II Fluid identities, international human rights and women's rights in Brazil

I propose a concept of individual identity which combines moral agency and individual history and which aims at reflecting what real people actually are, and at envisioning rights that respond to the needs of real, concrete individuals. We are not purely egotistic, self-centred rational individuals, as some liberals would advocate. We are not completely detached from our circumstance and emotions. However, we are not completely determined by our circumstance either. We are capable of moral agency, that is, capable of making individual and collective moral decisions in response to our own circumstance (Ikawa, Reference Ikawa2008, Reference Ikawa2009; Ikawa and Mattar, Reference Ikawa and Mattar2009). Such capability serves as a basis for equal respect and consideration among individuals.

Our identity is also formed not in isolation, but in relation to other identities. We would not need to talk about identities if we lived in isolation. Our identity is at least in part composed by connections to multiple groups to which we belong either by choice or by imposition at different moments in our lives. This relational idea of identity (Lopez, Reference Lopez1994; Orlie, Reference Orlie and Abbey2004), formed by choices upon one's circumstance, is what will support a theory of rights that is effective enough to ensure rights to all, a theory of rights closely connected to the drafting of social institutions, regarding education, health and social security, among others.

Examples of such multilayered, circumstance-based, and yet agency-centred identities can be found in the study of particular cases or individual narratives, such as the life story of João Francisco dos Santos, a Black man who lived in Brazil in the 1930s and 1940s. The use of narratives has been central not only in critical race theory and critical race feminism (Bridgewater, Reference Bridgewater and Wing2003) but also in the development of the human rights movement, as we will address later on in this paper. The story of João Francisco dos Santos is interpreted by director Karim Ainouz in the film Madame Satã (Brazil, 2002). In the film, João Santos develops his individual identity through a net of imposed circumstances. He uses historically established categories to grasp power, recognition and moral agency. As portrayed in the film, João dos Santos is at times a mulata Footnote ³ singer, a ‘strong black male’, and a ‘black gay man’. Although the group identity of mulatas, as described by Gilberto Freyre in the 1930s, is often understood as that of a ‘passive, sensual, willing, and accessible’ woman (an image created at least in part to justify sexual abuse during slavery in Brazil), this historically established category is used by João as an authentic category that unites gender, race and sexuality (Leu, Reference Leu2010, p. 78; Correa, Reference Correa1996, pp. 45–49), an identity that is often objectified but that holds some power in its representation of sensual beauty. It is this group identity that João incorporates at times, as a possibility of limited power and recognition in a deeply racist and homophobic society. But João is also the ‘strong black male’ who decides to fight back on police brutality and the ‘black gay man’, struggling to express (and to make a living through) a sexuality that is still perceived as a taboo. João Santos is all, partly by choice, partly by circumstance. In other words, he is all according to his agency over his circumstance. Moreover, his individual identity reflects specific needs regarding the achievement of de facto moral agency, recognition and resources.

The construction of identity has been interpreted in different ways through history, and it has had a strong impact in the development of different theories of rights. In human rights history one can distinguish at least three definitions of identity: an apparently abstract individual identity, binary individual identities, and circumstance-based yet non-determinist identities. Human rights sprang initially from the idea of an allegedly abstract human being. The idea of an all-encompassing, coherent, apparently abstract identity was possible because it reflected one single concrete identity whose needs were used as a standard for all individuals: the needs of the White heterosexual middle-class Western European man. The apparently abstract idea of human being was central to liberal thinking, to a simplistic theory of universal rights detached in great part from social institutions, and to the belief in a neutral point of view from which to explain the world. As Thomas Nagel puts it: ‘a view from nowhere’ (Nagel, Reference Nagel1986).Footnote ⁴ It was a view, however, which reflected the needs of a very concrete, specific person. That is, while the rights of this allegedly abstract human being were actually the rights that responded to the needs of a concrete individual, such rights were presented as a response to all human needs, a response to the needs of all individuals, independently of their particular situation in terms of gender, race, education, origin, sexual orientation, age or disability. The assumption by liberalism of an abstract human identity made believe that the mere statement of general rights detached from institutional reform would be enough to ensure those rights for all.

The initial abstraction of the human rights doctrine started to evolve, though, into theories that responded to more concrete circumstances and needs. In the last fifty years, international human rights treaties have highlighted the specific needs of women, racial minorities, and persons with disabilities, among others. Its abstract origins, however, have left their trace. The recognition of women's rights in Brazil gives a good example of such a trace.

Following the development of feminism elsewhere, the development of feminism in Brazil sprang from a second concept of individual identity: a binary concept. Binary concepts of identity still plague the theory of rights, not only within the women's movement, but also within movements of racial minorities, persons with disabilities, and lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered, among others.Footnote ⁵ Within the women's movement, women were identified as those who shared a common circumstance derived from female oppression by men. Brazilian feminist claims were based on the implicit standard established by liberalism: the White heterosexual middle-class man. In other words, women's identity and women's oppression derived from a binary view of the world: the male standard and the female otherness. The Brazilian feminist movement in the twentieth century used such a concept of identity mainly to oppose the traditional gendered roles of women in society. It focused, for example, on political representation and equal opportunities for education in the late nineteenth century and in the early twentieth century (Pinto, Reference Pinto2004, pp. 238–240). In the 1960s and 1970s (Sarti, Reference Sarti2004, p. 37; Pinto, Reference Pinto2004, pp. 238−240; Montecinos, Reference Montecinos2003, p. 361), it focused on women's participation in the armed fight against dictatorship.Footnote ⁶ In the 1980s the movement focused on a democratic constitution that recognised the rights of women to equality, especially in the work environment and in the family.

The binary feminist discourse in Brazil led to great advances in the movement for gender equality in both private and public spheres.Footnote ⁷ In the public sphere, Brazil enacted protective laws in the fields of employment, political participation and land reform. The 1988 Brazilian Constitution established gender equality before the law (art. 5, I).Footnote ⁸ In addition, the Constitution stated that women's equality in employment should be protected through specific incentives (art. 7, XX)Footnote ⁹ and that payment of salaries during maternity leave should be guaranteed (arts. 6, 7, XVIII, 201, II, and 203, I).Footnote ¹⁰ The labour code complemented the 1988 Constitution (art. 7, XX), by reaffirming the possibility of adopting incentives in favour of women (art. 373-A) in the job market,Footnote ¹¹ prohibiting gender discrimination in hiring and promotion practices (art. 373-A), requiring the establishment by companies of kindergartens for breastfeeding (art. 389), guaranteeing full salary during maternity leave (art. 393), and taking maternity leave in cases of adoption (art. 392-A).Footnote ¹² With respect to political participation, a federal law (9504/1997) established that each political party should ensure that at least 30 per cent of its candidates be male or 30 per cent female. This was a significant departure from the law until the 1960s,Footnote ¹³ which required married women to have their husband's authorisation in order to work.Footnote ¹⁴ De facto invisibility of women before the law was tackled by the 1988 Constitution in many areas, including by ensuring that beneficiaries of land reform policies could be ‘either men or women or both’ (art. 189).

In the private sphere, Brazil enacted laws on family issues, civil unions and domestic violence that advanced gender equality and protected the rights of Brazilian women. The 1988 Constitution established that the ‘rights and duties in the marital society shall be exercised equally by the man and the woman’ (art. 226).Footnote ¹⁵ It also established that the state should create protection mechanisms against domestic violence (art. 226) and it recognised civil unions (art. 226). In addition to the adoption of specific laws on domestic violence (11340/2006) and civil unions (9278/1996), Brazil enacted a new civil code (10406/2002) that clarified that the heads of the family are both the man and the woman (arts. 1567–1569). In the new code the concept of paterfamilias was replaced by the concept of family power (arts. 197, 1583, 1618 and others).Footnote ¹⁶

The women's movement (and certain women's rights) in Brazil grew strong with broad, binary-based demands in the areas of family law, employment and political participation. However, such demands were not enough to guarantee that all women had their rights implemented and their voice heard. A proper guarantee to all members of a group would only be ensured by a concept of circumstance-based, yet non-determinist identities.

III Multilayered identities derived from circumstance and choice: the response to the demands of differently situated women

Mainstream women's movements have not set their priorities in order to guarantee that a variety of specific rights of the most vulnerable women within the movement are implemented. The voice of the most powerful in any group will often set the group priorities, even though the priorities of subgroups vary considerably. Lack of prioritisation of the needs of the most vulnerable individuals within a group are a problem for any group, including more specific groups, such as Black women.Footnote ¹⁷ Debating this issue, Professor Kimberly Springer, for instance, mentions that in the American context ‘when black women frankly discuss their own and Black women's sexuality – be they heterosexual, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender – they run a constant threat of censure inside and outside the black community through the deployment of degrading, historically rooted stereotypes of licentious black female sexuality’ (Springer, Reference Springer2002, p. 1074). Therefore, sexuality and the claims of lesbian, bisexual and transgendered Black women are often not included in mainstream Black women's studies.

The problem of in-group oppression needs to be overcome in order to ensure that rights are enforced for all within the group. One response to in-group oppression is to start the analysis not on well-established groups, but elsewhere. One way to approach this issue is by understanding the unique subjectivity of differently situated individuals, by understanding the different sources of power each individual needs to deal with in order to ascertain one's equality, and by analysing specific cases of oppression. In this sense, ‘there is no binary all-encompassing position between ruler and ruled at the root of power relations and serving as a general matrix’ (Foucault, Reference Foucault1978, p. 94). Neither is there an all-encompassing structure of power for matching gender and race. There will always be multiple realities and circumstances with multiple sources of power and oppression. And multiple sources of oppression will lead to the recognition of identities (and rights) that are fluid and multilayered and that vary over time.

Such fluid and multilayered identities derive in part from circumstance. As put by Toril Moi, individuals have a historical and concrete body that lives in a particular situation and that represents a situation. It is a body that ‘is not just a sexual body’. It is a body that ‘eats’, ‘sleeps’ and dies (Moi, Reference Moi1999, pp. 65–76; Knight, Reference Knight2000). It is a body that lives in different cultures and has different colours. It is a body in a complex and changing circumstance. Also, it is a body that is a ‘situation’ and not a ‘destiny’,Footnote ¹⁸ and that can carry the capacity for moral agency, for continually acting on what the world makes of us.Footnote ¹⁹

From this body, from its multi-faceted circumstance, and from the agency that negotiates with that circumstance, one might derive an ample array of fluid identities (as to sexuality, gender, race, disability, age, nationality, class, among others) that should be the basis of a theory of rights. Such a theory would go beyond the announcement of a couple of general rights to encompass hundreds of rights, which would be specific enough to respond to the needs of differently situated women to have their equalityFootnote ²⁰ recognised.Footnote ²¹ Such freedom within a particular circumstance might be analysed and brought to light through concrete cases.

A theory of rights that captures such complex identities, as well as the voice of those affected by rights violations, should be built bottom-up, from concrete cases. Two Brazilian Supreme Court cases on gender equality in the work environment are illustrative both of in-group oppression and of how actual identities, starting points for an effective theory of rights, are construed from particular circumstances: the case of social security benefits and the case of domestic work.

In case ADI 1.946-5/DF (2003), the Brazilian Supreme Court unanimously held partially unconstitutional the Constitutional Amendment n. 20/1998 (art. 14).Footnote ²² The Court understood that the ceiling to social security benefits established by the 20th Amendment should not be applied to salaries during maternity leave. The Court understood that if this ceiling were applied to the salary of women in maternity leave, employers would have to cover the costs of the salary surpassing 1,200 reais a month. According to the Court, the latter would foster further discrimination against women in employment: employers would be more resistant to hiring women and paying women salaries superior to 1200 reals.Footnote ²³ Applying Article 14 to maternity leave would, therefore, result in the violation of Article 7, XXXFootnote ²⁴ of the 1988 Constitution, which prohibits discrimination between men and women.

In this decision, the Supreme Court addressed two issues that contested a liberal view of the judicial branch, a view which is strongly detached from the idea of distributive justice. First, the Court adopted a more complex concept of separation of powers, which is necessary for the application of economic and social rights. It contested (and, by doing this, it intervened in) a distribution of the social security limited resources that discriminated against women. In this vein, the Court balanced issues of distributive justice and recognition. The Court understood the need of contributing to a fair distribution of social security resources in a context where resources are limited. A preliminary decision emphasised, for instance, the concerns of a congressman that ‘amount[s] exceeding the ceiling of 1200 reals [could] not be anymore supported by the Social Security System’.Footnote ²⁵ The ceiling imposed by Article 14 of Amendment 20/1998 was therefore considered constitutional by the Court as a general rule. However, the Court understood that imposing that ceiling to salaries of women during maternity leave would be discriminatory. The latter holding actually leads us to the second issue, regarding indirect discrimination.Footnote ²⁶ The letter of Article 14 of the 20th Amendment is apparently gender neutral. However, forcing employers to bear the payment of the amount exceeding the ceiling in maternity leave cases would cause an increase in gender-based discrimination in the field of employment. The Court implicitly used a concept of indirect discrimination, not yet common in Brazilian courts, to define a social right: the right to integral salaries during maternity leave. It also assessed the potentially discriminating impact of an apparently neutral provision, in order to consider a constitutional amendment partially unconstitutional. Finally, the Court implicitly recognised the connection between rights and social institutions, by intervening in the structuring of the social security system.

The decision was, therefore, positive for the actual recognition of women's rights in Brazil. Nevertheless, it did not benefit women earning less than 1,200 reais a month, that is, most women in Brazil. In 2006, the average monthly salary of White men was 1,164 reais. This salary was 56.3 per cent superior to those of White women, 98.5 per cent superior to those of Black men, and 200 per cent superior to those of Black women (388.18 reals) (Paixão and Games, 2008, p. 961). The average monthly salary of Black women was approximately half of that of White women (Paixão and Games, 2008, p. 961). A strong group identity based on the belief of an abstract woman, who actually reflects the needs of White upper-middle-class women, might lead to in-group oppression, in the sense that the demands of the most vulnerable members of the group are not prioritised by the larger, more mainstream movement.

The second case shows how the lack of recognition of specific group identities and circumstances can have a strong, negative impact on the concept of rights. In the case AI 87831 AgR/SP (1982),Footnote ²⁷ the Brazilian Supreme Court dismissed an antidiscrimination claim brought by a couple on behalf of a domestic employee. The plaintiffs alleged that the rule established by the owners of the building where they lived, prohibiting access of domestic employees to the swimming pool, was discriminatory and violated Article 153, paragraph 1, of the 1967 Constitution. Article 153 established that ‘all persons are equal before the law, without distinction regarding sex, race, work, religion, or political convictions’. The First Chamber of the Supreme Court unanimously decided, in the words of Justice Néri da Silveira, that the provisions established by the building owners were protected by the right to property ‘to the extent allowed by social harmony’.Footnote ²⁸ In a shocking display of self-restraint, the Court also understood that there was no violation of Article 153, and that the Court could not ‘replace the criteria used by the building manager more conveniently to implement the rules established by the building owners’.Footnote ²⁹ In sum, no discrimination was found.

Indeed, on the face of it, the case does not appear to involve either a violation of women's rights or racial discrimination, unless one realises that women, especially Black women, are the great majority of domestic employees in Brazil. The consideration of cases that transcend a non-binary perspective of gender discrimination involves a more complex analysis of reality, one that also encompasses issues of race and class, among others. It also requires the adoption of a more complex perception of identity and an extended conception of women's rights that includes the diverse discrimination issues originated in the realities of diversely situated women.

More specifically, the Court should have considered numbers such as the following in order to assess whether or not there had been discrimination. In 2006, while White men with full-time employment in Brazil occupied mainly positions in the government (45.7%) or as entrepreneurs (23.4%), only 37.6 per cent of Black men were in the government and only 24.7 per cent were entrepreneurs. With regard to women, White women with full-time employment occupied mainly positions in the government (42.9%). Only 12.9 per cent of White women were domestic employees. As for Black women with full-time employment, they were also mainly in the government (29.5%), but at a much lower rate than White women. Another major occupation for Black women was domestic employment (21.8%) (Paixão and Gomes Reference Paixão and Gomes2008, p. 961; Biderman and Araujo, Reference Biderman and Araujo2004, p. 183; Montecinos Reference Montecinos2003, p. 355). One in every five employed Black women was therefore a domestic employee in Brazil. In sum, while analysing a case of discrimination, a court should always identify what is the social position occupied by the discriminated group in comparison to other groups.

Both cases show how rights may be framed by individual circumstances at a specific moment in time, where particular traits of one's identity become relevant for the recognition of equality of respect: one case identifies a specific right not to have a social benefit ceiling in cases of maternity leave. That case favours mainly upper-middle-class (and mostly White) women in Brazil. The other case fails to identify a right to freedom of movement within the work environment. Such a right would benefit mainly domestic workers (mostly poor Black women)Footnote ³⁰ in Brazil. The cases also show how the description of concrete violations might be a way to identify circumstances that are relevant in defining identities as well as a theory of rights that effectively responds to the claims for equality of differently situated women.

IV Women's group identity: individual uniqueness, emotions and a more effective theory of rights

In order to allow space for individual agency in developing one's own identity, but also to have a basis for a more effective theory of rights, group identity should be interpreted as multilayered, temporal, and often concomitant connections that individuals build across common needs, beliefs and ways of life. Individual agency can be recognised in the articulation of ever-changing connections to different groups, such as women, Black women, lesbian women, women with disabilities, young women, indigenous women and rural women, among others. Such connections form a fluid mosaic of group identities that will influence a particular woman at different times of her life. Those short- or long-lasting connections to larger movements and larger causes could allow for structural reform without silencing the demands of more vulnerable subgroups made invisible or deprioritised by a broader group. In addition, the definition of identity based on multilayered and in great part conscious connections to different groups gives one more opportunities for changing power structures as well as one's own identity, that is, it gives one more space to break with different sources of power within each group or subgroup. Such a conception of identity allows one to attend to the different aspects of one's needs. In this sense, Black women can fight racial discrimination at work within the Black movement; they can fight cumulative discrimination of race and gender at work within the Black women's movement (Crenshaw, Reference Crenshaw1989; Carbado and Gulati, Reference Carbado and Gulati2001); and they can fight domestic violence within the broader feminist movement, as long as identity is acknowledged as more complex than the somewhat communitarian and rigid choice for one particular group or category. This flexibility will be the source of more specific and effective rights.

To illustrate the connections between identity, emotions,Footnote ³¹ collective action and rights, two relatively recent Brazilian cases taken to international human rights bodies are analysed here: the case of Maria da Penha (Inter-American Commission)Footnote ³² and the case of Alyne da Silva Pimentel (Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women, CEDAW).Footnote ³³ In these two cases individual stories are told to humanise and clarify the seriousness of rights violations. In both cases, not only numbers and facts are brought to light, but also particular stories that can generate at the same time empathy and a more acute sense of individual uniqueness (Collins, Reference Collins1989, p. 766). The focus on empathy, the inclusion of emotion in the assessment of reality, and the recognition of individual uniqueness is central in the stories about rights violations told by human rights movements. Such a focus aims at creating empathy about individual experiences unknown to the elite and the public at large. It highlights the emotional consequences of rights violations in the lives of victims and relatives, and it stresses the extent to which individuals are irreplaceable: something that can be better perceived in individual stories than in pure numbers of reported systematic rights violations. Such practice implicitly reflects a complex concept of identity that can lead to a more effective theory of rights, including women's rights.

The case of Maria da Penha, taken to the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights, illustrates the connection between an individual narrative and structural change (in terms of rights protection) in the context of domestic violence and impunity in Brazil. According to a report produced by the Movimento Popular da Mulher – MPM and the Coletivo de Mulheres Negras – Nzinga, in partnership with the emergency rooms of the Municipal Hospital Odilon Behrens and John XXIII hospital, in Minas Gerais (Brazil), ‘one in five days of women's absence from work is due to violence suffered by women in their homes; every five years a woman loses one year of healthy life if she is victim of domestic violence; rape and domestic violence are significant causes of disability and death among women of reproductive age’ (Jornal da Rede Saúde, 1999). Research conducted by the Perseu Abramo Foundation in October 2001 revealed that a Brazilian woman is beaten every fifteen seconds (Folha de São Paulo, 1998). According to a research by Human Rights Watch (Criminal Injustice and Violence against Women in Brazil), for every 100 women killed, seventy are killed in their homes.Footnote ³⁴ Also, the Movimento Nacional de Direitos Humanos (Primavera já Partiu)Footnote ³⁵ concluded in 1998 that 66.3 per cent of those accused of homicides against women in Brazil were their partners. In Brazil, impunity often accompanies violence against women (Jornal da Rede Saúde, 1999). It is estimated that, in 1990, none of the 2,000 cases of aggression against women registered by the police in the state of Rio de Janeiro ended with the punishment of the accused. In the state of Maranhão, 4,000 cases of domestic violence against women were reported in 1990, but only two resulted in the punishment of the attackers (Human Rights Watch, 2000).

The case of Maria da Penha is illustrative of this pattern of violations.Footnote ³⁶ It is also illustrative of how an individual story can lead to institutional reform. Maria da Penha Maia Fernandes, a 38-year-old White woman, was the victim of attempted murder for the second time. The perpetrator of the crime that left Maria da Penha paraplegic was not a stranger, but her husband, and the physical and psychological scars of the violence were aggravated by impunity. In the nineteen years since the initiation of criminal proceedings in 1984, there was never a final decision by the Brazilian courts. Maria da Penha's case was brought to the Inter-American Commission of Human Rights in August 1998. In 2001 the Commission made recommendations to the Brazilian government not simply to respect Maria da Penha's right to justice, but to ensure Maria da Penha's specific rights to complete criminal procedures, to the investigation of procedural deficiencies regarding the delay in providing justice, to training for state officials, and to more police departments specialised in investigating crimes against women.Footnote ³⁷ The Commission's recommendations provided the women's movement with the necessary momentum to pressure the Brazilian Congress to adopt a federal law against domestic violence: the Maria da Penha Law (Law 11340/06). They also led to the criminal conviction of Maria da Penha's former husband for his murderous assault on his wife. The case of Maria da Penha is illustrative, therefore, of how the connection between an individual narrative and a broader movement can lead to structural change in terms of rights protection.

The second case to be analysed, that of Alyne Pimentel, further reflects that connection between individual uniqueness, emotions and specific rights, that is, rights to specific institutional reforms. Alyne Pimentel, a Black Brazilian woman with a low income, had a dream of seeing the world and helping her five-year-old daughter to get a college degree. In 2003, at twenty-eight years old, Alyne became pregnant with her second child. When she was almost seven months pregnant, she was taken by her mother, a domestic employee, to a health centre, with severe nausea. After a couple visits to the doctor and suffering from strong pain, Alyne had an ultrasound, which identified that her baby was dead. A birth was induced. Alyne had a haemorrhage, but no hospital linked to the Brazilian Unified Health System (SUS) had a place for her. Two days after finally being admitted to a hospital, Alyne passed away (Brum and Segatto, Reference Brum and Segatto2008).

Because Alyne was a poor, Black woman, she was in a group with a disproportionately higher risk of maternal mortality. In the state of Rio de Janeiro between 2000 and 2003, non-White women comprised 60 per cent of the women who died while giving birth, even though non-White women were only 50 per cent of the Brazilian population (Pauline and Costa, Reference Pauline and Costa2009, p. 799). In the state of Mato Grosso, between 2000 and 2006, a study revealed that maternal mortality was 5.13 times higher among Black women than among White women (Teixeira, Pereira, Barbosa and Vianna, Reference Teixeira, Pereira, Barbosa and Vianna2012, p. 27).

Alyne Pimentel was not only a number, however. Her unique story and dreams, the way she was loved by her daughter and mother showed more than numbers how irreplaceable she was and how blind was the health system that let her die a preventable death. Also, her story could create empathy even among the elite, among those not familiar with her specific circumstance and needs.Footnote ³⁸ Moreover, it could also give voice to the needs of the most vulnerable individuals within a group: Black poor women. And it could also open space for a collective impact: the recognition of more effective and specific rights connected to institutional reforms.

In other words, a conception of identity that recognises the relevance of individual narratives goes against the liberalist, socially detached, isolated, abstract conception of self and, therefore, against a theory of general rights. It insists on the fact that the right to health, for instance, can only be effective to all, that is, can only be universal, if one adopts different contents for different circumstances according to needs: the right of a wealthy, White, Western European man to health will be in this sense different from the right to health of a poor, Black, pregnant Brazilian woman. While the former might relate only to a negative obligation of the state not to bar the individual from getting to the best hospital in town, the latter right will have to include specific institutions that will guarantee access to quality health services. In addition, this concept of identity goes against the liberal separation of reason and emotion; and it understands that emotions are at the core of human experiences: how one interacts with another, how one develops relationships with one's family, one's community, one's friends and one's causes. By creating empathy and awareness, the story of this unique loss shows better than numbers the urgency of recognising and guaranteeing specific rights that can save the lives of poor Black women in Brazil: not a general right to health but a specific right to affordable and timely access to adequate emergency obstetric care, a specific right to private health facilities that comply with international legal standards, and a specific right to health service providers that are aware of the fact that Black women are at higher risk of hypertension while giving birth, among others.Footnote ³⁹

If rights are not to be perceived only as formal, general statements for persons with (artificially) abstract identities, rights will necessarily have complex and specific contents that will respond to specific violations faced by differently situated persons.