA-REDEP is expanding to other areas near the capital Dakar and in western Senegal. Since 2003 more than 1,500 elementary school students have studied peace, human rights, and nonviolent conflict resolution, and nearly 300 teachers have been trained in the curriculum, which also covers basic issues of governance and citizenship.
Onokoko has seen first-hand the destruction of war; he was a political prisoner in Burundi for his work promoting human rights. Since his release and exile to Senegal, he founded GRA-REDEP in order to build a more peaceful future. Children lie at the heart of his strategy.
A tall man with a broad smile, Onokoko speaks very formally and deliberately when asked why children are so important. "If their parents engage in violence and crime, children will learn at a young age to do the same," he says. "These children are the future of Senegal, they represent the wealth of Senegal. They must become citizens who can build a country based on peace that respects human rights. Schools are an important place to do this, to create a culture of peace. Otherwise it is a lot harder to teach this later in life."
GRA-REDEP launched the peace education program in Casamance as it was a region at war for more than 20 years. Sandwiched between Gambia to the north and Guinea Bissau to the south, Casamance is a place apart from the rest of Senegal, a lush region of forests and rivers dominated by the Diola people. A separatist movement emerged in the 1980s among those who felt overlooked by economic progress in Senegal since independence. Separatists have used violence to redress their grievances, and the resulting suffering and poverty have plagued the region. Tragically, many young people joined in the fighting rather than pursuing their studies. A lengthy counterinsurgency campaign by the government finally led to a cease fire and, despite a recent flare-up of cross-border violence between guerilla factions and the Bissau-Guinean military, prospects for peace in Casamance look strong.
The students at Faye Coly have taken on their citizenship lessons with great enthusiasm. They created a student government, elected a president and a cabinet of ministers. Claire Sagna, who at 13 has been the minister of human rights for the last two years, says that the teachers have taught the students to learn how to mediate conflicts between themselves and between students and the faculty. "When there are fights between students, or with students and teachers, our government will come together as a group to develop a solution," she says in a very brisk, business-like manner.
]]>Such lingering hard-line attitudes led to widespread political violence during the 2000 and 2002 elections in Zimbabwe. A 2000 human rights report described a typical incident: A truck transporting people to a party meeting was run off the road and attacked by members of another political group armed with AK-47s and iron bars. While most of the victims of the attack fled, two were trapped in the truck when it was firebombed, and died on the road moments later.
Thankfully, today there is considerably less political violence, and one of the groups that has made change possible is the Zimbabwe Civic Education Trust (ZIMCET). According to director David Chimhini, the organization, founded in 2000, helped eliminate much of the violence in just a couple of years. With funds from Oxfam America, ZIMCET established a network of local "peace committees" that have brought political opponents together to learn about nonviolent conflict resolution.
These peace committees are led both by members of the ruling ZANU-PF political party and their opponents in the Movement for Democratic Change (MDC). ZIMCET overcame the climate of distrust by keeping the focus on peace—something neither side could oppose. ZIMCET also cultivated strong relationships with local leaders, who encouraged the new peace committees.
One peace committee created a sports league for youth, many of whom were out of school and lacked employment, which made it easy to get caught up in violence. Another committee concentrated on cultural events. But ZIMCET's main accomplishment has been to help people acknowledge their mistakes and learn to forgive one another. "Our peace committees help people change their attitude towards each other," Chimhini says. "They now say 'Never again'! We will never beat or kill just for an election."
The process has not been easy. Tina Malowa was a much-feared political operative, but after attending training sessions with ZIMCET, her perspective changed. "Sometimes I sit down and think about all the violence and at times I find myself sobbing because I know I did some evil things. Things that I really regret to this day." Her transformation has been both personal and political: "I realized that my thinking was all wrong. In democratic societies, there is bound to be an opposition party."
Beside her, at a meeting in ZIMCET's Harare office, sits Simon Mapuvire, MDC district secretary for Manicaland. Mapuvire has also come a long way. "I was beating ZANU-PF people and I was directing people to beat others," he said candidly. "Then ZIMCET taught me that I was just beating my brothers and sisters. Now Tina is my friend and we work together, and I have thrown away that evil element in my head."
]]>Tato Boru, 48 and the mother of five children, is a peacemaker. She leads the Moyale area women's peace council which Oxfam's local partner, the Research Center for Civic and Human Rights Education (RCCHE), helped to found.
Here, near the Kenyan border, many people make their living as herders. Droughts plague the region, and their consequences—shriveled pasture and water sources sucked dry—are particularly severe for families of herders and their animals who depend on those resources for survival. Tension over shortages can trigger disputes, as can concern about land demarcation lines drawn by the government. Add guns to the mix, and conflicts quickly turn lethal. Over the years, fighting in the area around Moyale has taken many lives.
One of several similar committees, the council Boru heads advocates for peaceful coexistence among the different ethnic groups in the region and helps mediate between them when conflicts start to simmer. There are also councils for young adults and village elders.
Giving an example of how her group works, Boru told about a recent dispute that erupted when a group of Somalis settled in a nearby village predominantly occupied by Gabra.
"There was a stone attack and there were a few gun shots, but no one was hurt. We felt it was time for our intervention," she said. "We went...and told them that land is the gift of God and we all can share it."
Accompanied by members from the other two councils, the women urged the sparring groups not to resort to violence, but to engage in discussions first, and if that didn't work, to take the matter to court. In the heat of disputes like this, council members try to visit the troubled village at least once a week. As things cool down, they cut back their visits to once a month.
Raising awareness is one of the key objectives of the peace council, and something its members take on regularly in both formal and informal settings. Occasionally, the women will ask community officials to organize a gathering of local people at which the council will then make a presentation. Other times, community events, such as weddings, can serve as an opportunity for peace teachings.
Peace initiatives like these are helping women reclaim a degree of authority that was once theirs—an authority that gun-fueled violence has severely eroded. With RCCHE's help, women are now speaking out about the suffering armed conflicts shower on their families. They are finding a voice and sharing their burdens of loss and sadness.
"Before this, we weren't in a position to disclose our feeling about conflict. We simply suffered with it. But now, we've got a chance to speak on peace and work on it. Our awareness and participation bring change," said Boru.
"In the late '90s, there was an awakening to the value of traditional conflict resolution methods," said Muthoni Muriu, Oxfam America's director of regional programs. "That's when the role of women in peace building really came on stage."
It's a role that is rightfully theirs: Women bear the brunt of hardship when violence rips through a community, leaving husbands dead, homes in ashes, livestock looted.
"They lose fathers, brothers, and sons," said Boru, seated on a low stool in the cocoon-like quiet of her tukul. "They take care of the wounded, the children, the animals. Even if they don't die, they have to shoulder so many of the burdens...the horror."
There is acknowledgement among men in this patriarchal culture that women bring something unique to peace work.
"They are better than men," said Boru Roba, a man and the leader of a peace committee for elders.
"Women can play both a fueling role and a cooling role in conflict," added another man, Galma Roba, a representative for traditional leaders. "If men get initiated for conflict and women interject, the men might change their minds."
Highlighting the awful consequences of conflict—the death, the destruction—against the broad benefits of peace is at the core of the women's strategy. It's an argument few can refute.
"When we try to sensitize them on the importance of peace, there is no man who opposes us," said Mako Dalecha, a mother of five children and a member of the peace council. "Peace—and rain—are the basis for life in our area."
]]>In 2005, cancer patient groups in India used Indian intellectual property law to stop a patent application by Swiss company Novartis for its anti-cancer drug, Glivec. This allowed Indian companies to continue making generic versions at about $2,700 a year, as opposed to Novartis having a monopoly priced version for sale at about $27,000 a year.
Novartis recently appealed the decision in a direct challenge to India's right to use safeguards contained in trade rules agreed by the WTO in 2001 in the interests of public health.
What is Glivec?
Glivec (Gleevec in the US) is an important drug that means the difference between life and death for cancer patients suffering from leukemia (CML), stomach tumors, and other conditions. Glivec is a significant improvement over other forms of treatment and should be as widely available as possible, at affordable prices.
Why is Novartis enforcing its patent on Glivec in India and in other in developing countries?
Glivec is a key drug for Novartis worldwide. It's the company's second best selling drug with sales reaching $2.8 billion in 2005 and accounts for 9.6 per cent of Novartis's estimated share value. Research indicates that there are multiple diseases that respond to the drug. In only five years, Glivec is now approved in the US for seven different diseases. There is a danger that the company could apply for a new patent based on these "new uses" elsewhere, which would extend its monopoly and delay availability of affordable generic versions of Glivec for people who need it.
Novartis says that there is virtually no commercial market for Glivec in India and that it is taking the case in part to "align Indian IP laws with TRIPS", The World Trade Organization's agreement on intellectual property. This action is one that will affect India's right to produce not only generic versions of Glivec but also for other new medicines in the future.
What would happen if Novartis were successful in its appeal?
Not only would it increase the price of the drug it would also jeopardize India's generic export industry. India is the world's leading supplier of inexpensive generic medicines to developing countries with approximately 67 percent of its exports going to developing countries. As a result people needing cheaper versions of medicines in many developing countries would lose out.
Oxfam believes that generic competition reduces the price of many patented medicines and makes them much more affordable to poor people in developing countries. Lower prices via generic competition could ensure free or subsidized medicines for millions of poor people through increased public sector funding for health, through health insurance and because many poor people are willing to pay out of pocket for medicines because the health and well being of themselves and their family a top priority.
]]>Intellectual property is knowledge which societies have decided can be assigned specific property rights to either individuals, companies or organizations. It allows people, companies and organizations to own their creativity or innovation in the same way they can own physical property.
Intellectual property includes inventions, literary and artistic works, symbols, names, images, and designs used in commerce.
The owner or creator has the right to prevent others to use his property during a limited period of time.
A patent is a legal creation describing "ownership" of an invention. Patents are issued by individual governments and are meant to benefit both the inventor and the society at large. Patents provide the inventor with a temporary right to produce and sell their invention without the threat of competition. This monopoly results in higher prices which provide incentives for inventors.
A Trademark is ownership over product names or brand identity e.g. NIKE and PUMA. This allows for a distiction to be made between different traders of goods and services
Copyright is ownership over creative materials such as literature, art, music and films, sound recordings, software and multimedia. Copyrights usually provide the author or creator with lifetime ownership over their own materials.
These give ownership protection over designs for a product's appearance and can last up to 25 years.
Developing countries, taken as a whole, are net importers of technology and new inventions, most of which are supplied by the developed countries. Companies and organisations in developed countries own the overwhelming proportion of patent rights worldwide.
It is widely recognized that knowledge is essential for development, and that developing countries have much to gain if they are to fully exploit the many opportunities opened up by new technologies. However, increasingly restrictive intellectual property rights are limiting the benefits that new technologies can bring to developing countries.
Fact: Between 1991 and 2001, the net US surplus of royalties and fees (which mainly relate to IP transactions) increased from $14 billion to over $22 billion. In 1999, figures from the World Bank indicate a deficit for developing countries for which figures are available of $7.5 billion on royalties and license fees.
The challenge is for developing countries to use Intellectual property to their own benefit. Only under 2 percent of patent applications in the US in year 1999-2001 came from developing countries.
A reason for that is the lack of capacity for most developing countries to generate their own inventions. To build their capacity, they need to be able first to use other people's inventions, hence their need to have access to cheap technology to kick start their own development. The current IP system is too rigid to cater for these development priorities and needs to be reformed.
Another reason is that the current system does not help developing countries benefit from their own assets and resources. Their traditional knowledge in medicines, their genetic resources, or the names of high-quality products are often patented by foreign companies, which capture all the gains without having to return a fair share of their profits to the origin countries and populations.
A clear illustration of this problem is Ethiopia's Sidamo coffee, which is one of the best coffees in the world. Whilst earning coffee companies higher prices due to its quality and name, it still fails to produce enough returns for coffee farmers to make a decent living. The Ethiopian government wants to trademark this and other Ethiopian coffee names, to build its coffee industry and help its own farmers. However, this trademark is being opposed in the United States by the National Coffee Association of America, of which Starbucks is a member.
Fact: In 2001, less than 1 percent of US patents were granted to applicants from developing countries, nearly 60 percent of which were from seven of the more technologically advanced developing countries.
R&D expenditure is heavily concentrated in developed countries, and in a few of the more technologically advanced developing countries. Few developing countries have been able to develop a strong indigenous technological capability. This means that it is difficult either for them to develop their own technology, or to assimilate technology from developed countries.
Fact: In sub-Saharan Africa in 1998 (excluding South Africa), 35 patents were granted to residents compared to 741 for non-residents. By contrast in Korea, 35,900 patents were issued to residents, compared to 16,990 to non-residents. In the US, the corresponding figures were 80,292 and 67,228.
]]>Following a traditional coffee ceremony featuring some of Ethiopia's finest coffees—Harar, Sidamo, and Yirgacheffe—the farmers said they wanted the opportunity to make more money off the coffees they cultivate, which command such high prices among consumers.
While Starbucks charges as much as $26 a pound for Ethiopian specialty coffees, Ethiopian coffee farmers get only 5-10 percent of that price. For this reason, Ethiopia has asked Starbucks to sign a trademark agreement that would give Ethiopia the ability to control the use of its coffee names, occupy a stronger negotiating position with foreign buyers, and capture a larger share of the market.
"Just because I'm a farmer, don't think that I don't understand what's happening in the global market," said Tadesse Terro, who traveled from Yirgacheffe to speak out. "I do listen to the radio and I know how much my coffee retails for overseas. The money I earn for my hard work does not come close."
More than 200 people came to the Sheraton hotel in Addis Ababa to attend the coffee ceremony. Government officials and diplomats joined community activists and farmers. Each person signed a petition asking Starbucks to honor its commitment to Ethiopian coffee farmers by recognizing the country's ownership of its coffee names.
One farmer, 85-year-old Gemede Robe, left his Abaya district hometown for the first time to attend the event. Unable to read and write, he signed the Starbucks petition with his fingerprint.
Robe became the face behind Ethiopia's trademark initiative late last year when Oxfam began using his photograph to publicize the campaign.
"Like any other human being, we Ethiopians hold our names very dear," Robe said. "If given the opportunity to speak with people at the big company (Starbucks), I would ask them why they're resisting us owning our coffee names. I am sure they know, as the whole world does, that our coffees are some of the best in the world. But why are they refusing to give us the recognition we deserve?"
Oxfam is part of a broad coalition calling on Starbucks to sign a trademark agreement with Ethiopia. More than 89,000 people in 70 countries have already joined the campaign. Earlier in December, activists from New Zealand to Scotland to the US demonstrated outside of Starbucks stores. The coffee ceremony in Addis Ababa represented the culmination of these global actions.
]]>Between harvests, farmers have little available cash, so families struggle to find money for those necessities they do not produce themselves—clothes, soap, or even medicine if a child falls ill. So Djouri Konaré, a mother of six in her mid-40s, earns a little money by preparing rice flavored with tomatoes and piment, a super-spicy pepper, to sell once a week on market day. With little available cash, Konaré used to have to borrow ingredients from a food dealer, and repay him at whatever price he demanded at the end of the day. Profits were slim.
Konaré found a better option when Oxfam America's partner TONUS helped the women in N'Golofala form a savings group, pooling their deposits of just a few cents a week and then loaning each other the capital to invest in money-making ventures. It is part of Oxfam's Saving for Change program, established in 2005 and now reaching more than 24,000 women in Mali alone.
Konaré joined the group and borrowed enough to buy the ingredients for her business at a better price than the food dealer's. "Some days I can make 10,000 CFA [about $20]," she said in an interview in her home. After paying back her loan and interest, she can clear as much as $65 a month—nearly the average monthly income for Mali and a tidy sum for a rural woman with no assets.
Once a year the savings group divides up its assets equally among the members, and the women can use it to invest or buy necessities for their families. This year, Konaré's share was $18, and she used it to buy a sheep. "I bought a female, which had a baby, another female. Now I think I could sell the mother for about $30, so I am getting a lot for my $18."
There are currently about 40 women participating in three savings groups in N'Golofala. "We are seeing a lot of benefits," Konaré said. In addition to earning income raising livestock and through other forms of commerce, the women meet regularly and help each other with their businesses and discuss problems faced by the larger community, like malaria.
Malaria is one of the biggest problems in N'Golofala and many other villages in Mali—indeed, throughout much of Africa. With many families forced to devote a large proportion of their income to deal with health problems, reducing vulnerability to malaria is an essential way to fight poverty. After helping establish the savings groups, TONUS staff led eight training sessions to teach the women in the program how to prevent and treat the disease.
"Now I know how to treat children for malaria," says Konaré. "I am contributing to the better health of my family by helping my husband eliminate mosquito breeding areas, and I can buy treated bednets."
She and other women have even convinced village leaders to eliminate mosquito-breeding areas. This was a milestone for these women, who previously had never been consulted on village affairs and were not used to speaking in public. Before Saving for Change, women tended to defer to their husbands. "Now we know we have to do things ourselves," Konaré said. "The Saving for Change group has changed a lot for me."
Since the first Saving for Change groups were established, many of the women could see that it was a simple matter to help others start their own groups. In the village of Guilly, just 20 minutes from N'Golofala, a 30-year-old woman named Minata Coulibaly joined a group and then helped establish four others, recruiting 63 other women to the Saving for Change program. Of the 1,126 groups in Mali, 391 were formed spontaneously by the women themselves, and these 391 include nearly 8,000 members—all of whom have taken small steps toward big changes.
]]>And he's just one reason why Oxfam America recently gave the United Food and Commercial Workers Union (UFCW) a $25,000 grant to hire a community organizer to help make that happen. There are about 5,500 other reasons, too—one for every single employee at the sprawling plant in Bladen County where 32,000 hogs a day are slaughtered and processed.
"In the past 20 years, the meat packing industry has turned from a decent-paying industry with benefits to a dangerous, low-paying one where workers move at almost impossible speeds and injuries are frighteningly frequent," said Guadalupe Gamboa, an Oxfam America program officer who focuses on workers' rights. "The conditions in these plants—Smithfield included—clearly violate the basic human rights of their workers."
Gene Bruskin, a UFCW campaign director who has been helping workers organize at the Smithfield plant, put it in even blunter terms: "You're literally chewed up and spit out."
But in Bladen County, where more than 19 percent of the residents live in poverty and unemployment rates hit nearly 10 percent in 2002, people have been hungry for work, and take jobs at Smithfield, despite the grueling conditions.
"If you're working in that plant, you're killing 1,000 pigs an hour on two lines. That's 16,000 in eight hours," Bruskin said. "If I'm working on the line, I'm doing 1,000 of whatever I do every hour. If I'm the one who stabs the pig in the throat and kills it, or I pull the brains out, I do it 1,000 times an hour. It's one every three to four seconds, so it's extremely dangerous. People work at blinding speeds with very little training."
Part of the problem, said Gamboa, is an absence of regulations that would help protect workers.
"There is no law in the US that governs the speed at which a hog processing plant can run its killing and cutting lines and that's why companies are allowed to get away with horrible conditions," he said. "International human rights laws are broader than US law. We have an obligation to meet that higher standard."
Twice, workers at the plant have tried to unionize to improve their working conditions—once in 1994 and again in 1997 when they lost the election by a small margin amid union-busting activities, including threats, intimidation, and violence against workers. In 2000, a National Labor Relations Board (NLRB) administrative law judge found Smithfield liable for those actions and ruled the election invalid. In 2006 a federal appeals court upheld that decision.
"Rather than subjecting themselves to the ordeal of another election, the workers are asking the company to recognize their union by an alternative procedure under the NLRB—one in which workers can choose a union by having a majority sign union cards. Smithfield has refused this alternative procedure," said Gamboa.
And there it stands. With no union and no protection, employees like Melvin Grady face a mountain of challenges.
Grady's hardships are detailed in a Human Rights Watch (HRW) report released last year called "Blood, Sweat, and Fear: Workers' Rights in U.S. Meat and Poultry Plants." Grady started work at Smithfield on the kill floor where he spent 18 months before moving onto a job sharpening knives. One day, returning to his station after a meal break, he slipped on the greasy floor and tumbled to the bottom of some steps where he heard a pop. It was his Achilles tendon, severely torn and requiring surgery and convalescence.
Grady's nightmare had begun.
In the end, said the HRW report, Smithfield told him he wasn't eligible for workmen's compensation and fired him when he couldn't get clearance from his doctor for unrestricted work. The final blow came a few months after the accident when the bank foreclosed on Grady's house: The temporary jobs he was able to pick up for $6 an hour couldn't match the $11-an-hour-plus-overtime he had earned at Smithfield. His income had plummeted by more than half.
Grady's fate could have been the fate of any Smithfield worker. But the tide may be getting ready to turn, if a recent two-day walkout by hundreds of workers is any indication of what the future holds.
In November, the workers—Hispanics and blacks alike—decided to walk off the job to protest the firing of dozens of immigrant employees whose documentation the company questioned.
The step took great courage, said Bruskin.
"It was historic," he said, "for immigrant workers with all they have to risk to walk out of the plant like this—a company of this size."
But as important, the walkout could also be signaling a shift in race relations among workers at the plant—a critical step in building momentum for their collective rights.
"Smithfield has a long history of using race to divide the workers," said Leila McDowell, the communications coordinator for UFCW's "Justice at Smithfield" campaign. "They would tell African-Americans, 'if you stand up for a union we'll replace you with Latino workers.' And they tell Latino workers, 'blacks are getting more than you.' The union organization has been working to overcome that."
And the show of solidarity during the walkout was proof.
"It was very important for immigrant workers to see the African-American workers support them," said Bruskin. "It was also a tremendous opportunity for them to see the power they have."
In the end, following thousands of phone calls from religious organizations, civil rights groups, and immigrants rights agencies urging the company to respect the rights of its workers, Smithfield agreed to hire back the ones it had let go and not to discipline those who had participated in the walkout. Additionally the company agreed to allow employees time to respond to questions about their documentation.
While workers savor that bit of victory, the organizer the UFCW has hired with Oxfam's grant will begin to focus on African-American communities in the area, particularly churches and civil rights groups.
"This outreach will provide crucial community support for workers seeking to organize against a notoriously anti-union and anti-worker employer with a long history of violations of the legal and human rights of these workers," said Gamboa. "About 40 percent of the workers at Smithfield are African-American, and the majority of the others are Latino.
"The Justice at Smithfield campaign has close community and religious ties with the Latino population already. Building strong ties with the African-American community will help the campaign build the alliances between the two groups as well as support the workers in their struggle to protect their human rights through a union contract."
]]>This land is dotted by native conifers and flowering rhododendrons, but through the years outsiders have come to exploit timber and other natural resources. Deforestation has led to landslides, and landslides have threatened villagers' crops and homes.
In the past, the plans and activities of the county government and the needs of the local people, mostly Tibetans, were not coordinated. When problems arose, the right solutions were hard to come by. Oxfam America worked to change that.
First, the research. Oxfam partner organization CBIK, the Center for Biodiversity and Indigenous Knowledge, has helped local government officials, academics, non-governmental organization (NGO) workers, school teachers, and villagers conduct research on issues related to their environment and development.
Then the sharing. CBIK has worked to share the research among the participants, creating multi-stakeholder forums where government officials sit down with local residents to discuss topics as varied as: animal husbandry, the collection of non-timber forest products such as mushrooms, water resource management, land use management, and even Tibetan medicine.
The forums give participants the opportunity to discuss issues of concern, and have inspired new projects in response to the issues raised.
After one multi-stakeholder forum, Jiabi villagers and county government officials agreed that a new dike needed to be built along a stream that flows through their village. The dike will guard against flooding, erosion and landslides, and help ensure that the people have access to a reliable source of water.
Instead of the government hiring an outside company to build the dyke—a typical solution in the past—the villagers built it themselves. The county government gave them financial and technical support.
"The old dike, built by a private company from outside, was so weak a small monkey could knock it down. But the dike we built is strong," said Riqing Pinchu, the head of Jiabi Village. "We used to wait for the government to come to us, but now we can take responsibility for our own development."
The county government learned that involving civil society—not always an easy concept in China—has its benefits. "When villagers participate in their own development and prioritize their needs, we get greater buy-in and can increase their capacity at the same time," said Lurong Yixi, the county director for minority affairs.
Experience has taught the Jiabi villagers an important lesson—their natural resources sustain their lives, so they must protect them. And by collaborating with the government, sharing their collective knowledge, and using venues such as the multi-stakeholder forums they can make decisions about their own future.
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