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Mexico City to swap Columbus statue for one of indigenous woman

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bbc– Mexico City’s governor has confirmed that a statue of an indigenous woman will replace the capital’s Christopher Columbus monument.

The statue was removed last year after indigenous rights activists threatened to tear it down.

Claudia Sheinbaum said it will be replaced by a replica of a pre-Columbian statue known as the Young Woman of Amajac.

Protesters have toppled Columbus statues in Latin America and the US.

Columbus, an Italian-born explorer who was financed by the Spanish crown to set sail on voyages of exploration in the late 15th Century, is seen by many as a symbol of oppression and colonialism as his arrival in America opened the door to the Spanish conquest.

Ms Sheinbaum’s latest announcement was made on 12 October – the anniversary of Columbus’ discovery of the Americas.

In the US it is widely celebrated as Columbus Day. But in Mexico and other Latin American countries it is known as Día de la Raza (Spanish: Day of the Race). Many view it as a commemoration to native resistance against European conquest.

Ms Sheinbaum said she wanted to make the change as part of the “decolonisation” of the famous Reforma Avenue, where an empty plinth currently stands.

She added that the new monument – set to to be three times as tall as the Columbus statue – was in recognition that “indigenous women had been the most persecuted” during and after the colonial period.

The original Young Woman of Amajac was discovered in January in Veracruz.

It is believed that the sculpture depicts a leading female member of the Huastec people at the time of its creation.

The original currently sits in Mexico City’s Anthropology Museum, which is going to create the replica.

After the city government decided to remove the Columbus statute from its plinth, a number of proposals were put forward including a statue inspired by a pre-Hispanic Olmec head.

However, it was derided as a token gesture for its lack of authenticity, prompting Ms Sheinbaum to cancel it and opt instead for the Young Woman of Amajac.

The statue of Christopher Columbus will be moved to a park in another area of Mexico City.

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Are the 2020s really like living back in the 1970s? I wish …

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theguardian– Queueing for petrol, I turn on the radio and there are Abba, singing their latest hit. Shortages on shop shelves are headline news, with warnings of a panic-buying Christmas. And national debt is sky high. But this isn’t the 1970s; it’s 2021. People who weren’t born then have been calling this a return to that decade. There are similarities, of course: this retro-thought was sparked by the recent petrol queues, people as frantic to fill up to get to work as I remember back then. Elsewhere, flowing floral midi dresses are back, just like the ones I wore; Aldi is selling rattan hanging egg chairs; and, as well as Abba, the charts have been topped by Elton John. But is this really a 1970s reprise?

No, nothing like it; not history repeated, not even as farce – just a stylist’s pastiche, as bold as the wallpaper I’m posing in front of here. Folk memory preserves only the 1974 three-day week; the miners’ strike blackouts, with no street lights and candle shortages; the embargo that quadrupled the price of oil. True, I did queue at the coal merchant’s to fire up an ancient stove for lack of any other heat or light. But the decade shouldn’t be defined by this, or by 1978-79’s “winter of discontent” strikes, a brief but pungent time of rubbish uncollected and (a very few) bodies unburied by council gravediggers.

Most 70s imagery is a deliberately manufactured caricature, with its garish wallpaper and avocado suites, an ignored time zone between the swinging 60s and glitzy greed-is-good, big bang, big hair 80s. It’s an image that obscures the radical social changes and great progressive leaps forward that took place then. True, we all construct our own pick’n’mix memorabilia and there’s a risk anyone my age will pine for the decade when they were in their 20s. But that’s not why I reject any comparison to Boris Johnson’s Brexit-stricken regressive and corrupt era.

So why does history record the 70s as nothing but a time of strife, shortages, hyper-inflation and decline? Well, it’s because history is written by the victor. And that victor was Margaret Thatcher, whose 1979 election conquest sought to uproot, marketise and diminish the role of the postwar state. Her political tribe used all their media power to expunge inconvenient 70s memories that didn’t fit her narrative, as surely as Stalin purged Trotsky from the photographic record. It was a goodbye to John Maynard Keynes’s generous social democratic state and hello to Friedrich Hayek’s desire to let the market rip; Thatcher kept his book The Road to Serfdom in her handbag to waggle at her cabinet.

In 1970, I was travelling the country researching my book A Working Life. I took jobs at Unilever’s soap factory in Port Sunlight, Merseyside; in a cake factory; as a hospital ward orderly; and I joined the Women’s Royal Army Corps for a while. Working as a switch-cable operator in one of the 11 Lucas car parts factories in Birmingham (all now closed), I watched a strike by our foremen and charge hands, who were trying to restore their differentials – the extra pay they received above those they supervised. By the second day, 19,000 car workers were laid off, so just-in-time supply chains were fragile even then. However, unions were simply striving not to fall behind a rate of inflation that later soared to nearly 30%; the reality I saw was unrecognisable from the “grasping workers” vilified in the anti-union Tory press (Rupert Murdoch had bought the Sun the year before). Union membership peaked at 13m by 1979. Now less than half as many belong. Strong, 70s-style unions would never have let this current zero hours gig economy destroy rights that had been hard-earned back then.

Here’s another crucial contrast. Look at the relative ease with which Edward Heath’s Conservative government took the country into Europe in 1973, a move confirmed in Labour’s referendum two years later on a 67% to 33% vote. Yet now we’re out, a country adrift and wrenched apart by an acrimonious Brexit.

For all the turmoil, Britain’s democratic institutions never buckled. Now they come under greater threat from the prime minister himself, who assails the powers of regulators, judges, scrutiny committees and all the checks and balances of our unwritten constitution. He sends in his culture warriors to spearhead “a war on woke”. But for my friends and me, “woke” began in 1970 with Germaine Greer’s The Female Eunuch, an electric shock of awakening. Spare Rib and Gay News heralded liberation for millions more. Each new iteration of activism rolls those freedoms forwards, as #MeToo energises a new generation to break silence on sexual harassment by bosses. Back then, I’m afraid, we wearily fended off beware-the-stationery-cupboard lecherous gropings, regarding them as part of women’s working life.

I joined the Guardian’s women’s page in 1977 when the great and funny writer Jill Tweedie broke every mould, challenging every assumption, including those of SCUM, the Society for Cutting Up Men, pretty much a one-woman crusade by Valerie Solanas. Jill never dodged the dilemma of “liberation” from men we loved and lived with: she had lost two children stolen abroad by an abusive husband. Her influence sometimes shocked her: a woman called her in the Guardian office one day from a public phone box, saying: “Right, I’ve left my husband. I’m in a caravan with my children, what do I do now?” Feminism was always plagued by rifts: Jill and I were locked in at an angry meeting by radical feminists threatening not to release us until the Guardian backed abortion of all male foetuses. Now, I tear my hair out over the latest feminist arguments over trans issues.

How far have we come? Never far enough. Of demands drawn up at the first National Women’s Liberation Conference in 1970, there is still no equal pay or opportunity, no abortion on demand, or free 24-hour nurseries. Despite some state aid, Britain still has some of the most expensive childcare in the developed world, costing parents more than their rent or mortgage, often for poorly trained staff paid a pittance.

The first women’s refuge opened in 1971 – but 80 women a year are still murdered by a partner or ex-partner in England and Wales. When I worked in a Wimpy bar half a century ago, no single women were allowed in after midnight: those who were unaccompanied were presumed to be prostitutes. It could be hard to get served in a pub. Some things slide backwards: as I buy presents for my newest granddaughter, I find the pinkification of “girls’” toys has got worse since my daughters were small: there were no pink space hoppers. Children are more shut in now, parents too afraid to let them roam, more anxious about threats of every kind, from strangers to impure food. There were always a thousand ways to make mothers miserable: in 1975, only 57% of women worked, with rightwing papers running a drumbeat of spurious research on the damage done to children to make working mothers guilty, often wheeling out John Bowlby’s “attachment theory”. Now women’s employment stands at 78%, but with the absolute necessity of two incomes to keep an insanely expensive roof over the family, full-time work and lack of childcare feels less like liberation for many

Newly married in 1970, aged 23 with a full-time job, when I bought a washing machine I needed my husband’s signature on the hire purchase agreement. The rampant misogyny and racism of “jokes” in 70s TV comedy has made some of those programmes unrepeatable. The “political-correctness-gone-mad” brigade should be made to watch the revolting Benny Hill chasing bikini-clad young girls, or the sitcom Mind Your Language, with its riot of immigrant jokes in a night school class, to appreciate how Labour’s Equal Opportunities Commission and Race Relations Board in 1976 began the long, slow culture change. For all the Enoch Powellite anti-immigrant racism, it was a decade that saw more people emigrate than immigrate. As feminists, we thought Barbara Castle’s 1970 Equal Pay Act and the Sex Discrimination Act would fix everything, but here we are, still fighting old battles. Three-quarters of mothers say they face discrimination at work for being pregnant, with shocking cases of sackings and demotions from the Pregnant Then Screwed campaign. Some glass ceilings shattered through that decade: the Old Bailey got its first woman judge in 1972 and now there are equal numbers, but still only 28% of university professors are women.

By the 70s, the worst brutalities of childbirth were ending: Sheila Kitzinger had rebelled against enforced pubic hair shaving and giving birth with legs strapped up in stirrups. I had my first two children in the 70s, and I worked as a ward orderly in a maternity ward in a run-down hospital, and it’s striking that women had kinder care and attention then. A full week in hospital was a blessing for many, and health visitors were closer at hand for everyone. My daughters were turfed out within hours of their children being born and, compared with 2015, there are a third fewer health visitors, leaving them to struggle with impossible caseloads.

A great landmark of the decade was Harold Wilson’s Open University. With its first students starting in 1971, it offered second chances, especially to women, and is now Britain’s biggest university by far. Women’s new freedom and opportunity helped triple divorce rates in the 70s: better child benefits made escape easier. But the penalty for single parenthood is higher now, with 49% of children in lone-parent families living below the poverty line, according to the Child Poverty Action Group. We have more things now, but many more children are left outside the consumer society.

Now, civilisation is on a climate knife-edge, but then world-ending fear focused on nuclear war. Alarm at extinct species and environmental pollution was rife, but concern could be gently laughed at in the Surbiton of 70s sitcom The Good Life. I was keenly aware, because my father, a millenarian by nature, founded an ill-fated agricultural commune in Monmouthshire in the 70s, designed to be self-sustaining. He used to wag a finger at me and my city ways, warning I’d come crawling to their door begging for cabbages when my unsustainable lifestyle caught up with me. The venture collapsed in 1979.

For a family on the left, with a relaxed attitude to sex, I don’t think there was any greater gap between my parents and me than between me and my children and they and my grandchildren. I went on an anti-Vietnam war demo with my father, and pro-EU membership and climate protests with my grandchildren. But I see how each generation has a greater sensitivity on race, gender and privilege, which I find encouraging. Here’s the greatest generational difference: we boomers had it all in the 70s – free university, plentiful good jobs with pensions, cheap homes to buy, but none of those are there for millennials.

Don’t be tricked by false parallels between the 70s and now. Look at the hard economic facts: in the 70s, Britain reached its most equal point ever in pay and wealth. In a century-long trajectory, super-taxes and inheritance taxes had gradually eroded the mega-incomes of the rich to pay for a growing welfare state with pensions, benefits and the NHS. That’s how my generation was taught O-level social history: as a story of unstoppable progress from reforming factory acts, working and voting rights to a social security safety net. To understand the 70s, remember that the unions’ struggle was about holding on to that progress against a tidal wave of inflation.

In 1979, that battle was lost and everything went into reverse. The slump of 1980-81 caused by an extreme austerity budget tipped millions, especially the young, into unemployment, which rose above 11%. Later, deregulating the City blew the lid off top earnings, so the income and wealth gap widened astronomically. The victors’ history tells a story of militant strikers making outrageous demands, designed to justify Thatcher’s crushing of the unions and the deep inequality that has endured ever since as a result.

As I write, the number of people falling into poverty is growing rapidly, after universal credit cuts. Last month’s budget cemented the fact that pay – stagnant for the past decade – will continue to be so through the next.

I can see why some look back now, imagining the2020s – full of political, economic and environmental doom – as a reprise of those times. Look how many of that era’s icons retain their cultural clout. I’ve just read John le Carré’s posthumous bestseller Silverview, and I urge his 1974 classic Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy on my older grandchildren as the best evocation of a cold war that framed our thinking and fears. Debbie Harry, still magnificent when she goes to Glastonbury, Led Zeppelin’s Robert Plant back in the charts, ditto Nile Rodgers of Chic – 70s icons have been revived or never went away. Back then, the UK could win Eurovision song contests, too, but a repeat of that feat seems unlikely now that everyone hates us.

Style? The flowery dress I’m wearing for this photoshoot reminds me of Laura Ashley in her heyday, though her clothes strove to be more authentic Victorian country print copies, with mutton chop shoulders, and I even had one with a bustle. Yes, I had an egg chair, but – as Aldi shoppers will find – they’re more for posing than comfort. And I did have one room with wallpaper that looked like fried eggs. Are these lurids really back in vogue? Not with me.

But do reject the rightwing trashing of the 70s as a time of “decline” and “failure”, the Austin Allegro of decades. Thatcherites needed to invent that history to disguise their social vandalism and promote the myth of her glittering capitalist renaissance. Take it from me, and from all the social statistics: the 70s were a good time to be alive.

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Thanks, It’s Dior

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instyle– When Maria Grazia Chiuri was hired away from Valentino in 2016 to give Christian Dior a shot of relatability, there was much made of her being the first woman to lead the heritage Parisian couture house. It was good for the press release, but five years into her tenure, we’re seeing what’s become of it.

Of course, Chiuri’s plan all along was to sell. And clothing sales, often the lowest-performing category at a luxury house after perfume or makeup or accessories, have soared under her watch, eclipsing fragrance for the first time in 2019. “I’m so obsessed with her suits; I want to live in them,” says actress Zoey Deutch (photographed below), echoing the sentiment of her shootmates — all of them true believers in Chiuri’s grounded, wearable, accessible Dior. Chiuri had a more ambitious agenda than the bottom line, though. She wanted to turn LVMH’s leading brand behemoth into a feminist messaging machine.

She hasn’t exactly been stealthy about it. From that first spring 2017 show, led by boyish, buzz-shorn model Ruth Bell, Chiuri leaned into comfort over sex. The iconic Bar jacket lost its corsetry and loosened up. Models walk her runways in flat sandals, stompable boots, and kitten heels.

Chiuri’s accessories are usable and sporty as well as things of beauty with design bells and whistles. The Book Tote, a simple square shopper, is one of her favorite pieces, and this season it’s entirely embroidered. For those who prefer to simply read in black-and-white, there is the T-shirt. In that initial collection, it was emblazoned with Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s mantra, “We Should All Be Feminists” — a manifesto that went immediately viral. To this day, it hasn’t stopped circulating. (A recent sighting was on Penélope Cruz in Pedro Almodóvar’s latest Oscar bait, Parallel Mothers.)

Chiuri had to fight for that shirt, an unusually direct statement for a high-fashion runway. “Our CEO at the time didn’t want to sell it,” she says. “He said, ‘Dior is not a T-shirt company. We are a couture company!’ I said, ‘Yes, but a T-shirt is a contemporary piece of the wardrobe. And I use a T-shirt because if you want to send a message, you can’t write on top of a jacket — it’s not believable.’ It was not an easy discussion. I had to convince him to do a small run and give the money to charity. We produced a tiny amount. Most of those T-shirts you see around the world now are fake!”

But they still keep coming down the runway, one for almost every show, highlighting the work of other women Chiuri wants to echo, including 1970s Italian feminist and art critic Carla Lonzi (“I Say I”) and author Robin Morgan (“Sisterhood Is Global”). There have been collaborations with art legends like Judy Chicago (2020’s spring couture), Claire Fontaine (her neon signs blared anti-patriarchy slogans at the fall 2020 ready-to-wear show), and choreographer Sharon Eyal.

For Cruise 2022, pieces from which are photographed here, Chiuri hired illustrator Christiana Soulou to sketch sporting women into a delicate print. Athletics was a theme of the season, and the overall inspiration was Greece, both ancient and modern, as well as the first whisperings of (what turned out to be temporary) deconfinement. Toga dresses abounded with a nod to the radically reconstructive work of the feminist anthropologist Marija Gimbutas, author of The Goddesses and Gods of Old Europe.

If the suits have been disturbed by the faint odor of burning bras, they can’t pretend Chiuri didn’t warn them. “I said in my first interview for Dior that my idea was a feminist idea,” she says. “I think femininity can be a trap. What interests me is community work in fashion.” That means not only top-line collaborations but frequently seeking out female-led ateliers all over the world when her collections incorporate different traditions of handicraft. Because if you’re going to sell right-on slogans to women willing to pay hundreds of dollars for a T-shirt, supporting less fortunate makers in the process should be part of the deal.

Chiuri was a client from Day 1 of the Chanakya Atelier in Mumbai, whose artisans she most recently hired to hand-stitch, using 150 different embroidery techniques, tapestries based on a drawing by artist Eva Jospin for the fall/winter 2021–2022 haute couture show. In turn, the atelier, in conjunction with its School of Craft, offers training to low-income women looking to rise to master artisan status, normally a man’s position.

But there have been stumbles. In choosing diverse references for her collections, Chiuri has been criticized for appropriating different cultures. An ad featuring the very caucasian Jennifer Lawrence in a collection clearly inspired by Mexican design was pilloried on social media. In 2019 Chiuri responded by enlisting her daughter, Rachele Regini, who has degrees from Goldsmiths, University of London in art history and gender studies, to head up a cultural brain trust for Chiuri and her design team. They’ve done three sessions so far to get more savvy on the expectations of a broader customer base and the importance of sustainability. It doesn’t come as second nature, Chiuri admits.

She nixes propositions from her team all the time that don’t pass the real-world smell test and has hired slightly more realistic Italian size 40 fit models. “Some young designers still dream on these incredibly skinny models,” she says. “It can be very difficult to change the stereotype. I have to say, ‘Please, this arm is not believable! It won’t fit anybody!’ ”

Chiuri is intent on building the brand for women with something to say, and those women are responding in kind. “Maria Grazia has reimagined the conversation between femininity and masculinity and how it is explored through fashion,” says actress Jurnee Smollett, who, before this shoot, last wore Dior at the Emmy Awards, where she was up for her role in Lovecraft Country. “It was my first time being nominated and the first time wearing Dior Haute Couture. It was a classic design, but in Maria Grazia’s hands it became unique and innovative. I was floored by the intricate details and felt like a goddess in it.”

Supermodel Natalia Vodianova has been a big supporter since Chiuri’s first day at the house, never missing a show. “She was given an incredible platform at Dior, and she owned it as a designer, but she uses it to celebrate in the name of all women around the world,” Vodianova says.

This has been the biggest payoff for Chiuri at a 9-to-8 job where weekends are frequently burned on planes visiting factories and far-flung ateliers. “I’m very linked with women in general,” she says. “I really think that I have to work in a way that I can give service to the women around the world, so that when they come to us, they can find something to help them feel well. That when they wear our jacket, they feel well. That when they wear our shoes, they walk well. It’s beauty too. I don’t like that to be beautiful, you have to be uncomfortable. I think it’s so ridiculous. This is the secret, very simple: I don’t want to wear something that I feel does not empower me.”

Critics have not always been kind about Chiuri’s vision, though it wouldn’t be the first time that fashion’s professional opinionators have completely missed a juggernaut. Pragmatism is hard to get rhapsodic about in column inches, even if it’s the animating spirit for Chiuri. She believes it was the same for the house’s namesake, who favored corsets and petticoats. “If you read The Little Dictionary of Fashion by Mr. Dior, you would see he was very practical,” Chiuri says. “You have to choose a bag that’s black, you have to choose shoes that are black, that can work for day and evening. Also his color palette. It’s gray, black, blue.” Not to put too fine a point on it, though: Chiuri’s most recent show was an homage to the mod 1960s, with acid-bright colorblocking and miniskirt suits. Even studious nerdy girls like to swing.

Chiuri herself works hard not to take the gig so dead seriously. “When a designer arrives at a house like Dior with this huge history, it can be heavy. But I come from Rome. I arrived here at 52, with a long career and big experience. And so, it’s very interesting for me to look at the reference, to transform, to give it a completely new sense. I like fashion; it’s a territory where you can play. It’s like a game.”

Lead Image: Jurnee Smollett. All clothing and accessories, worn throughout, Dior. Photography by Trisha Ward. Styling by Konca Aykan. Hair by Nai’vashsa/The Wall Group. Makeup by Vincent Oquendo/The Wall Group. Production by Octopix.

For more stories like this, pick up the December/January issue of InStyle, available on newsstands, on Amazon, and for digital download Nov. 19th.

 

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Nice has failed parents with its U-turn on induced labour | Letter

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pehalnews– Lobbying maternity organisations have satisfied the National Institute for Health and Care Excellence (Nice) to take away the selection for sufferers to think about induction of labour from 39 weeks gestation. Nice has additionally downgraded a suggestion to induce labour at 41 weeks gestation to a “discussion” (Watchdog U-turns on recommendation to induce pregnant women at 41 weeks, 4 November).

This is deeply regarding. The proof exhibits that inducing labour at 39 weeks gestation reduces the possibility of a caesarean beginning and will result in a neater beginning (Arrive trial). There can also be proof that stillbirth will increase after 41 weeks of gestation (Swepis and Index trials).

The chance of inducing labour at 39 weeks is now solely obtainable on request, for these within the know. And will a dialogue balancing the dangers of stillbirth with issues in regards to the “birth experience” at 41 weeks convey the data parents want about extended being pregnant to make knowledgeable selections about their care?

Organisations such because the NCT and Birthrights, which celebrated the adjustments, are neither medical organisations nor service consumer teams. They shouldn’t be considered because the voice of parents, nor be deemed certified to remark on medical issues. By not insisting that parents are knowledgeable of all beginning choices and by bowing to the agenda of maternity activists, Nice has failed parents.
Catherine RoySusanna Haddon and Dr Ruth-Ann Harpur

 

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