Handbook of Children’s Rights

While the notion of young people as individuals worthy or capable of having rights is of relatively
recent origin, over the past several decades there has been a substantial increase in both social
and political commitment to children’s rights as well as a tendency to grant young people some
of the rights that were typically accorded only to adults. In addition, there has been a noticeable
shift in orientation from a focus on children’s protection and provision to an emphasis on
children’s participation and self-determination.
With contributions from a wide range of international scholars, the Handbook of Children’s
Rights brings together research, theory, and practice from diverse perspectives on children’s rights.
This volume constitutes a comprehensive treatment of critical perspectives concerning children’s
rights in their various forms. Its contributions address some of the major scholarly tensions and
policy debates comprising the current discourse on children’s rights, including the best interests
of the child, evolving capacities of the child, states’ rights versus children’s rights, rights of children
versus parental or family rights, children as citizens, children’s rights versus children’s responsi-
bilities, and balancing protection and participation. In addition to its multidisciplinary focus,
the handbook includes perspectives from social science domains in which children’s rights
scholarship has evolved largely independently due to distinct and seemingly competing
assumptions and disciplinary approaches (e.g., childhood studies, developmental psychology,
sociology of childhood, anthropology, and political science). The handbook also brings together
diverse methodological approaches to the study of children’s rights, including both quantitative
and qualitative perspectives, and policy analysis.
This comprehensive, cosmopolitan, and timely volume serves as an important reference for
both scholarly and policy-driven interest in the voices and perspectives of children and youth.

Martin D. Ruck is Professor of Psychology and Urban Education at the Graduate Center of
the City University of New York.

Michele Peterson-Badali is Professor of Psychology in the Department of Applied Psychology

and Human Development at the University of Toronto’s Ontario Institute for Studies in
Education (OISE).

Michael Freeman is Professor Emeritus at the University College London Faculty of Laws
and Honorary Research Professor at the Liverpool Law School of the University of Liverpool.
 Handbook of
Children’s Rights
Global and Multidisciplinary
Perspectives

Edited by
Martin D. Ruck, Michele Peterson-Badali,
and Michael Freeman
First published 2017
by Routledge
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Names: Ruck, Martin D., 1959– editor. | Peterson-Badali, Michele, editor.
Title: Handbook of children's rights : global and multidisciplinary perspectives /
edited by Martin D. Ruck and Michele Peterson-Badali.
Description: New York, NY : Routledge, 2017. | Includes bibliographical
references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016030867| ISBN 9781848724785 (hbk : alk. paper) |
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Subjects: LCSH: Children's rights. | Child welfare—International cooperation.
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 Contents

About the Editors ix

Contributors x
Preface by Martin D. Ruck, Michele Peterson-Badali, and
Michael Freeman xiii

PART I
Historical and Contemporary Perspectives on Children’s
Rights and the CRC 1

1 History of Children’s Rights 3

Peter N. Stearns

2 Children’s Rights and Women’s Rights: Interrelated and

Interdependent 21
Jonathan Todres

3 Children’s Rights: A Framework to Eliminate Social Exclusion?

Critical Discussions and Tensions 36
Didier Reynaert and Rudi Roose

4 Fixed Concepts but Changing Conceptions: Understanding the

Relationship Between Children and Parents under the CRC 53
John Tobin

5 Children’s Rights and Well-Being 68

Asher Ben-Arieh and Noam Tarshish

6 The Convention on the Rights of the Child after Twenty-five

Years: Challenges of Content and Implementation 80
Ursula Kilkelly

v
Contents

PART II
Social Science and Theoretical Perspectives on
Children’s Rights 95

7 Anthropological Perspectives on Children’s Rights 97

Heather Montgomery

8 Sociological Approaches to Children’s Rights 114

Virginia Morrow and Kirrily Pells

9 The Psychology of Children’s Rights 132

Charles C. Helwig and Elliot Turiel

10 Philosophical Perspectives on Children’s Rights 149

Rosalind Ekman Ladd

11 Realising Children’s Economic and Social Rights: Towards

Rights-Based Global Action Strategies 163
Michael Nyongesa Wabwile

12 The Evolving Capacities of the Child: Neurodevelopment

and Children’s Rights 184
Daniel P. Keating

PART III
Children’s Rights in Legal, Educational, Health Care
and Other Settings 201

13 Health and Children’s Rights 203

Priscilla Alderson

14 The Right to Be Who You Are: Competing Tensions among

Protection, Survival, and Participation Related to Youth Sexuality
and Gender 221
Stacey S. Horn, Christina Peter, and Stephen T. Russell

15 Progress toward Worldwide Recognition of the Child’s Human

Right to Dignity, Physical Integrity and Protection from Harm 239
Bernadette J. Saunders

16 The Continuing Abuse and Neglect of Children 258

Neerosh Mudaly and Chris Goddard

vi
 Contents

17 What Stands in the Way of Children’s Exercise of their Criminal

Procedural Rights in the United States? Our Evolving and
Incomplete Interdisciplinary Understanding 278
Emily Buss

18 Implementing Children’s Education Rights in Schools 296

Katherine Covell, R. Brian Howe, and Anne McGillivray

19 Children’s Right to Play: From the Margins to the Middle 312

Stuart Lester

20 Children with Psychiatric Disabilities: Bioethical and

Genomic Dilemmas 328
Maya Sabatello

PART IV
Global Perspectives on Children’s Rights 347

21 Children and Adolescents in Street Settings: Rights and Realities 349

Marcela Raffaelli and Sílvia H. Koller

22 Children’s Education Rights: Global Perspectives 364

Laura Lundy, Karen Orr, and Harry Shier

23 Governance and Children’s Rights in Africa and Latin America:

National and Transnational Constraints 381
Richard Maclure

24 Independent Children’s Rights Institutions 398

Linda C. Reif

25 Children’s Rights and Digital Technologies: Introduction to the Discourse

and Some Meta-observations 417
Urs Gasser and Sandra Cortesi

26 Working Children as Subjects of Rights: Explaining Children’s Right

to Work 437
Manfred Liebel, Philip Meade, and Iven Saadi

27 Protection from Sexual Exploitation in the Convention on the Rights

of the Child 454
Elizabeth M. Saewyc

vii
Contents

28 Child Soldiers: The Challenges and Opportunities in Addressing the

Rights of Children Affected by War 465
Myriam Denov and Andie Buccitelli

PART V
Children’s Rights in Action 479

29 Children’s Right to Write: Young People’s Participation as Producers

of Children’s Literature 481
Rachel Conrad

30 Children’s Free Association and the Collective Exercise of Their Rights 498
Bijan Kimiagar and Roger Hart

31 Child Participation in Local Governance 515

Meda Couzens

32 Children’s Rights to Child-Friendly Cities 533

Louise Chawla and Willem van Vliet—

33 Visual Methods in Participatory Rights-Based Research with Children

and Young People in Indonesia and Vanuatu 550
Harriot Beazley

34 Child Rights and Practitioner Wrongs: Lessons from Interagency Research

in Sierra Leone and Kenya 579
Michael Wessells and Kathleen Kostelny

35 Children’s Voices about Children’s Rights: Thoughts from Developmental

Psychology 597
Martin D. Ruck, Michele Peterson-Badali, Isabelle M. Elisha, and
Harriet R. Tenenbaum

Index 611

viii
 About the Editors

Martin D. Ruck is Professor of Psychology and Urban Education at the Graduate Center of
the City University of New York. His research examines the overall process of cognitive
socialization—at the intersection of race, ethnicity, and class—in terms of children’s and
adolescents’ thinking about human rights, equity, and social justice. Much of his research has
addressed how children and adolescents view their protection and participation rights across
various settings. His work has appeared in journals such as Applied Developmental Science, Child
Development, Group Processes and Intergroup Relations, International Journal of Children’s Rights, Journal
of Adolescence, Journal of Applied Social Psychology, Journal of Early Adolescence, Journal of Educational
Psychology, Journal of Research on Adolescence, Journal of Social Issues, and Journal of Youth and
Adolescence. He is currently a member of the editorial boards for Human Development and the
Journal of Social Issues and is an Associate Editor for Developmental Psychology. He is co-editor
with Stacey S. Horn and Lynn S. Liben of the 2-volume set Equity and Justice in Development
Science published in Advances in Child Development and Behavior (2016).
Michele Peterson-Badali is Professor of Psychology in the Department of Applied Psychology
and Human Development at the University of Toronto’s Ontario Institute for Studies in
Education (OISE). Over the past 25 years, her research has focused on children’s and
adolescents’ knowledge, reasoning, perceptions, and experiences of the youth justice system,
their understanding of rights, and their evolving legal capacities. She has published widely in
journals such as Developmental Psychology, Journal of Research on Adolescence, Psychology, Public
Policy, and Law, Law and Human Behavior, Criminal Justice and Behavior, and Youth Justice. A
guiding principle of her research program has been to provide an evidence basis for Canadian
youth justice policy and practice that reflects the voices of young people in the systems that
impact their lives. She is actively engaged in bringing her findings into Canadian public policy
and practice, providing research and consultation for federal and provincial youth justice
ministries as well as training for judges, lawyers, probation officers, and service providers.
Michael Freeman is Professor Emeritus at University College London Faculty of Laws and
Honorary Research Professor at the Liverpool Law School of the University of Liverpool. He
is the Founding Editor of the International Journal of Children’s Rights and author of The Right
and Wrongs of Children (1983), The Moral Status of Children: Essays on the Rights of the Child
(1997), and A Magna Carta for Children? (2016). He has also written many books and articles
on domestic violence, family law, child law, the legal system, police powers, law and order,
and the jury. He has also co-edited over a dozen Current Legal Issues volumes, including Law
and Neuroscience, Law and Childhood Studies, and Law and Global Health. He is a Fellow of the
British Academy.

ix
 Contributors

Priscilla Alderson, University College London, UK

Harriot Beazley, University of the Sunshine Coast, Australia

Asher Ben-Arieh, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Israel

Andie Buccitelli, McGill University, Canada

Emily Buss, University of Chicago, USA

Louise Chawla, University of Colorado, USA

Rachel Conrad, Hampshire College, USA

Sandra Cortesi, Harvard University, USA

Meda Couzens, University of KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa

Katherine Covell, Cape Breton University, Canada

Myriam Denov, McGill University, Canada

Isabelle M. Elisha, The Graduate Center, City University of New York, USA

Michael Freeman, University College London, UK

Urs Gasser, Harvard University, USA

Chris Goddard, University of Hertfordshire, UK and University of South Australia

Roger Hart, The Graduate Center, City University of New York, USA

Charles C. Helwig, University of Toronto, Canada

Stacey S. Horn, University of Illinois at Chicago, USA

x
 Contributors

R. Brian Howe, Cape Breton University, Canada

Daniel P. Keating, University of Michigan, USA

Ursula Kilkelly, University College Cork, Ireland

Bijan Kimiagar, The Graduate Center, City University of New York, USA

Sílvia H. Koller, Universidade Federal do Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil

Kathleen Kostelny, Columbia Group for Children in Adversity, USA

Rosalind Ekman Ladd, Wheaton College and Brown University, USA

Stuart Lester, University of Gloucestershire, UK

Manfred Liebel, Freie Universität Berlin and International Academy Berlin, Germany

Laura Lundy, Queen’s University, Northern Ireland

Richard Maclure, University of Ottawa, Canada

Anne McGillivray, University of Manitoba, Canada

Philip Meade, Freie Universität Berlin and International Academy Berlin, Germany

Heather Montgomery, Open University, UK

Virginia Morrow, University of Oxford, UK

Neerosh Mudaly, Australian Childhood Foundation, Australia

Karen Orr, Queen’s University, Northern Ireland

Kirrily Pells, University of Oxford, UK

Christina Peter, Los Angeles Valley College, USA

Michele Peterson-Badali, University of Toronto, Canada

Marcela Raffaelli, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, USA

Linda C. Reif, University of Alberta, Canada

Didier Reynaert, University College Ghent, Belgium

Rudi Roose, Ghent University, Belgium

xi
Contributors

Martin D. Ruck, The Graduate Center, City University of New York, USA

Stephen T. Russell, University of Texas at Austin, USA

Iven Saadi, Freie Universität Berlin and International Academy Berlin, Germany

Maya Sabatello, Columbia University, USA

Elizabeth M. Saewyc, University of British Columbia, Canada

Bernadette J. Saunders, Monash University, Australia

Harry Shier, Queen’s University, Northern Ireland

Peter N. Stearns, George Mason University, USA

Noam Tarshish, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Israel

Harriet R. Tenenbaum, University of Surrey, UK

John Tobin, Melbourne University, Australia

Jonathan Todres, Georgia State University, USA

Elliot Turiel, University of California-Berkeley, USA

Willem van Vliet—, University of Colorado, USA

Michael Nyongesa Wabwile, Egerton University, Kenya

Michael Wessells, Columbia University, USA

xii
 Preface
Martin D. Ruck, Michele Peterson-Badali, and Michael Freeman

As economist and Nobel Prize winner Amartya Sen (2009) noted, “there is something very
appealing about the idea that every person anywhere in the world, irrespective of citizenship,
residence, race, class, caste or community, has some basic rights which others should respect”
(p. 355). To this we would also add “irrespective of age,” as rights are no less important for
children and adolescents than they are for adults. While the notion of young people as individuals
worthy (or capable) of rights is of relatively recent origin, over the past several decades there
has been a substantial increase in both social and political commitment to children’s rights as
well as a tendency to grant young people some of the rights that in the past were typically
accorded only to adults. In addition, there has been a noticeable shift in orientation from a
focus on children’s rights to protection and provision to an emphasis on children’s participation
and self-determination (Peterson-Badali & Ruck, 2008).
Concern for children’s rights is reflected in the United Nations Convention on the Rights
of the Child (CRC; United Nations. General Assembly, 1989), which addresses the rights of
children and adolescents under 18 years of age. The CRC outlines young people’s political,
civil, social, and economic rights and brings global attention to the issue of children’s rights.
As the most universally endorsed human rights treaty in history, it has been ratified by all the
member countries of the United Nations with the exception of the United States. The CRC
reflects fundamental assumptions and values about children’s protection and participation in
society (Diers, 2013; Petren & Hines, 2000; Ruck & Horn, 2008) and attempts to strike a
balance between the two, which is reflected in the overarching themes of the Convention,
“the best interests of the child” and the “evolving capacities of the child.” The CRC recognizes
all children as individuals worthy of rights and strives to increase the commitment of all nations
to children’s rights and well-being. Hence children’s rights is clearly a topic worthy of study.
In the nearly three decades since the CRC was entered into force there has been tremendous
progress made in the lives of millions of children around the world. Significant improvements
have been made in children’s lives with regard to child mortality, HIV/AIDS, sanitation,
nutrition, clean water, child labor, education, and many other important areas (Diers, 2013;
UNICEF, 2014). Despite the substantial progress made, for many children, rights to both
protection and participation continue to be unrealized and children remain marginalized and
excluded from services and opportunities (Ruck, Keating, Saewyc, Earls & Ben-Arieh, 2016;
UNICEF, 2014). Lack of meaningful opportunities to exercise their rights and freedoms severely
limits children’s potential in childhood but also beyond, and this is especially the case for those

xiii
Martin D. Ruck, Michele Peterson-Badali, and Michael Freeman

children growing up in the majority world (Save the Children, 2014; UNICEF, 2014). However,
as the chapters in this volume clearly illustrate, despite the various obstacles that remain in
advancing all children’s entitlements and freedoms, Children’s Rights offers the promise of a
world where “all children survive and develop, and are protected, respected and encouraged
to participate in the decisions that affect them” (UNICEF, 2009).
With contributions from a wide range of international scholars, the Handbook of Children’s
Rights: Global and Multidisciplinary Perspectives brings together research, theorizing and practice
from diverse perspectives on children’s rights. The volume constitutes a comprehensive
treatment of critical perspectives concerning children’s rights in their various forms. Its
contributions address some of the major scholarly tensions and policy debates comprising the
current discourse on children’s rights, including the best interests of the child, evolving
capacities of the child, states’ rights versus children’s rights, rights of children versus parental or
family rights, children as citizens, children’s rights vs. children’s responsibilities, and balancing
protection and participation. In addition to its multidisciplinary focus, the Handbook includes
perspectives from social science domains in which children’s rights scholarship has evolved largely
independently due to distinct—and seemingly competing—assumptions and disciplinary
approaches (e.g., childhood studies, developmental psychology, sociology of childhood,
anthropology, political science, etc.). The Handbook also brings together diverse methodological
approaches to the study of children’s rights—including both quantitative and qualitative
perspectives, and policy analysis—that directly reflect the voices and perspectives of children
and youth.

Organization of the Handbook

The Handbook is organized into four sections representing cross-cutting themes. Part I,
Historical and Contemporary Perspectives on Children’s Rights and the CRC, provides a
foundational context for considering current children’s rights scholarship, policy, and practice.
In the opening chapter of this section, Peter N. Stearns provides a detailed account of the
complex history of children’s rights. The chapter begins with a consideration of early laws,
codes, and religious writings, followed by a consideration of the idea of human rights and
societal development during the nineteenth century that had direct implications for the
treatment of children. He also considers the role played by imperialism, including its impact
on the treatment of children and conceptions of childhood. Stearns discusses the emergence
of children’s rights in the twentieth century, the CRC, and the various regional issues and
tensions that have arisen in the efforts to ensure children’s rights.
In the next chapter, Jonathan Todres examines the relationships between children’s rights
and women’s rights. He reviews the foundational treaties for women’s rights and children’s
rights respectively, and identifies the relevance of each treaty to the other population. Todres
provides useful examples of how attending to the interrelationship between the rights of women
and children can serve to promote laws, policies, and practices designed to secure the rights
of both parties. The chapter also considers the various challenges associated with combining
advocacy for women’s and children’s rights and concludes with a discussion of a holistic approach
to human rights.
Didier Reynaert and Rudi Roose examine the contemporary issue of children’s rights
and social exclusion. They explore the question of whether children’s rights can actually result
in the social exclusion of children and consider the risks that accompany various constructions
of children’s rights in both policy and practice that could lead to social exclusion. The authors

xiv
 Preface

use the issue of child poverty as an illustration of the relation between children’s rights,
participation, and social exclusion. Finally, Reynaert and Roose consider the limited theoretical
foundations for critical scrutiny in the field of children’s rights.
The contribution by John Tobin considers the relationship between children and parents
under the CRC. Tobin begins by disrupting the assumption that children’s rights threaten
parental authority and legitimize state intervention within the family, noting that such critiques
of children’s rights are based on a view of rights from “will” or “choice” theory perspectives
that emphasize individualism. In contrast, Tobin argues that the CRC adopts an interest theory
of rights that recognizes the importance of parents and the family. He concludes by suggesting
that the CRC promotes a relational as opposed to individual conception of rights and presents
a conception of rights based on trust, mutual respect, dialogue, and community support.
Asher Ben-Arieh and Noam Tarshish explore the historical shifts in the definition and
implementation of children’s rights and children’s well-being. The authors discuss the
participation of children in decision making as the common ground between two concepts.
They conclude that the active participation of children will lead to better life conditions, which
will be evident in both their rights and their well-being.
In the final chapter in this section, Ursula Kilkelly considers the question of whether, 25
years after the CRC came into force, it has lived up to its promise. The author questions the
relevance of the CRC to challenging issues such as children’s rights in the digital age, assisted
human reproduction, and climate change. Kilkelly suggests that the key challenge lies in the
CRC’s implementation rather than its content, noting that states have given effect to the CRC
through the adoption of both legal and non-legal measures. She discusses the concern that in
many states legal incorporation of the CRC has been limited to the general principles of Article
3 (best interests of the child) and Article 12 (right to a say in all matters affecting the child).
Kilkelly ends by arguing that the full potential of the CRC will only be achieved by engagement
with the entire range and depth of the Convention.
In Part II, Social Science and Theoretical Perspectives on Children’s Rights, chapters provide
an overview of children’s rights from the standpoint of various disciplinary perspectives, including
philosophical, economic, anthropological, sociological, psychological, literary, and develop-
mental neuroscience. The first chapter, by Heather Montgomery, considers the role that
anthropology has played in our understanding of children’s rights. Beginning with a consideration
of the role that cultural relativism has played in anthropology, she examines how the discipline
has conceptualized children’s rights and the impact of this on anthropological research. The
chapter also takes a critical look at the impact of the CRC on anthropological research and
the various tensions that continue to accompany current anthropological studies of childhood
and children’s rights.
In their chapter, Virginia Morrow and Kirriley Pells discuss children’s rights through a
sociological lens. The chapter begins with a consideration of the definition of sociology and
describes how the sociology of childhood addresses both childhood and children’s rights. The
authors present their own work on poverty and children’s labor in India to illustrate the
intersection of these two areas and how sociological approaches can be effective in bringing
the issue of children’s rights into discussions of child labor.
Charles C. Helwig and Elliot Turiel address the issue that in traditional and contemporary
psychological theories, equity and justice are viewed as culturally determined. They argue for
a perspective in which issues of equity and justice are based on universal processes and that
children across a variety of cultures construct notions of their own and others’ rights based on

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Martin D. Ruck, Michele Peterson-Badali, and Michael Freeman

social interactions in daily life. The authors present evidence supporting this perspective and
suggest that such a perspective is consistent with the assumptions and principles endorsed in
the CRC.
In her chapter, Rosalind Ekman Ladd explores a number of fundamental questions and
related controversies about children’s rights that have engaged philosophers in recent years.
Questions include what is the nature of rights and what rights do children have? When are
children mature enough to exercise rights? Who should decide for children when they are not
capable of deciding for themselves? What standards should be used in deciding? What are the
challenges and limitations of using the language of rights? The chapter concludes with a
consideration of intergenerational justice and engaging children in philosophic thinking.
Michael Nyongesa Wabwile considers the realization of children’s economic and social
rights. The chapter considers how treaty-based communications procedures and periodic
reporting mechanisms can be applied to inappropriate policies in target States. Wabwile
considers how states’ international obligations and responsibilities of the global sector can be
used to establish transnational resource mobilization systems that have the capacity to bring a
pool of new funds to be used to establish children’s rights programs. The chapter concludes
with a discussion of how, by deploying various strategies, the children’s rights advocacy move-
ment can overcome obstacles to the universal realization of children’s economic and social
rights.
In the final chapter in this section, Daniel P. Keating applies the lens of developmental
neuroscience to examine the CRC’s concept of the evolving capacities of the child that attempts
to achieve a workable balance between children’s protection and participation rights. He suggests
that assigning protection or nurturance rights to younger children, and participation or self-
determination rights to older children, fails to take into consideration the fact that both sets
of rights apply throughout the course of development. In addition, Keating reviews the available
evidence from developmental neuroscience that can serve to better inform our understanding
of the nature of children’s evolving capacities.
The chapters in Part III, Children’s Rights in Legal, Educational, Health Care and Other
Settings, address children’s rights in critical contexts and settings that impact children’s lives,
including family, play, health, education, and child welfare. In the first chapter in this section,
Priscilla Alderson discusses research on health and children’s rights. She examines how
international standards of child health and health care are impacted by factors such as family
income, states’ budgets, and decisions to fund services for children, as well as the impact of
problems of violence. Consent to medical treatment and research are also considered. The
chapter concludes by considering ways to promote children’s health-related rights.
In their chapter, Stacey S. Horn, Christina Peter, and Stephen T. Russell make the
case that around the world young people’s rights with respect to sexuality and gender identity
are being violated. The authors focus on the experiences of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender,
queer questioning or gender non-conforming (LGBTQ-GNC) young people. They examine
how normative assumptions and beliefs about sexuality and gender identity may lead to
conditions that limit young people’s rights as outlined in the CRC, including the right to
freedom from discrimination, the right to development and survival, and the right to participate
fully in civic life.
Through an examination of quantitative and qualitative research, as well as children’s own
perspectives and voices, Bernadette J. Saunders considers whether progress is being made
toward worldwide elimination of corporal punishment of children. She proposes a number of

xvi
 Preface

pathways to progressive change, including legislative reform, changing the language used with
respect to children and corporal punishment, promoting positive parenting education, and
providing professional support and services.
Neerosh Mudaly and Chris Goddard address the continuing abuse and neglect of children,
beginning with an examination of the current state of child abuse and neglect, and the factors
contributing to this global issue. The authors draw from their own qualitative research
examining the experiences of abused children. Mudaly and Goddard conclude that protecting
children from abuse and neglect will only be possible when the forces that prevent children’s
voices from being heard and taken seriously are addressed.
In her chapter, Emily Buss considers the interplay between law and developmental science
that has shaped both disciplines’ approach to juvenile justice in the United States, giving special
attention to juveniles’ procedural rights. Buss makes the case that recent legal reforms in the
U.S. have focused on issues of culpability and sentencing but notes that developmental
considerations are also driving reforms aimed at ensuring that minors receive their constitu-
tionally required procedural protections with respect to legal contexts such as interrogation
and trial. She identifies areas where developmental research is required in order to drive further
procedural reform. Buss concludes by suggesting that shifting from a focus on cognitive
development to psychosocial development, which played a central role in the U.S. Supreme
Court’s consideration of juveniles’ culpability, must occur in procedural contexts as well.
In the next chapter in this section, Katherine Covell, R. Brian Howe and Anne
McGillivray examine the gap between the principle and practice of children’s education rights
as outlined in the CRC. The authors begin by taking a close look at the meaning of children’s
rights, including the right to education on the basis of equal opportunity, rights in education,
and rights through education. Covell and Howe review initiatives in children’s education rights,
focusing in depth on the Rights, Respect, and Responsibility program in Hampshire, England.
The chapter closes with a discussion of the obstacles to implementing children’s education rights.
The chapter by Stuart Lester focuses on children’s right to play. Lester argues for the
importance of making play more central in discussions of children’s rights. The chapter takes
a post-humanist perspective, suggesting that the right to play relies on an enlarged sense of
interconnectedness between self and others. The chapter also considers the importance of key
principles outlined in the United Nations Committee on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC)
General Comment 17 for how we think about play, childhood, adulthood, and space. Lester
also discusses the concept of “play sufficiency” and presents research findings from Wales, the
first country in the world to legislate children’s right to play.
In the final chapter of this section, Maya Sabatello addresses the bioethics and genomic
dilemmas that arise for children with psychiatric disorders. She begins with a history of the
abuses of children deemed unfit under the Nazi regime. The chapter then draws on past and
contemporary lessons to inform emerging debates concerning the geneticization of psychiatric
disorders in children with respect to reproduction and precision medicine. The chapter
concludes by highlighting the potential benefits of a rights-based approach to better advance
informed genomic-based decisions.
Part IV, Global Perspectives on Children’s Rights, considers various aspects of children’s
rights in particular global (geographical and socio-cultural) contexts, many of which focus on
children in the majority world. In the opening chapter to this section, Marcela Raffaelli and
Sílvia H. Koller examine the global situation of street-involved youth. Although under
international and national treaties and policies these youth are entitled to the same rights

xvii
Martin D. Ruck, Michele Peterson-Badali, and Michael Freeman

guaranteed to all children and youth, in practice this is not the case. The authors provide a
compelling case study of Brazil to illustrate the unique needs and challenges faced by street-
involved youth that block full implementation of laws designed to protect their rights. The
authors assert that around the world fundamental changes will be required if we hope to protect
and promote the rights of street-involved youth.
In the next chapter, Laura Lundy, Karen Orr, and Harry Shier examine the relationship
between education and children’s rights from a global perspective. The chapter first explores
children’s education rights as outlined in the CRC and the wider international human rights
framework. The chapter also examines global progress in implementation of the CRC by
drawing on international data and concluding observations of the United Nations Committee
on the Rights of the Child. In addition, the authors present findings from their own research
examining the perspectives of children from 71 countries on the realization of their rights.
The chapter concludes with a consideration of approaches that have been adopted in order to
realize children’s education rights around the world.
The chapter by Richard Maclure examines four constraints that have limited the efficacy
of systems of governance in relation to children’s rights in Africa and Latin America: the
concentrated power and hegemony of governing elites, the intransigence of cultural and class-
based divisions, the proliferation and classification of human rights, and the effects of organized
crime and violence. Maclure outlines how civil society organizations can play an important
role in supporting the rights and welfare of children and hence compensate for the weaknesses
of governance. The chapter concludes with the presentation of two strategies for enhancing
the relationship between governance and children’s rights.
Linda C. Reif examines the independent children’s rights institutions that exist worldwide.
These include thematic institutions (e.g., children’s ombudsperson) as well as national and
subnational human rights institutions with a children’s rights focus. The chapter examines the
various economic, political, functional, and normative pressures on states that contribute
to the use of a thematic children’s rights institution or an institution with jurisdiction over all
human rights, including children’s rights. Reif concludes by presenting case studies of four
independent children’s rights institutions in Norway, Ireland, Australia, and Catalonia.
Around the world digital technology plays an increasingly important role in the lives of a
growing number of children and youth. The chapter by Urs Gasser and Sandra Cortesi
discusses how increased access to and use of digital technology is associated with a unique set
of risks and challenges. The chapter begins with an overview of children’s engagement with
digital technology, then discusses key perspectives, issues, arenas, and relevant actors. The authors
conclude with a series of meta-observations for further exploration and discussion.
Manfred Liebel, Philip Meade, and Iven Saadi address the controversial topic of children’s
right to work. The chapter opens with a consideration of the various international prohibitions
against child labor, followed by a discussion of how children understand the right to work.
The authors consider why general legal prohibitions against child labor fail to protect children
from economic exploitation. They discuss the ‘working children’s movement’ which is both
an acting and learning environment where children make decisions and have the final say. The
authors present Bolivia as an example of a country in which children’s right to work has been
codified in law.
Sexual exploitation and abuse are global challenges to the fundamental rights to protection
contained in the CRC. In her chapter, Elizabeth M. Saewyc summarizes the relevant elements
of the CRC and the accompanying Optional Protocol on the Sale of Children, Child
Prostitution, and Child Pornography. She addresses the challenges in dealing with the sexual

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 Preface

exploitation of children, including determining the numbers of exploited children and youth
around the world. The chapter also considers the available research on who these children are,
the limited research on traffickers and purchasers who exploit children and youth, and the
health and psychosocial consequences of sexual exploitation among children and youth.
Evidence-informed interventions designed to address the health issues of sexually exploited
children and youth are also addressed.
In the final chapter of this section, Myriam Denov and Andie Buccitelli examine the
rights of children and youth in war and post-war settings, focusing on CRC Articles 38 and
39. The authors discuss the contemporary realities of children’s involvement in armed conflict
and address the rights violations experienced by children in war and post-war settings. Denov
and Buccitelli also consider how socio-political, cultural, and structural forces contribute to
the systemic violence and injustice that impacts children’s well-being and rights. Finally, the
chapter addresses the role of children’s participation in war and post-war decision making and
how such decision making may serve to prevent children’s rights violations, youth marginality,
disenfranchisement, and the re-emergence of armed conflict.
In Part V, Children’s Rights ‘In Action’, contributions describe and analyze children’s
participation and rights in the context of initiatives and projects aimed at supporting and
enhancing children’s agency, considering challenges as well as opportunities associated with
implementation of children’s rights in real-world contexts and settings. This section also considers
the perspectives of children themselves, including how children understand and think about
their rights as well as children as collaborators in participatory action research.
In the first chapter in this section, Rachel Conrad urges the reader to think seriously about
children’s right to participate as producers and knowledge creators of children’s literature. Conrad
takes a case study approach by focusing on two books co-written by Toni Morrison and her
son Slade Morrison that deal with the issues of rights, freedom, and power. The author contends
that providing children with the right to produce creative work, or the “right to write,”
contributes to a better understanding of children’s agency, their social position, and rights.
Bijan Kimiagar and Roger Hart review the historical background and conceptual issues
associated with Article 15 of the CRC, children’s right to freedom of association and peaceful
assembly. They address the various challenges that arise when addressing issues of justice and
equity between children and adults, as well as among children themselves. The authors offer
compelling examples from working children’s social movements, children’s rights groups and
clubs in the majority world, and children’s group decision making in educational contexts.
They draw on their own participatory research partnerships focused on supporting children’s
rights and capacity to self-organize. The chapter concludes by considering the implications of
Article 15 for policies, practice, and research on children’s rights.
Meda Couzens examines the issue of normative support (from both national and
international perspectives) for children’s participation in local governance, and discusses
children’s participation in local governance using examples from the Philippines, Tanzania,
and India. The various factors that may facilitate or limit children’s participation in local
governance are discussed and the sustainability of children’s participation is considered. The
author emphasizes the importance of recognizing the range of issues and means through which
children participate in local governance. The chapter concludes with a call for greater
accountability in implementing the normative framework that supports children’s participation
in local governance.
In their chapter, Louise Chawla and Willem van Vliet— examine children’s right to child-
friendly cities and review the history of UNICEF’s Child Friendly Cities Initiative. The authors

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Martin D. Ruck, Michele Peterson-Badali, and Michael Freeman

provide examples from Brazil and India in which children are able to make valuable use of
opportunities in their communities, in some cases even leading to efforts to improve community
conditions. The chapter concludes by identifying those processes of urban governance that can
strategically support children’s right to survival, well-being, and participation.
Harriot Beazley examines participatory rights-based research focusing on children’s views
and lived experiences. She makes the case that new styles of rights-based research have
transformed children from being objects of study into research participants whose rights and
opinions should be respected throughout the research process and who are also “experts” on
their own lives. The chapter draws on two rights-based participatory research projects
employing participatory visual methods with marginalized children “living on the edge” in
Southeast Asia and the Pacific. Beazley stresses the importance of researchers acknowledging
that children have the human right to participate in matters that concern them, including the
right to play an active role in research about their lives.
Michael Wessells and Kathleen Kostelny consider the challenges of introducing and
promoting children’s rights in local communities in Sierra Leone and Kenya, where children’s
rights are implemented on the basis of government policy. Presenting data from ethnographic
research in these two countries, the authors document how top-down, “impositional”
approaches to promoting children’s rights can lead local communities to view children’s rights
as harmful to children or to prefer traditional approaches that are at odds with human rights.
The authors conclude that to successfully implement children’s rights, the use of a bottom-
up, respectful process of internally guided social change is needed.
In the final chapter in this section, Martin D. Ruck, Michele Peterson-Badali, Isabelle
M. Elisha, and Harriet R. Tenenbaum consider young people’s own voices and experiences
about children’s rights from the perspective of developmental psychology. The chapter begins
with an overview of the theoretical perspectives that have been used to provide an understanding
of young people’s thinking about their own and others’ human rights. The authors present
illustrative examples based on qualitative findings from their ongoing program of developmental
research examining children’s perspectives on rights. They suggest that, despite critiques
intimating that developmental psychology has failed to adequately capture children’s lived
experiences, the discipline has moved toward a better understanding of the importance of
children’s perspectives to their development and, as such, can contribute to a richer
understanding of children’s subjective experience with regard to their nurturance (protection)
and self-determination (participation) rights.

Conclusions and Acknowledgments

It is our hope that this Handbook will serve as a valuable resource for scholars, professionals,
policy makers, non-governmental organizations, and graduate and undergraduate students, as
well as anyone else keenly interested in the growing research and scholarship on children’s
rights. We anticipate that scholars across a range of fields and disciplines, including psychology
(developmental, life span development, community), health studies, education (curriculum,
educational psychology), child studies, anthropology (cultural, medical), political science (social
justice, ethics), sociology (sociology of childhood, child studies), public policy, social work,
and philosophy (ethics) will find this Handbook useful and informative.
We have very much enjoyed working with the all authors and we thank our amazing editorial
assistant Isabelle Elisha for her organizational skills and professionalism. We also thank Associate
Editor Georgette Enriquez for her helpful advice and assistance, and the editorial and production

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 Preface

staff at Taylor & Francis Publishers, in the production of this Handbook. Finally, it is our hope
the Handbook of Children’s Rights: Global and Multidisciplinary Perspectives will play an important
role in furthering research and scholarship on children’s rights and the eventual realization of
all children’s human rights.

References
Diers, J. (2013). Why the world needs to get serious about adolescents: A view from UNICEF. Journal of
Research on Adolescence, 23, 214–222.
Peterson-Badali, M., & Ruck, M. D. (2008). Studying children’s perspectives on self-determination and
nurturance rights: Issues and challenges. Journal of Social Issues, 64, 749–770.
Petren, A., & Hines, J. (Eds.). (2000). Children’s rights: Turning principles into practice. Stockholm: Save the
Children Sweden and UNICEF.
Ruck, M. D., & Horn, S. (2008). Charting the landscape of children’s rights. Journal of Social Issues, 64(4),
685–699.
Ruck, M.D., Keating, D. P., Saewyc, E. M., Earls, F., & Ben-Arieh, A. (2016). The United Nations
Convention on the Rights of the Child: Its relevance for adolescents. Journal of Research on Adolescence,
26, (1), 16–29.
Save the Children. (2014). Results for children: Annual review 2013. London: Save the Children International.
Sen, A. (2009). The idea of justice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
UNICEF. (2009). State of the world’s children. New York: Author.
UNICEF. (2014). State of the world’s children 2015: Reimaging the future. New York: Author.
United Nations General Assembly. (1989, November 17). Adoption of a convention on the rights of the child.
New York: United Nations.

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 Part I
Historical and Contemporary
Perspectives on Children’s
Rights and the CRC
 1
History of Children’s Rights
Peter N. Stearns

The history of children’s rights unfolds in several stages. During the long period in which most
people lived in agricultural societies—ranging from early civilizations in the Middle East and
China to the eighteenth century or beyond—ideas of children’s rights in any formal sense were
not only nonexistent, but clearly preempted by attention to parental authority. This situation
began to change, starting in Western Europe and North America, with new ideas about rights
in general in the eighteenth century, but also with shifts in children’s actual conditions
including the impact of factory labor. Labor laws, new attention to education and other
developments through the nineteenth century rarely referred to rights, but clearly began to
alter the definition of society’s obligations to children in ways that would later fold into formal
discussions of rights. From the early twentieth century onward, considerations of children’s
rights became both more international, as in the assertions of new communist regimes, and
more explicit. Formal commitments to children’s rights would expand still further, amid some
debate, from the later twentieth century onward. Overall, the concept has an impressive pedigree
in modern history, but amid a variety of constraints.
Because key aspects of the modern idea of rights of any sort, children’s included, originated
in the West, a historical overview focuses disproportionately on this one society, at least until
the increase in global contacts, from the later nineteenth century, began gradually to promote
consideration in other regions. This does not mean that other societies did not develop relevant
ideas about protecting children. There was, for example, an interest in Islamic law. But it was
the West that first generated a fuller statement of rights and this continues to affect and complicate
the rights idea more generally. It is also worth noting that, as the first society to industrialize,
the West for several decades faced some specific problems concerning children that contributed
to debates over rights. The more fully global history of children’s rights nevertheless has a rich
if somewhat briefer history, including disagreements over the relevance of any Western model.
While several histories of human rights exist, often explaining the Western origins, their attention
to children’s rights has typically been limited. This reflects some special complexities in
defining rights for children, as well as the more gradual emergence of children’s rights ideas
of any sort, beyond a few brief, pioneering references (Hunt, 2008).

3
Peter N. Stearns

Before Human Rights

Prior to efforts to define human rights, including children’s rights among them, many
agricultural societies developed certain protections for children that offered precedents for more
explicit formulations later on. Laws, religious prescriptions, and community norms devoted
some attention to children, from the earliest civilizations into modern times.

Law Codes
The dominant framework of agricultural societies was hardly conducive, however, even to
informal notions of children’s rights. Children’s main responsibility, often from a fairly young
age, was work, usually within the context of the family economy. The primacy of parental
authority was taken for granted, and there was no systematic concept of any separate sphere
for children. Very young children might be free from many restrictions—this was the case in
traditional Japan, for example, where the very young were seen as especially close to the gods.
But by the ages five to seven, a more restrictive reality set in, with strong emphasis on children’s
obligations (Colon & Colon, 2001; Stearns, 2011).
Early law codes and religious writings enshrined this approach for the most part.
Mesopotamian and Jewish law alike specified the rights of fathers to punish disobedient sons.
In Jewish law, this could include execution. From Deuteronomy: Parents could identify a
disobedient son: “This our son is stubborn and rebellious, he will not obey our voice . . . And
all the men of his city shall stone him with stones, that he die.” Courts of law in early Chinese
civilization routinely supported parents against their children: “when a father or mother
prosecutes a son, the authorities will acquiesce without question or trial” (Ebrey, 1991, p. 146).
Many law codes touched on children in other ways. Several stipulated that children born
of slaves would themselves be slaves, though some (for example, Roman law) noted also that
where one parent was free the child would be born free. Many codes sought to regulate
inheritance, and this could establish the rights of some children over others. Islamic law, for
example, protected inheritance for both males and females, but gave larger shares to males. In
medieval Europe primogeniture widely predominated, whereby the eldest male received the
entire landed estate. In many cases, however, legal opportunities for disinheritance gave parents
a strong weapon to command the continued obedience of their children, even into early
adulthood.

Protective Measures
The attention commonly given to parental authority, and the lack of frequent positive
references to children in agricultural societies, supported a key initial debate in the history of
childhood, around the work of Philippe Ariès. Ariès argued that Western civilization lacked
a concept of childhood until the eighteenth century, that children were either ignored or treated
simply as adults. Subsequent historical work has substantially modified that contention, among
other things because Western and other societies did in fact develop a number of measures
protecting children in some circumstances (Ariès, 1996).
For example, while infanticide was widely practiced in many agricultural societies as a means
of controlling family size (with girls the most common victims), over time many agricultural
societies sought to ban the practice. Chinese imperial law officially outlawed infanticide save

4
 History of Children’s Rights

in cases of deformity, though in reality enforcement was spotty. Buddhism disapproved of

infanticide, and Christian codes were even more explicit. The Quran explicitly banned the
practice. There were no references to rights in these cases, but these protections for a child’s
life were among the first instances in which political or religious authorities sought to intervene
against arbitrary parental behavior (Boswell, 1984).
Apprenticeship provided another venue in which, at least in principle, agricultural societies
might intervene moderately on a child’s behalf. Craft apprenticeships date back to early
civilizations, as in Mesopotamia and Egypt, with skilled artisans enjoined to provide appropriate
training. Written agreements, between the artisans and the child’s parents—or the youth
himself—often sealed the deal. These agreements stipulated some basic features of the
arrangement, such as pay and upkeep, as well as stipulating the length of service. The contracts
were not always honored, and they rarely said much about actual working conditions. Many
apprentices, in many societies, complained that they did not receive high quality training, as
opposed to all sorts of menial tasks, and were frequently abused and beaten in the bargain. But
apprenticeship—as opposed to other work situations for children (such as with parents or relatives
on a farm) could provide some hint of systematic protection.
At the end of childhood, some agricultural societies offered protection, at least in principle,
against parental abuse with regard to marriage arrangements. Christianity long held out for the
importance of young people’s consent in marriage even when parental negotiations clearly
organized the match, and Christian courts might reject an engagement in which a young man
or woman had no say. Here was another provision showing awareness that there were certain
circumstances in which pre-adults might need some special attention against the normal
assumption of parental or adult authority.
Finally, all the major religions assumed some obligation on the part of pious parents to prepare
children for religious participation. In Christianity this meant an obligation to provide baptism
and then arrange for confirmation. Sometimes this preparation might include attendance at a
religious school—such as the Islamic madrasas—but this varied with means and circumstance
and did not generate a universal right or duty.

Community Context
In most agricultural societies it was community oversight, rather than any systematic statements,
that really offered some constraints on the treatment of children, however imperfect. The few
historians who have tackled the subject largely contend, for example, that what we would
term significant abuse of children was fairly rare in most agricultural villages (Demos, 1986).
Of course disciplinary standards differed from those now recommended in societies such as
the United States: in pre-modern Western Europe there was clearly a lot of spanking for
misdeeds; children were often actively shamed in front of their peers; and babies were usually
tightly swaddled and even hung on a hook while their mothers worked. Native Americans
were shocked at the level of physical discipline Europeans employed against their children;
and Africans, with traditions of carrying young children during work, would have been appalled
at swaddling. But distinctive disciplinary standards and outright abuse were two different matters.
Village oversight seems to have been normally vigilant in making sure that individual families
did not beat their children or otherwise physically abuse them beyond a norm. Some historians
go on to argue that this system actually protected children better than the more modern
combination of considerable family isolation and codified legal rights.

5
Peter N. Stearns

In some instances, finally, courts of law might step in directly in defense of community
norms. Several cases in colonial New England attacked fathers who beat children excessively
and in one instance, required work on Sundays; children might be given over to the custody
of another relative in response (Demos, 2000).

The Human Rights Idea

Two related changes, initially taking shape largely in formal intellectual life, began to develop
in Western Europe from the late seventeenth century onward that would ultimately lead to
more direct statements about children’s rights. One was a new conception of children
themselves. The other was the notion of systematic rights of any sort, which would ultimately
lead to powerful political statements such as the Bill of Rights in the United States, or the
Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen in the French Revolution.
New ideas about children played against the distinctive Christian belief in original sin. On
the heels of the Scientific Revolution and Britain’s turn to parliamentary monarchy, John Locke
developed an idea of educable children that was in stark contrast to prior beliefs. In his Essay
Concerning Human Understanding (1690), Locke contended that children at birth are “blank slates,”
neither good nor evil, but capable of improvement through education. The implications for
children’s discipline and upbringing were obvious. Children did not have an inherently evil
nature that must be brought under control through physical means or shaming. Rather, they
should be approached with kindness and care, and given opportunities through education to
develop good character and socially useful skills (Cunningham, 2005; Fass, 2006).
The idea of a neutral or even positive nature at birth gained ground slowly but steadily in
Western thought and even in elements of popular culture. Later in the eighteenth century, at
the intellectual level, writers such as Jean-Jacques Rousseau extended claims for the importance
of a supportive education. Rousseau went beyond Locke in claiming that children were naturally
good, and he devoted great attention to the careful, supportive education that would not spoil
this essential quality (Rousseau, 1987). A number of other authors began to talk about
education systems that would not only further a child’s capacity to learn, but would also avoid
excessive discipline or rote learning. None of this coalesced into an elaborate statement of
children’s rights, but the new view of children certainly promoted a climate in which
conventional treatment of children might be reconsidered.
The process extended beyond the circles of intellectuals and educational theorists. In the
United States, for example, Protestant churches undertook an intense debate over the old ideas
of original sin during the early decades of the nineteenth century. The result was some ongoing
disagreement, with an important Evangelical minority continuing to defend traditional doctrines.
But mainstream Protestant churches, and the dominant childrearing advice directed toward
the growing middle classes, began to emphasize children’s innocence and goodness, and the
careful upbringing that these qualities warranted (Mintz, 2004).
The second component of change that began to emerge in the eighteenth century, though
not initially applied to children, involved the idea of human rights itself. Already in the previous
century, John Locke and several other theorists, embellishing older ideas about natural law,
had argued for the essential equality of all members of the human species and the importance
of preserving liberty in any valid political system (Locke, 1952). They contended that law and
the state exist not to restrain but to enhance human freedom. The existence of certain specific
rights—for Locke, life, liberty and property—was an essential consequence of this basic

6
 History of Children’s Rights

framework. Enlightenment thinkers extended this argument. Rousseau thus argued that
“equality of rights and the idea of justice which this equality creates originate . . . in the very
nature of man” (Rousseau, 1987, p. 7). States that violated basic rights, by extension, were
abusive and illegitimate, and could justifiably be replaced. Various Enlightenment writers added
further specifics to the basic argument, talking about the importance of freedom of religion
or conscience, freedom of expression, and the unjustifiability of harsh punishments. Torture
or other extreme penalties were increasingly discussed as violations of rights (Headly, 2007;
Ishay, 2004; Moyn, 2012).
The new political theory was supplemented in Britain and the Northern American colonies,
by compassionate views emanating from several of the newer Protestant sects, such as Methodists
and Quakers. From this source, as well as the Enlightenment ideas, came unprecedented new
movements against slavery: it was no longer legitimate for one individual to be owned by
another. One of humankind’s oldest labor systems now came under attack.
What was taking shape, among many ordinary people as well as intellectual and religious
leaders, was, as one historian has termed it, a “revolution in sensibility,” through which
established institutions and practices might be reassessed in light of these new beliefs in basic
human equality and shared rights. What caused this—beyond the obvious cultural sources—
continues to be debated: fatigue with religious conflict, possibly some side effects of expanding
capitalism, or the impact of rapidly expanding literacy with its capacity to challenge traditional
assumptions are all candidates. Whatever the source, the new thinking spread increasingly widely,
and it was often accompanied by deep passion, even on behalf of total strangers whose plight
might now be brought to public attention (Hunt, 2008).
The results informed not only a series of new campaigns, such as the recurrent petitions
against the slave trade, but also the wave of revolutions that took shape at the end of the
eighteenth century. Both France and what became the United States proclaimed “inalienable”
human rights (though the term then was “rights of man”), and proceeded to spell out a number
of them. The new ideas began to translate into new political systems.
Both the revision of ideas about childhood, and the effective emergence of a concept of
human rights, had obvious potential bearing on the treatment of children. If human beings
had a firm claim on rights, and if children were in fact worthy beings, might children have
rights directly? Hints of this connection did begin to emerge. William Blackstone, the leading
eighteenth-century British jurist, wrote in the 1750s that parents had “obligations” to children,
to wit maintenance, protection, and education. The idea was not entirely new—though the
addition of education was revealing—and of course it was not framed in rights language. At
the end of the century the British radical Thomas Spence—who may have been the first
Englishman to use the term “right” in a general sense—authored a pamphlet enticingly called
the “Rights of Infants” (Spence, 1797). The brief tract did talk about the importance of protecting
children from poverty and abuse, but its main thrust—using infants as a screen—was an argument
against inequalities of wealth, aristocratic privilege, and ill-treatment of women; despite the
title it cannot legitimately figure as a “first” for children’s rights.
The French Revolution, though not in the main attentive to children’s rights beyond some
interest in expanding education, offered one intriguing specific. During the Revolution’s radical
phase, new legislation sought to remove the distinction between illegitimate and legitimate
children, in terms of legal status and inheritance. A leader proudly proclaimed, “there are no
more bastards in France” (Brinton, 1936). The legislation was not, however, retained in the
later Napoleonic Code.

7
Peter N. Stearns

It was also interesting, and again a testimony to the growing idea of childish innocence that
children began to be vividly featured in more general rights appeals. Anti-slave tracts, most
obviously, frequently highlighted the plight of children. As is still the case, abuse of children
became a key symbol in broader campaigns against injustice.
But the full connection was not yet made. The rights trumpeted by the wave of revolutions
were almost exclusively rights for adults; they did not affect children’s legal status. The re-
evaluation of children’s nature was still a work in progress. Older ideas about the importance
of obedience and the primacy of parental authority still predominated. An important stage had
been set, but the drama had yet to unfold.

The Nineteenth Century

Ideas about children’s rights advanced in the nineteenth century, without yet becoming a fully
articulated program. Many developments moved out from the foundations established in the
eighteenth century. But there were also clear new problems that contributed to change, and
particularly some new and troubling patterns of child labor. While work for children was standard
fare, work in factory conditions raised novel concerns. More generally—though the
development was relevant to child labor as well—governments began to take direct interest
in children and their conditions during this period, a significant extension of state power and
one that could contribute, both positively and negatively, to statements about rights and
obligations. Finally, this was a century of widening global contacts, often under the mantle of
European imperialism. Practices in various societies were subjected to new scrutiny, and this
too added to ideas of what needed to be done for and to children.

Child Labor
With growing industrialization, first in Britain, then elsewhere in Western Europe and the
United States, concern about conditions for children as workers began to mount during the
first half of the nineteenth century. In some cases the concern reflected the new beliefs in
children’s innocence and educability. In fact, many middle-class families began pulling their
own children out of the workplace, in favor of schooling at least into the early teens. Working-
class families also experienced concerns, though a bit more slowly. While many saw children’s
work as completely normal, and some depended considerably on children’s wages, they also
recognized that modern factories were not simply maintaining traditional work patterns. Many
factory children were supervised by adults who were not family members, and this caused
growing anxiety, though real ambivalence persisted. For a wider public, gradual awareness of
the harshness of child labor in the factories gradually swayed opinion, creating a climate favorable
to reform.
The issues were fairly clear. Children in factories or mines could face a work-place that
was far more arduous than was true in more familiar settings such as farms or craft shops. Safety
problems increased, as children worked around steam-driven machinery. In cotton textiles, for
example, young children often served as “bobbin boys,” tying thread that broke on mechanical
spindles; lost fingers were common. Moral supervision may have deteriorated as well, in the
more anonymous factory yards; there were many reports of sexual abuse or lewd behavior.
Various reformers, in many countries, widely publicized the new problems of child labor, urging
new measures. In Britain a number of parliamentary inquiries gained attention, with testimony

8
 History of Children’s Rights

by many former child workers; the Sadler commission report (1832–3) caused particular stir
with its accounts of 12-hour days, frequent beatings, as well as the moral and safety problems.
Pressure for unprecedented legal regulation of children’s work mounted (Stearns, 2011).
There were, however, many objections and complexities, that long constrained any
notion that children had general rights in this domain. First, of course, as many critics noted,
children had always worked. French opponents to child labor reform frequently cited “customs
from time immemorial” as a reason to do nothing. Practical issues abounded. Many businessmen
believed that depended on the cheap wages children earned to make a profit; they resisted any
systematic change. Particularly important were objections from smaller firms—that actually
employed the largest number of urban children—whose owners contended that any change
should target larger factories only; there should be no sweeping commitments to chil-
dren’s rights. Employers, and certainly many workers, also cited the pre-eminence of paternal
or parental rights: if parents wanted or needed children to work, they should have the power
to decide.
The result of the early child labor debates was a series of laws that did for the first time
intrude the state into the protection of this aspect of children’s lives, but with no sweeping
rhetoric and all sorts of practical limitations. Pioneering child labor laws were passed in Britain,
France, Prussia, and many northern American states during the 1830s and 1840s. Typically,
they confined their attention to factories with more than 20 workers. Small shops, other urban
employment sectors, and farms were excluded. Very young children—under six, for example,
in several laws—were prohibited from factory work. The hours of work of children up to 12
were limited—to eight hours, in the 1841 French law. Some measures required school
attendance for children who worked in factories, again up to age 12. However, many laws
established little or no actual supervisory apparatus. Correspondingly, it is not clear whether
very much change occurred. Legal limits may have had less impact on child labor in the factories
than the growing complexity of machinery, which increasingly limited the tasks available to
children; better mechanical looms, for example, gradually displaced the bobbin boys.
Developments in the later nineteenth century signaled considerable expansion of the initial
approach. More and more countries adopted child labor laws in advance of significant
industrialization, anticipating problems and copying models from Western Europe; this was true
in Russia, for example. More mature industrial countries increasingly established systems of factory
inspection that gradually put some teeth into earlier laws. Provisions expanded, with some limits
on the hours of younger teenagers. Most importantly, though very gradually, industrial societies
realized that problems with child labor were not confined to the bigger factories. Legal limits
increasingly extended to smaller shops and finally even to farms. By the early twentieth century
even work at home might come under legal scrutiny. A 1925 case in Wisconsin defended a
child against abusive work conditions imposed by parents (McLogan, 1935).
By this point, campaigns against child labor in industrial societies increasingly adopted a
language of children’s rights. The first decades of the twentieth century saw massive campaigns
against virtually all forms of child labor in the United States—the point at which the actual
number of children at work reached its peak. Groups such as the National Child Labor
Committee repeated all the old arguments about dangers to health, morality, and education,
in attacking child labor in any setting. And in fact, after 1920, the number of children under
15 at work in any formal sense began to decline rapidly in the United States, as this long-
assumed experience began to disappear in industrial societies (Mason, 1954).

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Peter N. Stearns

Education Mandates
Accompanying the attacks on child labor were increasingly urgent pleas that children—
possibly, all children—be given opportunities for at least a primary education. Key reformers,
leading the charge, came close to the idea that education should be a right, though the explicit
language rarely crept into nineteenth-century discussions. Horace Mann, who led in establishing
the 1852 compulsory education requirement in Massachusetts thus talked about the “immortal
and god-like capacities of every being” that must be brought out through education. According
to Mann, “a human being is not attaining his full heights until he is educated” (Mann, 1881,
p. 214). Embraced in this advocacy was not only a belief that all children should be educated,
but that schooling itself must be reformed, toward less harsh discipline for example. A certain
degree of gender equality was assumed, as well as the education requirements being applied
to girls as well as boys.
In fact, as with child labor, education laws emerged only gradually, and even some of the
most sweeping measures hardly evinced any conception of children’s rights (as opposed to
obligations). Prussia thus passed a pioneering law in 1763 requiring primary education, but a
key goal was the inculcation of docile and obedient attitudes. Girls might be offered education,
but mainly to train them as mothers and sources of morality, not to provide equal opportunities
with boys. And there were all sorts of hesitations, both practical and principled, about extending
requirements too far. British liberals were long concerned about too much reliance on
government, and indeed Britain was one of the last industrial countries to establish a systematic
school system. Many parents—for example, immigrants in the United States—resisted the idea
of compulsory schooling lest parental values be challenged by other adult authority. French
peasants long saw little point in education, converting only when it became clear—by the
1880s—that new skills were becoming necessary for the family economy. By the 1870s and
1880s most industrial countries had established compulsory education requirements; Japan joined
this group with its ambitious universal education law in 1872, a key element in the Meiji reforms.
(The American South held back until after 1900.) But in most countries enforcement of
attendance remained fairly lax until the twentieth century. And requirements even in principle
only went up to age 10 (in Britain) or 12.
Overall, for a growing number of children in the leading industrial countries, government
legislation and broader economic and familial changes did begin the process of replacing work
with schooling as the key obligation of childhood. But the process was gradual and uneven,
fraught with many objections, and did not clearly generate a systematic conception of children’s
rights.

Other Reforms
A number of other developments in Western society during the nineteenth century had
implications for ideas of children’s rights. Orphanages spread widely, as a fairly new institution
designed to take care of children with only one parent or no parents at all. The idea was to
provide some minimum physical care and education, though not usually at levels expected for
other children, at least in the middle classes. No clear conception of orphans’ rights emerged,
and indeed it was a growing awareness of the limitations of orphanage care in the twentieth
century that would spur clearer legislated protections for parentless children.
More relevant was the growing movement, from the late nineteenth century onward, to
create a separate category for juvenile criminals, so that they would not be subjected to common

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 History of Children’s Rights

punishments and would, in principle at least, find particular opportunities for rehabilitation.
Prior to this point, children convicted of crimes received the same treatment as adults, though
British common law, widely influential as well in the United States, exempted children under
seven from criminal prosecution at all. From the 1820s onward a growing number of American
states and Western European countries began establishing special treatment centers—reform
schools of one sort or another—to handle young criminals, with an eye toward rehabilitation
rather than punishment. Later, special courts were set up to deal with juvenile offenders, again
with the hope of protecting them from the more punitive features of the regular court system.
This notion of special treatment for young criminals obviously touched base with broader ideas
about children’s educability and the idea, gaining ground in the nineteenth century, of some
special qualities in adolescence. It also picked up on Enlightenment interests in limiting abusive
punishments. While the approach was particularly common in the West, it spread powerfully
to Japan in the early 1900s, again with a similar commitment to give children special access
to remediation. The reform movement did not, however, discuss children’s rights as part of
this approach. Indeed, until the 1960s the juvenile justice system in countries such as the United
States was noteworthy for the absence of formal constitutional protections for rights. The whole
approach had ambivalent implications in terms of conceptions of rights.

Implications of Imperialism
As Europe’s and the United States’ power and influence expanded in the world at large, and
particularly during the nineteenth-century age of imperialism, several attendant reform efforts
affected the treatment and conception of childhood. There are a few obvious caveats. Western
colonial leaders did not try to put into effect all the reform measures being discussed “at home.”
For example, there were no systematic attacks on colonial child labor. Four factors inhibited
a globalization of Western standards. First, the colonies, or semi-colonies such as the European
holdings along the Chinese coast, were intended to turn a profit, and willing child workers
could be a key part of the colonial economy. Indeed, the burdens on them might increase.
Colonial authorities directly depended on a number of children working as household servants.
Second, and this is a related point, extension of European measures such as a special court
system or generalized schooling would simply involve too much expense. Third, widespread
assumptions about Western racial superiority made it easy to believe that conditions for “native”
children were appropriate to their circumstance, and that truly civilized standards were not
and might never become applicable. Finally, colonial administrators were eager not to
complicate their hold by tampering unduly with local habits. A key reason, for example, that
British and French authorities held off on any attempt to limit female circumcision in
northeastern Africa until well after World War II, despite their private disapproval, was a fear
of creating local resistance.
Nevertheless, imperialism broadly construed did have some implications for the treatment
of children that could in turn connect to later, global efforts to define children’s rights. A growing
effort to persuade or require other societies to abolish formal slavery had obvious implications
for children’s well-being, though other systems of coercion might persist. While compulsory
education was not attempted, Western leaders—both administrators and reformers—did seek
to spread schooling to local populations. A handful of people actually attended schools in the
West directly, but more went to missionary or other local institutions, gradually expanding
the notion that this was an appropriate part of childhood at least in the cities. In some cases

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Peter N. Stearns

also, Western norms prompted concern about some traditional local family practices. Spanish
administrators and missionaries worked to abolish the use of children in religious sacrifice in
Central America, to take an extreme example, and widely criticized other customary disciplinary
practices. In China, missionary concern helped prompt a new local reform interest in abolishing
the traditional practice of foot binding, and inroads did occur by the later nineteenth century.
Reform movements of this sort were not framed in terms of rights, but rather as an
implementation of appropriate standards and an enhancement to present and future social well-
being. However, the idea of re-examining local customs toward greater protection of children
could have wider implications.

The Emergence of Children’s Rights

The early decades of the twentieth century saw the first clear and systematic development of
programs and campaigns for children’s rights. Two developments occurred, sometimes in
combination. First, some of the previous efforts to protect children were now rephrased in
terms of rights: the right to education was a key example, but children also had rights to be
shielded from exploitative work and so on. Second, more tentatively, a rights umbrella began
to extend from simply protecting children to seeing them as autonomous individuals who had
rights on this basis as well.
Several factors generated these changes. Most obviously, over a century of discussion of
child labor and education created a climate in which many people were accustomed to the
fundamental measures involved and shocked when they were absent—hence a conversion into
rights language. Optimism about further progress included beliefs that children would flourish
even more in the future, which was at least compatible with rights language. Competition for
the mantle of social reform, with socialists and soon communists claiming a more progressive
agenda compared to liberals, clearly encouraged rights claims for children—as in some of the
early constitutions of the Soviet Union. Finally, individual visionaries, from the first decade
of the new century onward, added their own creativity to the generation of rights ideas.
A book by a Swedish former teacher, published in 1900 and soon translated as The Century
of the Child, vividly captured this frustration about the gap between goals and reality. Ellen
Key used the term rights infrequently in the book, when applied to children; she was much
more generous in elevating women’s rights. But a rights language did emerge, in talking about
the basic support a child deserved and, more grandiosely, in talking about a youth’s “right”
to have assurances for the future—of the “right of young people to stimulate individualism
above all else” (Key, 1909, p. 8). Key pleaded for the government’s obligation to support the
child and to protect mothers and children alike. She urged education, but not the rote learning
that remained so common. She attacked the use of physical discipline against children, or even
too much insistence on obedience. Overall, the book and its popularity suggest the evolution
from well-established ideals about children to a more explicit sense of rights.
Ongoing campaigns against child labor, now generalizing to children’s work in almost all
forms, also more fully prepared the rights language. For now the reference was to children in
general, not particular categories of employment, which made translation into rights criteria
far simpler.
World War I may have played a role, again demonstrating the gap between widely accepted
standards and the actual conditions of children. Many groups mobilized to offer assistance to
children affected by this brutal conflict. A determined Englishwoman, Eglantyne Jebb,

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 History of Children’s Rights

spearheaded relief efforts and organized a “Save the Children” movement. The subsequent
establishment of the League of Nations, and some of its ancillary organizations headed by the
International Labour Office, also encouraged more formal thinking about children. The
League shied away from a formal endorsement of human rights, but it did provide venues in
which abuses could be more widely and systematically discussed. And the International Labour
Office embarked on a concerted, and as things turned out prolonged, campaign to win global
agreement on a ban on the labor of children under age 15.
Eglantyne Jebb herself sponsored a Declaration of the Rights of the Child in 1923. The
initial document emphasized the following criteria: Children must be provided with conditions
for normal development, both physically and spiritually. Sick children must be nursed, the
hungry fed, the delinquent reclaimed, the homeless sheltered, the backward helped. Children
should have first claim on relief in times of distress. Children must learn how to earn a livelihood
but must be protected against every form of exploitation. The principles were adopted by the
International Save the Children Union and then, in 1924, endorsed by the General Assembly
of the League (League of Nations, 1924). The Declaration did not have force of law, but merely
provided guidelines. International advocacy groups continued to work for wider endorsements
up until World War II, and then resumed immediately afterward. Other support emerged. For
example, the government of Belgium pressed for greater commitments though some other
states, including Britain—worried about a pretext for international interference in internal
affairs—held back.
The work of Janusz Korczak, the first Polish advocate for children’s rights whose writings
were widely influential in Europe more generally, moved the rights discussion forward in several
ways. Korczak set up an orphanage, initially for Jewish children, in 1911–2, innovating in
allowing the orphans involved to set up their own parliament and courts. His progressive sense
of rights included not only protections from adult injustice, but positive freedom of expression
for children themselves—all part of what he called a “just community.” Korczak’s books in
the 1920s and 1930s, including The Child’s Right to Respect, spread these ideas more broadly
(Lifton, 2006). The range of Korczak’s work, but particularly his pioneering interest in not
only protecting children but also urging their right to speak out, was especially influential.
Other reformers played a key role in the interwar period. Women associated with the
settlement house movement in the United States worked to expand educational opportunities,
including pre-schools, for immigrant families and the urban poor. Florence Kelley not only
crusaded against child labor, but worked to win greater support for schools directed primarily
toward African American children.
During the same time period, the advent of communist regimes, first in Russia, provided
another support for the idea of children’s rights with implications ultimately affecting other
areas as well. Russia’s revolutionary government quickly devoted new attention to measures
to promote children’s health and to expand education. Although accompanying rhetoric about
children was sometimes aimed at scoring propaganda points in the wider world, there was
important substantive effort. The regime went farther than Western governments in proclaiming
the child is the object of state upbringing (Kelly, 2007). Government oversight over parents
was essential both to protect the child and to inculcate children with the new ideology of
communism. Obviously, while this approach allowed ringing endorsements of children’s rights
to medical care and schooling, it offered nothing to protect the child against the state itself.
Soviet constitutions, including that of 1936, explicitly proclaimed a universal “right” to
education and also rights to the protection of health including prohibition of child labor (save
as part of a school program).

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Peter N. Stearns

Both the international movement toward fuller statements of children’s rights, and the
Soviet approach that stimulated competition from other societies, prompted other rights
statements. In 1944 United States President Franklin Roosevelt included education for
the first time in his definition of human rights, seeking to set an appealing agenda for a post-
World War II society. The idea that children had some rights was clearly spreading (Franklin,
2002).

Expanding the Children’s Rights Movement after 1945

Advocacy for clearer international commitments on human rights continued with the
establishment of the United Nations and then the Universal Charter on Human Rights in
1948. The Save the Children organization of the interwar years changed in 1946 into the
International Union of Child Welfare, pressing the United Nations to provide greater relief
for children harmed by World War II and for adoption of a World Child Welfare charter
(Koops & Zuckerman, 2003).
On November 20, 1959 the General Assembly of the UN did indeed adopt a greatly
expanded version of the 1924 document, adding a number of further principles. The date was
also noted as a Universal Children’s Day. The new Declaration urged that children need special
safeguards and care, including appropriate legal protection, before as well as after birth (United
Nations, 1959). The declaration interestingly suggested a new commitment to a “happy”
childhood that would serve both the individual and society. Legal protections should allow
the full physical, mental, and spiritual development of the child. Earlier protective ideas were
expanded into a commitment to social security—the “right to adequate nutrition, housing,
recreation and medical services” (United Nations, 1959, principle 4). Special attention was
urged for children in large families and those with handicaps. Children needed familial love.
They were “entitled” to receive free and compulsory education, at least at a primary level.
Children should be the first to receive relief in a disaster, and must be protected against all
forms of “neglect, cruelty and exploitation.” Child labor should not be allowed “before an
appropriate age,” and no child labor should harm health or educational opportunities (United
Nations, 1959, principle 9).
The new document was both ambitious and somewhat modest. It was ambitious in that
the idea of children’s happiness was a fairly new concept, though gaining ground particularly
in the United States and Western Europe. The linkage of familial and maternal love with
children’s rights was also an important step. On the other hand the document was quite cautious
on the subject of child labor, offering an encouraging formula but no real specifics. As in all
the major postwar rights conventions, children’s rights were assured regardless of race or gender,
another significant move.
Key principles were also adopted into the vast number of new constitutions after 1945, as
new nations proliferated and some older nations changed their stripes. For example, while the
constitution of newly independent India did not include a statement about child labor in general,
it contained a provision that children not be forced to work. Stipulations in principle for the
provision of education also became commonplace.
Important gains occurred in other areas. More countries sought to limit punishments to
children convicted of crime, and particularly the application of the death penalty to minors.
European organizations—and ultimately the European Union—made this move explicitly, and
ultimately banned the death penalty altogether—an interesting extension of the classic human
rights interest in limiting abusive punishments (Council of Europe, 1982, protocol no. 6).

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 History of Children’s Rights

Another United Nations resolution, though not directed solely at children, attacked another
rights issue. The Convention on Consent to Marriage, Minimum Age for Marriage and Regis-
tration of Marriages (1962) insisted that, regardless of age, no one should be compelled to
marry without his or her consent. Individually, a number of countries, including communist
China, had already emphasized this attack on traditional patterns in their own constitutions.
The advent of the Civil Rights movement in the United States during the 1960s generated
an important expansion of efforts in the area of children’s rights from 1970 onward. Various
leaders such as Richard Farson sought to include children in some of the basic rights claims,
arguing that they should be fully free to express themselves, associate with whomever they
pleased, and leave their families. A Youth Liberation movement took shape in Ann Arbor,
Michigan, with some impact elsewhere, again promoting the notion that children should them-
selves have the right to decide on matters that affected them directly. By the 1970s, every
major US city had a children’s rights advocacy group, though not all accepted the most advanced
agenda (Farson, 1974; Gottlieb, 1973).
In contrast, more general progress on international commitments proved to be slow going.
A concerted effort to win agreement on banning child labor under aged 16 in 1973 failed,
because too many nations continued to depend on child workers, objected to this kind of
potential international interference, or persisted in believing that decisions in this area should
be up to parents, not the state—or various combinations of these factors. India objected, for
example, because so many of its economic activities and families depended on children’s wages.
The United States held back, because of reliance on the children of migrant agricultural workers
and because of a general aversion to international oversight.
Only in 1989 was agreement finally reached on a United Nations Convention on the Rights
of the Child (United Nations General Assembly, 1989), years after comparable documents
concerning women and other constituencies. Defining children’s rights, because of varied
regional traditions, children’s own dependent status, and other factors, continued to pose some
special difficulties (Scheper-Hughes & Sargent, 1998).
The 1989 Convention was clearly a compromise effort, reflecting an ability to agree on the
worst forms of abuse but falling well short of what rights advocates in many regions found
acceptable. Child labor was banned by signatories only in the more extreme cases, with emphasis
on the sexual exploitation of children, sale of children to pay off family debts, or (a growing
problem in many cases of civil strife) the use of children as soldiers. The Convention repeated
now-standard agreements about the right to education and adequate material protection.
On the other hand, the document also expanded on certain points in interestingly ambitious
ways, reflecting some of the changes in rights ideas of the preceding decades. For example,
the Convention clearly recognized that children might have interests that differed from those
of their parents. In all cases, the “best interests of the child” should be the overriding
consideration. The Convention defined the child as a person with evolving capacities; while
children’s rights of self-determination were not articulated as fully as those of adults, because
of immaturity and dependency, they did warrant recognition. The most novel and controversial
passage in the new convention, Article 12, urged that:

[P]arties shall assure to the child who is capable of forming his or her own views the right
to express those views freely in all matters affecting the child, the views of the child being
given due weight in accordance with the age and maturity of the child . . . the child shall
in particular be provided the opportunity to be heard in any judicial and administrative
proceedings affecting the child.
(United Nations General Assembly, 1989)

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Peter N. Stearns

Finally, the convention extended protections in another direction, assuring that children not
be subjected to torture, capital punishment, or even life imprisonment. The historical evolution
of ideas of children’s rights, now enshrined in international law, was reaching new levels.
In 2000 two optional provisions were added to the Convention, one banning involvement
of children in military conflicts, the other forbidding the sale of children, child prostitution,
and child pornography (United Nations, 2000, optional protocol). Another optional protocol
in 2011 allowed children or their representatives to communicate a complaint about rights
violations by the State to the UN Committee on the Rights of Child.
The basic Convention was widely ratified, with Canada heading the parade in 1990. Most
countries also endorsed the 2000 addenda. By 2015 only the United States had refrained from
signing, as Somalia and South Sudan were the last holdouts to agree. Iran agreed, but with a
provision that in cases of conflict with Islamic law the latter would prevail; and while the nation
did continue to execute children committed of crimes for several years, in 2012 its parliament
passed a measure forbidding such punishments for people under age 18.
On the whole, though in part because the Convention stepped lightly on controversial issues
such as child labor, international commitment on children’s rights reflected impressively
widespread agreement in principle. There was far less controversy than in some of the other
human rights arenas, such as freedom of the press or religious freedom. Underneath rhetorical
harmony, however, a number of specific children’s rights issues continued to bubble.

Regional Patterns
Gaps between principle and practice showed in many ways. A number of less-economically
developed countries simply could not afford to provide educational access to all, particularly
in rural areas. Gains were steady, with 88 percent of all children of the relevant age group
enrolled in primary school by the early twenty-first century, but full compliance was elusive
(International Labor Organization, 2013). New problems surfaced, or at least human rights
principles made some problems increasingly visible. Sex trafficking in children, or other forms
of effective enslavement, may have expanded with increasing global contact. Principles here
were clear, but enforcement was sometimes elusive.
A number of regional issues were intriguing. Huge controversies developed in many
societies over whether unborn children had rights. Abortion controversies flared, particularly
in Christian nations, essentially contrasting rights of the unborn with those of the mother.
Widespread use of abortion spread, with less controversy, in Russia and many parts of Asia.
The issue of child labor continued to display important regional variance, but there was an
increasing trend toward restriction. As noted, India had passed a number of child labor
regulations from its initial constitution onward, mainly trying to limit employment in hazardous
industries such as mining; the selective approach was reminiscent of early steps in Europe a
century before. The approach stiffened in 1986–7. A new Child Labour Protection Act sought
additional limits on the use of children under 14. More importantly, an ensuing Child Labour
Project, with strong government backing, encouraged a gradual transition away from the wide
use of children. A number of private children’s rights groups pushed in the same direction.
During the early years of the twenty-first century these programs, along with greater economic
prosperity, began to have an effect. Use of child labor in India dropped by over 50 percent
(Parliament of India, 1986). In 2009 the Free and Compulsory Education Act worked to build
on these trends in advancing further school requirements (Parliament of India, 2009).

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 History of Children’s Rights

The impact of war on children continued to draw attention, as part of the protective element
of the children’s rights movement. In the 1990s, the new interest in prosecuting war criminals—
people guilty of crimes against humanity—included many charges of violence against children.
This applied to a war criminal in Rwanda, for example, and was part of several prosecutions
in the former Yugoslavia. Regions directly embroiled in civil strife, particularly in Africa, saw
continued use of child soldiers; there were limits to the effectiveness of the rights campaign
in this regard. But efforts to promote more rigorous international standards continued.
The United States faced several interesting children’s rights issues in the contemporary period.
The nation continued to stand apart from the Convention. But in 2005 the Supreme Court
ruled that children under 18 could not be executed for a crime, citing international standards
as one reason for the change (Roper v. Simmons, 2005).
On another front, many American states continued to expand the protective umbrella
surrounding children, often at the expense of parental authority. Heightened child safety standards
brought new prosecutions against parents who seemed careless, extending the concept of criminal
child neglect. New laws, for example, mandated the use of helmets for children on bicycles.
A Montana parent was prosecuted for dropping her children at a mall for two hours, under
the care of a 12-year-old who had been trained in babysitting. Another interesting move (also
developing elsewhere, as in Australia) saw increasingly rigorous supervision of parents who did
not control their children’s obesity, and who were often themselves obese. New school testing
standards in several states increased awareness of obesity, and in several publicized cases
children were actually removed from parental care and placed elsewhere because of the obesity
issue (Rochman, 2011).
While wider advocacy for children’s rights continued, in many respects mainstream standards
in the United States stepped back from the effervescence of the 1970s, differing also from
developments that continued in many parts of Western Europe. A number of leaders actively
spoke against wider definitions of children’s rights, including many Evangelical Protestants;
significant movements, such as home schooling, were intended among other things to bolster
more traditional parental authority. More broadly, United States authorities continued to seem
more comfortable extending protections over children than in granting them greater self-
determination. A famous court case in 1965 involved three Quaker children who had been
suspended from school for protesting the Vietnam War. The Supreme Court ultimately ruled
that free speech rights applied to children as well (Tinker v. Des Moines Independent Community
School District, 1969). Children were also granted new rights, for example to legal representation,
in juvenile courts (In re Gault 387 U.S. 1, 1967). But during the more conservative 1980s
courts increasingly sided with school authorities who sought to regulate school newspapers,
student lockers, and other domains (New Jersey v. T.L.O., 1985). Other court cases confirmed
the rights of schools to administer random drug tests on students (Vernonia School District v.
Acton, 1995; Board of Education of Independent School District No. 92 of Pottawatomie County v.
Earls, 2002; Hedges v. Musco, 2000).
These patterns contrasted with a somewhat broader range of rights defined in European
countries that had signed the 1989 Convention. Many European countries thus moved to outlaw
the spanking of children. A new 1989 law in the United Kingdom gave children representation
in any judicial or administrative action that might involve them. Moves to provide children
greater voice in the management of schools were also under discussion. Finally, wider
explorations of children’s rights continued in many places in the 1990s and early 2000s, as in
the work of Dutch-Israeli advocate Philip Veerman who urged extension of children’s rights

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Peter N. Stearns

into a fuller commitment to a better social quality of life. The Defence for Children
International, operating from the 1980s onward, worked on children’s rights issues in many
locations, adding new concerns such as efforts against child trafficking (Alaimo et al., 2002;
Veerman, 1992). The scope and geography of children’s rights efforts continued to expand,
even as some additional problems mounted and disagreements continued over tensions between
advocates of greater equality for children and those who focused more on additional protections.

Conclusion
Human rights history of any sort offers important complexities. Regional reactions vary, in
part, because of deep-seated differences in culture and tradition. Gaps emerge between
commitments in principle and implementation. The history of children’s rights is particularly
complex. The balance among sources of authority—parents, but then also the state, yet also
children themselves—has always been hard to strike. It has proved more difficult than in other
rights domains to define agreed upon international standards—even in terms of basic principles.
Certainly, debate about the scope and focus of children’s rights continues, in many societies.

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 2
Children’s Rights and
Women’s Rights
Interrelated and Interdependent
Jonathan Todres

It is widely accepted that human rights are interrelated and interdependent (Alston, 1994;
International Commission of Jurists et al., 1997; United Nations General Assembly, 1986; World
Conference on Human Rights, 1993). Not only does the realization of particular rights depend
on the fulfillment of others—for example, children’s education rights depend, in part, on
realization of their health rights—but the rights of certain individuals are tied to the rights of
others. Children’s rights and women’s rights are linked in this way.
While their needs are distinct in important respects, historically women and children have
shared a common experience of marginalization. The public/private dichotomy in law has
often reinforced disadvantages for both women and children (Chanock, 2000; Charlesworth,
Chinkin & Wright, 1991). For both populations, the human rights ideal, which insists on
recognition of the dignity inherent in every individual, is a critical concept. Of course, the
international community remains far from the goal of realizing the rights of every woman and
child. Fulfilling the rights of all children—and all women—ultimately depends on recognizing
and accounting for the interdependent nature of rights and the interrelationship among
women’s rights and children’s rights.
This chapter explores these connections. It begins by examining the foundational inter-
national instruments for women’s rights and children’s rights respectively, the Convention on
the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW) and the Convention
on the Rights of the Child (CRC). The chapter details the provisions in each treaty that are
relevant to advancing the rights and well-being of the other population. While the benefits
for both populations are potentially significant, given the Handbook’s focus, this chapter
emphasizes benefits and positive outcomes for children. The chapter then offers select examples
of how attention to the interrelationship among women and children and their respective rights
can advance laws, policies, and programs aimed at securing the rights and well-being of both
women and children. Next the chapter briefly considers challenges associated with combining
advocacy for women’s and children’s rights. Finally, the chapter concludes with a discussion
of how children’s rights fits within a holistic approach to human rights.

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Jonathan Todres

Mutually Reinforcing Treaty Regimes

Both women’s rights and children’s rights offer direct and indirect benefits for each other’s
target population (see Todres, 2004, for an earlier exploration of these benefits). Women’s
rights law can secure direct benefits for girls, as well as indirect benefits for all children. Similarly,
children’s rights law provides both direct benefits to young girls that one day will be (and
arguably already are) the beneficiaries of women’s rights law and indirect benefits to women
by virtue of the impact that positive outcomes for children can have on women’s rights and
well-being. Said another way, the two sets of rights are interrelated both because they implicate
the same population (arguably at different stages in the life continuum) and because of the
connections between women and children in many families, communities, and nations.

How Women’s Rights Benefit Children: Direct Applications

The fulfillment of women’s rights offers both direct and indirect benefits to children. Most
directly, women’s rights includes the rights of girls. CEDAW applies not only to adult women
but also to girls of all ages.
The mandate to ensure women’s rights has its roots in the foundational instruments of the
modern international human rights movement. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights
affirms the “the equal rights of men and women” (UDHR, Preamble). Similarly, the Inter-
national Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) requires governments to “undertake
to ensure the equal right of men and women to the enjoyment of all civil and political rights
set forth in the [ICCPR]” (ICCPR, Art. 3), while the International Covenant on Economic,
Social and Cultural Rights demands that states parties ensure “the equal right of men and
women to the enjoyment of all economic, social and cultural rights set forth in the present
Covenant” (ICESCR, Art. 3). More generally, most major human rights conventions include
a non-discrimination clause that requires each state party to respect and ensure to all individuals
subject to its jurisdiction the rights recognized within such conventions, without distinction
of any kind, including sex (ICCPR, Art. 2[2]; ICESCR, Art. 2[2]; U.N. Charter, Art. 55[c];
see also African Charter, Art. 2; American Convention on Human Rights, Art. 1[1]; Charter
of Fundamental Rights of the European Union, Art. 21).
Women’s rights law establishes a framework of rights aimed at achieving equality between
men and women. This law and its accompanying enforcement mechanisms can help foster the
conditions that enable women to realize the full panoply of their rights. To achieve these goals,
the legal standards set forth in CEDAW must be enforced during the early stages of life so that
there is equality among girls and boys (Askari, 1998). Women’s rights law can help counter
the discriminatory and subordinate treatment of girls that can perpetuate the subordinate status
of women. Law prohibiting gender-based discrimination is vital to ensure a range of girls’ rights,
from the right to life to the right to education.
Discrimination against women and girls can take various forms, ranging from severe—
sometimes life-threatening—forms of gender-based violence to seemingly subtle forms that
receive less attention but lead to significant lifelong disadvantages. Women’s rights law, in
particular CEDAW, provides both a general mandate that is relevant to an array of behaviors
and attitudes that are harmful to women and girls and more targeted requirements to address
violations of specific rights.
To address broad-based entrenched forms of discrimination against girls (and women), Article
5 of CEDAW calls on states parties to take steps to:

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 Children’s Rights and Women’s Rights

[M]odify the social and cultural patterns of conduct of men and women, with a view to
achieving the elimination of prejudices and customary and all other practices which are
based on the idea of the inferiority or the superiority of either of the sexes.

These prejudices contribute to a breadth of harms suffered by millions of girls, making

women’s rights law directly relevant to the lives of girls. For example, the practice of female
infanticide, rooted in traditional prejudices that attribute greater value to the life of a newborn
boy than a girl, is a gross violation of girls’ right to life (Hom, 1992). Similarly, parental decisions
that place greater value on the education of sons often at the expense of daughters, leading in
many parts of the world to a higher prevalence of school-age girls not being in school as
compared with boys, clearly interfere with girls’ right to education (Wang, 2005). Women’s
rights law requires governments to address these discriminatory social and cultural practices,
in order to ensure that girls’ rights are secured so that girls can develop to their full potential.
Beyond the general prohibition on discrimination against women and girls and the mandate
to eliminate such discrimination, CEDAW includes many other more specific provisions that
directly support girls’ rights. CEDAW prohibits states parties from discriminating against women
in the context of acquiring and retaining nationality, both their own and that of their children.
It requires states parties to “grant women equal rights with men with respect to the nationality
of their children” (CEDAW, Art. 9[2]). This provision helps to ensure that women and their
children are not at risk of becoming stateless or being forced to take the nationality of the
husband against their will. In Thailand, for example, prior to the adoption of the Nationality
Act of 1992, Thai nationality could be conferred upon a child by birth only if the child’s father
was a Thai citizen. The 1992 Act amended the law so that a child can become a Thai citizen
if either her mother or father is a Thai citizen (Thailand’s Initial Report to the Committee on
the Rights of the Child, para. 20).
CEDAW also addresses the exploitation of women and girls. For example, Article 6 of
CEDAW requires states parties “to take all appropriate measures, including legislation, to suppress
all forms of traffic in women and exploitation of prostitution of women.” This provision is
particularly relevant today, given the renewed interest among governments and civil society
in human trafficking, a severe form of exploitation that inflicts physical, sexual, and emotional
violence on its victims (Todres, 2014). CEDAW’s mandate compels states to tackle exploitation
rooted in gender-based discrimination that sexualizes and objectifies women and girls.
Article 12 of CEDAW requires states parties to provide women with appropriate services
“in connection with pregnancy, confinement and the post-natal period . . . as well as adequate
nutrition during pregnancy and lactation” (CEDAW, Art. 12). This provision of CEDAW
implicates core rights of the child. Such services have a direct impact on early childhood survival
rates and the health and development of infants and young children.
Article 10 of CEDAW provides for equal rights in the field of education for girls (CEDAW,
Art. 10). The right to education is critical to the fulfillment of other rights. As former Special
Rapporteur on the Right to Education Katarina Tomaševki emphasizes, education “functions
as a multiplier, enhancing all rights and freedoms when it is guaranteed while jeopardizing
them all when it is violated” (Tomaševski, 2006, p. 7). If girls (or boys) cannot access an
education, they will be less equipped to exercise other civil, political, economic, social, and
cultural rights. When girls (or boys) are prevented from going to school or forced to drop out,
they are left at heightened risk of exploitation (Dottridge, 2004).
Finally, Article 16 of CEDAW aims to eliminate discrimination against women and girls
in the context of marriage and family life. Under Article 16, states parties are required to provide

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Jonathan Todres

a minimum age for marriage and give no legal effect to child marriages. Given the potential
adverse health consequences associated with early marriage for girls and estimates that one out
of every three girls in developing countries is married before age 18 and one in nine is married
before age 15 (United Nations Population Fund, 2012), the prohibition on early marriage in
women’s rights law is of critical importance to adolescent girls. The value of Article 16 of
CEDAW is heightened by the fact that the Convention on the Rights of the Child does not
address the issue of child marriage (Askari, 1998, p. 10). The above treaty provisions and others
in CEDAW demonstrate the relevance of women’s rights law to the lives and well-being of
children.
Beyond CEDAW, other declarations and plans of action promulgated in the women’s rights
arena provide support for girls. The Beijing Declaration and Platform for Action of the Fourth
World Conference (Beijing Declaration and Platform for Action, 1995) dedicated nearly nine
pages to the situation of girls, outlining numerous steps for governments to take in order to
eliminate discrimination against girls (Beijing Declaration and Platform for Action, paras. 259–85).
The Beijing Declaration affirms that “[a]ll barriers must therefore be eliminated to enable girls
without exception to develop their full potential and skills through equal access to education
and training, nutrition, physical and mental health care and related information” (Beijing
Declaration, para. 272). The Beijing Declaration also establishes a Platform for Action to
eliminate:

[H]armful attitudes and practices, such as female genital mutilation, son preference—which
results in female infanticide and prenatal sex selection—early marriage, including child
marriage, violence against women, sexual exploitation, sexual abuse, discrimination against
girls in food allocation and other practices related to health and well-being.
(Beijing Declaration, para. 259)

It also highlights the importance of more subtle forms of discrimination, noting that:

Girls are often treated as inferior and are socialized to put themselves last, thus undermining
their self-esteem. Discrimination and neglect in childhood can initiate a lifelong downward
spiral of deprivation and exclusion from the social mainstream. Initiatives should be taken
to prepare girls to participate actively, effectively and equally with boys at all levels of
social, economic, political and cultural leadership.
(Beijing Declaration, para. 260)

The Declaration on the Elimination of Violence against Women (Declaration on the

Elimination of Violence against Women, 1993) provides another resource that is relevant to
children. It calls on states to eliminate all forms of violence against women including “sexual
abuse of female children in the household,” “forced prostitution,” and other forms of violence
that affect girls (Declaration on the Elimination of Violence against Women, Arts. 2 and 4).
In both generalized and more specific ways, CEDAW, the Beijing Declaration, the
Declaration on the Elimination of Violence against Women, and other international instruments
that address women’s rights all have direct application to the lives of girls. Ensuring full
implementation and enforcement of women’s rights law will compel governments to address
the rights of girls. Such measures will not only help secure girls’ well-being, they will empower
girls to develop to their full potential.

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 Children’s Rights and Women’s Rights

How Women’s Rights Benefit Children: Broader Impact

In addition to the direct impact that women’s rights law can have on the lives of girls, the
significant roles that women play in their families and communities mean that implementation
of women’s rights can have a positive indirect impact on the lives of children. First, although
progress has been made toward shared responsibility for child rearing among men and women,
the practical reality is that women continue to bear primary responsibility for child rearing
globally (see Antonopoulos & Toay, 2011; Bianchi, 2011; Wright, 1995). As a result, when
women’s rights are constrained or violated, their children are exposed to heightened risk of
harm. Critically, in these instances, the impact is felt by both girls and boys. For example,
when women cannot access needed health care, it often results in adverse consequences for
their capacity to care for their children (Antonopoulos & Toay, 2011). It may even push older
children into the role of caregiver (of the parent or younger siblings), interrupting their education.
In addition, when women are denied meaningful opportunities to participate in national or
local decisions about their communities or otherwise participate in public life, children may
lose what is often their greatest, and sometimes their only, advocate. Conversely, when women
can realize their rights, they are better positioned to provide for, and advocate on behalf of,
their children.
Second, not only do women do most of the work in taking care of children, women do
more work than men in general in much of the world. For example, studies in Asia and Africa
have revealed that on average women work 13 more hours per week than men (Food and
Agricultural Organization, n.d.). Research also finds that “women use almost all they earn
from marketing agricultural products and handicrafts to meet household needs [whereas] men
use at least 25 percent of their earnings for other purposes” (Food and Agricultural Organization,
n.d., p. 1). In other words, not only do women frequently do more work than men beyond
child rearing duties, their work and subsequent income have a significant impact on their families
and children. When women are subjected to economic or social discrimination, they may be
shut out of certain educational or employment opportunities that would have enabled them
to provide more for their families. CEDAW addresses the issues of economic and social
discrimination, requiring the elimination of gender-based discrimination in the fields of
education and employment (CEDAW, Arts. 10 and 11).
CEDAW also mandates that states parties ensure that women and men enjoy the same rights
with respect to access to family benefits, bank loans, mortgages and other forms of financial
credit, as well as other forms of economic consideration (CEDAW, Arts. 13 and 14). Bank
loans, mortgages, and other vehicles of financial credit are critical to acquiring and retaining
property. Likewise, accessing microfinance loans and other credit can facilitate a women’s (and
her family’s) move out of poverty.
In sum, the direct and indirect linkages between women’s rights and child well-being suggest
that advocates for children’s rights should be concerned about the implementation and
enforcement of women’s rights. Similarly, as discussed in the following section, children’s rights
law can provide substantial support for women’s rights and can help advance equality for women.

How Children’s Rights Benefit Women: Direct Applications

Children’s rights can help promote women’s rights in a number of ways. In many respects,
children’s rights, when fully realized, provide the foundation that can position young women
to realize the panoply of women’s rights. Cynthia Price Cohen has suggested viewing the CRC

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Jonathan Todres

as a “precursor” to CEDAW, stating that, “if a girl learns how to assert her rights while she
is still a child, she is more likely to be able to successfully exercise her rights as a woman”
(Cohen, 1997, p. 74).
Moreover, children’s rights law, specifically the Convention on the Rights of the Child,
addresses threats to girls’ rights that arguably are not adequately covered by CEDAW, at least
not explicitly. In examining the provisions of CEDAW, Cynthia Price Cohen asserted that,
“few of them address the girl child’s needs” (Cohen, 1997, p. 36). In fact, CEDAW explicitly
mentions girls only once. Although, as the prior section notes, women’s rights includes the
rights of girls, the impetus for the Convention on the Rights of the Child was driven, in part,
by the view that the general human rights treaties did not adequately or comprehensively address
the rights of children (Van Bueren, 1998, p. 14).
Children’s rights law provides a comprehensive framework that positions girls to realize
their full potential. The CRC offers protection from abuse, exploitation, and other harmful
practices that interfere with girls’ development, and mandates access to health care, education,
and other resources that strengthen girls’ capacity to realize their potential.
One of the unique features of the CRC is that it requires states parties to “make the principles
and provisions of the Convention widely known, by appropriate and active means, to adults
and children alike” (CRC, Art. 42). Making girls aware of their rights and making others aware
of the rights that girls possess will enhance girls’ ability to realize their rights as children and
later as adult women. An additional, more general, benefit is that greater attention to the rights
of girls will bring more attention to women’s rights issues, especially in situations in which
they face similar risks, such as with the threats of sexual violence and trafficking (Cohen 1997,
p. 76).
The CRC supports the rights of women and girls in both general and targeted ways. First,
all of the rights set forth in the CRC apply equally to girls and boys. The CRC was the first
international human rights convention that used gender-neutral language (Cohen, 1997). More
important from a legal standpoint, the non-discrimination clause of the CRC requires states
parties to respect and ensure the rights of each child within their jurisdiction without
discrimination of any kind, irrespective of the child’s or either of his or her parent’s or legal
guardian’s sex (CRC, Art. 2). Therefore, not only are states parties to the CRC prohibited
from discriminating against girl children, they cannot discriminate against any children on the
basis of the sex (or any other protected trait) of the child’s parents or legal guardians. This
reinforces the rule set forth in CEDAW and in other international instruments that gender-
based discrimination is a human rights violation.
Fulfilling the mandate of Article 2 by assuring the rights in the CRC to all children without
discrimination would address many women’s rights issues that have their roots in childhood.
For example, the right to life, set forth in Article 6 of the CRC, can and should be applied
to protect girls from human rights abuses such as female infanticide. Similarly, the mandate in
Article 28 of the CRC that primary school must be “compulsory and available free to all” and
secondary education must be “available and accessible to every child” when implemented
consistent with the nondiscrimination provision would help address son preference and other
obstacles to girls’ right to education. As noted above, CEDAW has provisions that are relevant
to these issues, but the CRC provides an express mandate that states parties regularly assess
and report on progress made on ensuring the rights and well-being of children (Todres, 2014).
This child-focused reporting process enables civil society to monitor and evaluate government
progress on securing the rights of children.

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 Children’s Rights and Women’s Rights

The CRC offers protections that address many other situations in which girls are particularly
vulnerable. Health and education provide two examples. With respect to health-related issues,
the CRC reads, in part:

States Parties recognize the right of the child to the enjoyment of the highest attainable
standard of health and to facilities for the treatment of illness and rehabilitation of health.
States Parties shall strive to ensure that no child is deprived of his or her right of access
to such health care services.
(CRC, Art. 24)

Securing access to health care when needed can ensure girls’ healthy development. Of particular
relevance to girl children, the CRC was the first legally binding international instrument to
address the impact of traditional practices such as female genital mutilation/circumcision
(UNICEF Innocenti Research Centre, 1997). Article 24(3) calls on states parties to “take all
effective and appropriate measures with a view to abolishing traditional practices prejudicial
to the health of children” (CRC, Art. 24[3]). The drafters considered this provision to be a
direct response to practices such as female genital mutilation/circumcision. Further, the Plan
of Action promulgated at the UN Special Session on Children in 2002 also demands that
governments end harmful traditional practices (UN Special Session, para. 44[9]).
Education is another area in which the CRC’s protections can offer lifelong benefits to
girls. Gender discrimination often leads to differences in access to educational opportunities
between boys and girls. UNICEF reports that there is “no tool for development more effective
than the education of girls. No other policy is as likely to raise economic productivity, lower
infant and maternal mortality, improve nutrition and promote health—including helping to
prevent the spread of HIV/AIDS” (Annan, 2004, vii). States parties to the CRC must
recognize “the right of the child to education” (CRC, Art. 28) and are required to progressively
achieve education for all. Further, states parties to the CRC must provide any educational
opportunities without discrimination on the basis of a child’s sex pursuant to Article 2.
In addition, states parties to the CRC agree that:

[T]he education of the child shall be directed to . . . [t]he preparation of the child for
responsible life in a free society, in the spirit of understanding, peace, tolerance, equality
of sexes and friendship among all peoples, ethnic, national and religious groups and persons
of indigenous origin.
(CRC, Art. 29[1][d])

That requirement applies to the education of both girls and boys. Educational opportunities
rooted in these principles will not only open up new opportunities for girls but will also help
raise future generations of both boys and girls on the principle of equality among men and
women.
Thus, children’s rights, if implemented comprehensively, will help girls develop to their
fullest potential. It will enable girls to take advantage of educational opportunities while having
their civil and political rights, as well as other social and economic rights, fully protected.

How Children’s Rights Benefit Women: Broader Impact

Ensuring the rights of both boys and girls will have a positive impact on the lives of adult
women (and men) as well. First, as discussed in the section on women’s rights above, when

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Jonathan Todres

girls’ rights are vindicated and protected, they are more likely to grow up to be healthy,
empowered women. Investment in children’s rights then provides long-term dividends for
women’s rights.
In addition, because, as described above, women typically bear primary responsibility for
raising children, when children’s rights are constrained, it often has an impact on women’s
capacity to realize their rights. For example, children who do not have regular access to health
care are more likely to be ill more often (Kogan et al., 2010; Newacheck et al., 1998). More
frequent illnesses lead to poorer school performance and higher absenteeism rates (Del Rosso
& Marek, 1996; Jukes, Drake & Bundy, 2008; World Health Organization, 2000). In addition
to harming the child, often the burden of caring for the out-of-school child will fall to the
mother. That might affect women’s employment opportunities. Therefore, full implementation
of children’s rights will help both boys and girls to be healthier, enabling mothers and other
adult women to spend less time nursing sick children and more time pursuing opportunities
in the workplace or elsewhere (Goonesekere, 1992). Ideally, and as women’s rights law insists,
the burden of child rearing should not fall so disproportionately on women, but the reality is
that societies have not yet achieved equality among men and women. Therefore progress on
children’s rights generally will accrue benefits for many women. Furthermore, as states more
fully embrace women’s rights, resulting in more shared child rearing responsibilities, the broader
impact of implementing children’s rights will still accrue to parents, resulting in benefits for
both women and men.
As the above discussion demonstrates, there are mutually beneficial relationships among
women’s rights and children’s rights. Both sets of rights frequently address the same issues, and
each supports the other. This interrelationship among women’s rights and children’s rights
reinforces the importance of pursuing full implementation of both in order to achieve success
in the human rights movement.

Women’s Rights and Children’s Rights in Practice

As the prior section details, investing in children’s rights or women’s rights can produce benefits
for the other population. This section offers two examples of how implementing children’s
and women’s rights holistically can be beneficial to both. The first example highlights the way
that assistance to families can help realize women’s rights and children’s rights simultaneously.
The second example explores how an intersectionality-informed perspective can advance
understanding of threats to the rights and well-being of girls.

Supporting Families: Conditional Cash Transfer and Microfinance

Programs
Governments offer a range of assistance programs to families. If well-designed, assistance programs
can simultaneously account for the rights of both women and children. Conditional cash transfer
and microfinance programs provide a valuable example.
Conditional cash transfer programs can work to advance the rights of women and children
simultaneously. Conditional cash transfer programs provide funding to families tied to conditions
related to health and education, such as regular health care appointments for children and
maintaining children’s enrollment in school. These programs offset some of the financial pressure
on low-income and poor families to have their children leave school in order to work (Handa
et al., 2015). By providing this supplemental income, governments are helping to ensure

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 Children’s Rights and Women’s Rights

children’s right to access health care and their right to education (CRC, Arts. 24 and 28),
while protecting them from labor exploitation (CRC, Art. 32). At the same time, these payments
can help ensure financial security of the family, alleviating pressure on women to pursue riskier
employment, thereby facilitating women’s ability to secure their labor rights, as set forth in
CEDAW Article 11 as well as in more general human rights treaties (International Covenant
on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, Arts. 6 and 7).
Brazil has arguably the most well-known program, Bolsa Familia, and it has provided assistance
to millions of families. Wetzel reports that Bolsa Familia has made significant inroads on poverty,
with women constituting 90 percent of the beneficiaries (Wetzel, 2013). It has also had a positive
impact on children, “increas[ing] school attendance and grade progression” (Wetzel, 2013, n.p.).
Programs such as Bolsa Familia offer governments a relatively low-cost means of addressing
the rights of women and children simultaneously.
Microfinance projects have the potential to achieve similar results. Microfinance programs
that target women can facilitate women’s empowerment. In doing so, they help fulfill the
mandate of CEDAW. Article 13 of CEDAW requires, in part, that states parties ensure that
women have the same rights to “bank loans, mortgages, and other forms of financial credit”
(CEDAW, Art. 13). However microfinance programs that focus on women not only affect
women but also children. The International Labor Organization reports, “Children of women
microfinance borrowers also reap the benefits, as there is an increased likelihood of full-time
school enrolment and lower drop-out rates” (International Labour Organization, 2008, p. 2).
In this regard, microfinance programs that target women can help support children’s right to
education (CRC, Art. 28). In addition, ensuring women have adequate resources can facilitate
their children’s access to health care and other basic necessities.
Both conditional cash transfer and microfinance programs offer examples of how cost-effective
policies and programs can be developed and implemented to support women’s rights and
children’s rights concurrently. By considering the connections between women’s rights and
children’s rights at the design phase of policies and programs, governments can develop and
achieve more successful strategies for advancing the rights and well-being of women and children.

Preventing Sex Trafficking of Women and Children

Although human rights treaties foremost identify the rights inherent in each individual and
corresponding state obligations to ensure those rights, they also provide recognition of the
vulnerabilities of different populations. Vulnerability is part of the human condition, but women
and children confront unique challenges and often multiple forms of vulnerability. Due to their
status as both minors and female, girls confront both particular threats to their rights and well-
being based on each status and also additional obstacles to overcoming barriers to fulfillment
of their rights. Intersectionality theory helps explain this experience. As Kimberlé Crenshaw
states, “Intersectionality simply came from the idea that if you’re standing in the path of multiple
forms of exclusion, you’re likely to get hit by both” (Thomas, 2011, p. 455 [quoting
Crenshaw]). It also means that in advocacy efforts to address one form of discrimination or
the other, individuals with intersectional identities “are marginalized in both” (Crenshaw, 1991,
p. 1244). An intersectionality-informed perspective (see, for example, Bond, 2003; Crenshaw,
1991) can advance understanding of the unique challenges that girls confront. The issue of sex
trafficking provides an instructive example.
Sex trafficking has garnered significant attention in recent years (Todres, 2014). Its victims
include men, women, girls, boys, and transgender adults and youth, although women and girls

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Jonathan Todres

are often at heightened risk of exploitation (UNODC, 2014). The Optional Protocol to the
CRC on the Sale of Children, Child Prostitution, and Child Pornography (Optional Protocol
to the CRC, 2000) and the Protocol to Prevent, Suppress and Punish Trafficking in Persons
Especially Women and Children, supplementing the United Nations Convention against
Transnational Organized Crime (Trafficking Protocol, 2000) are the two leading international
instruments addressing human trafficking. They both are structured around a three-pronged
mandate, requiring governments to prosecute traffickers, assist victims and survivors, and
implement prevention programs (Chuang, 2006; Todres, 2011). The Optional Protocol is limited
to children, though it covers all acts of child trafficking “whether such offences are committed
domestically or transnationally or on an individual or organized basis” (Optional Protocol, Art.
3), while the Trafficking Protocol is limited to transnational crimes that involve an organized
criminal group (Trafficking Protocol, Art. 4).
To date, most anti-trafficking work has focused on apprehending perpetrators and providing
assistance to survivors (Chacón, 2010; Chuang, 2006; Todres, 2011). The third prong,
prevention, has received significantly less focus, and the root causes of human trafficking remain
under-addressed. Evidence suggests that while poverty is a significant factor, often it is poverty
in conjunction with other factors that heightens vulnerability—what some researchers call
“poverty plus” (van de Glind, 2010, p. 106). One of the other key factors is gender-based
discrimination. Gender-based discrimination plays a role in creating the conditions in which
women and girls are exploited in sex trafficking, indicating that both a children’s rights-based
and women’s rights-based response are needed.
In Thailand, for example, the sexual exploitation of women and girls is not the exclusive
domain of foreign tourists, even though the foreign tourism component of the issue frequently
garners more media attention. In rural areas where few tourists visit, brothels still operate. In
these locales, a traditional gendered view of marriage persists; at the time of marriage, men
should be sexually experienced, but women should be virgins (Thianthai, 2005, pp. 189–90).
In these remote, relatively-closed communities, such a result is possible only if another group
of women exists for men to gain the requisite sexual experience (Thianthai, 2005, p. 190).
That need for another group of women—deemed not suitable for marriage—fosters the
conditions for a commercial sex market. Gender-based discrimination is clearly a driving force.
Therefore, women’s rights law must be part of any effort to counter the root causes of this
exploitation.
However, gender-based discrimination is not the only factor. Other forms of discrimination
contribute to the problem, as evidenced by the fact that women and girls from minority ethnic
groups have been found to be at heightened risk of sexual exploitation in Thailand (Burke &
Ducci, 2015, p. 20). In addition, cases of trafficking of adult women (or men) still might be
rooted in violations of children’s rights, as many sex trafficking victims were first pushed into
the sex trade when they were minors. The devaluation of certain children’s lives further enables
young girls and boys to be exploited with impunity. The involvement of children and other
contributing factors highlight the need for a children’s rights-based response, along with a
women’s rights approach.
Similar societal and cultural norms operate in other countries, with gender-based
discrimination combining with other forms of discrimination to leave women and children at
heightened risk of sexual exploitation and other harms. In Europe, Romani girls are often
targets of discrimination on the basis of both sex and ethnicity in a variety settings (Ravnbøl,
2009). Detailing structural intersectionalities that Romani children confront, Ravnbøl writes,
that the “availability and accessibility of institutional mechanisms for redress are frequently seen

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 Children’s Rights and Women’s Rights

to be affected by the interrelation of age, gender and race/ethnicity, for example in social service
offices, justice institutions, education and other state institutions that deal with Roma”
(Ravnbøl, 2009, p. 14). Similarly, girls in the United States confront societal norms that heighten
their vulnerability. For example, Freeman-Longo observed: “Most sexual abuse is illegal [in
the United States], but there are aspects of [U.S.] culture, lifestyle, and sexual interests and
behaviors that are abusive of sexuality, and yet they are legal” (Freeman-Longo, 1997, p. 305).
Research suggests that the sexualization of young girls in the U.S. media may contribute to a
culture that tolerates, if not promotes, the violation of children’s rights (American Psychological
Association’s Task Force on the Sexualization of Girls, 2010; Institute of Medicine and
National Research Council, 2013). Rather than view sex trafficking as a women’s rights or
children’s rights issue, governments and civil society would be more successful addressing the
problem if they understood and responded to it by drawing upon the insights of both rights
regimes informed by an intersectionality analysis.
As this section reflects, there is significant value in recognizing the overlap between, and
mutually reinforcing nature of, women’s and children’s rights. In moving from human rights
theory to successful implementation of human rights law, adopting an integrated approach to
women’s rights and children’s rights can advance understanding of existing human rights issues
and spur the development of more effective laws, policies, and programs aimed at securing the
rights of all individuals.

Critiques of and Challenges in Combined Advocacy for Women’s

and Children’s Rights
Recognizing and accounting for the relationships among women’s rights and children’s rights
can advance the rights of both populations. Having said that, it is important to note that the
interests and concerns of women and children also differ in important respects. Recognizing
the connections between the two populations and their rights does not negate the fact that
there will be issues best addressed from either a women’s rights perspective or a children’s
rights perspective. Also, forging a holistic approach to these issues requires sensitivity to the
past—and current—experiences of both groups. Two concerns, one conceptual and the other
situational, merit consideration.
First, at a conceptual level, some feminists have expressed concern that focusing on children’s
rights might come at the expense of addressing pressing issues for women. Radical feminist
theory has pointed to the patriarchal nature of society and “the institution of the family and
women’s traditional family and child care responsibilities as oppressive and primarily responsible
for the denial of a women’s right to equality and justice” (Goonesekere, 1992, p. 5). In response,
many women’s rights advocates elected to “disassociate women’s issues from children’s interests
in order to stress women’s rights to equity and justice irrespective of their procreative and
care-giving roles” (Goonesekere, 1992, p. 5). The result, as Linda Malone explains, is that:

[A]dvocacy for the Children’s Convention by women’s rights advocates has been tempered
by concern that linkage of children’s rights with women’s rights is a regression to a time
in industrialized countries when the two groups were linked to control women in a
patriarchal society.
(Malone, 1997, p. 6)

Such a regression would be a manipulation of children’s rights and antithetical to the human
rights ideal.

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Jonathan Todres

Although the text of children’s rights law does not disadvantage women or girls—indeed
as noted above, the CRC was the first gender-neutral human rights treaty and its provisions
support girls and women—the reality is that child rearing remains highly gendered and
patriarchal constructs persist around the globe. Human rights scholars and advocates must be
mindful of concerns over conceptually linking the two sets of rights. Scholars and advocates
must ensure that as children’s rights and women’s rights move from theory to practice, they
reinforce each other and resist traditional constructs that are harmful to either or both
populations.
The second potential challenge relates to situational conflicts between women’s rights and
children’s rights. Although nothing inherent in women’s rights and children’s rights suggests
it is a zero sum game, there are circumstances in which the rights of a woman can potentially
conflict with the rights of a child (Goonesekere, 1992, p. 9). For example, certain traditional
practices reinforce gender inequalities and disadvantage women, though they might offer benefit
to some children, as in the case of son preference in education or food allocation in the home.
Similarly, if a mother wants to follow a particular cultural practice that involves a child, that
could lead to a conflict between the mother’s cultural rights and the child’s right to participate
in decisions that affect her life, as well as possibly the child’s right to develop to her fullest
potential and even her health and well-being, in certain situations. The CRC aims to resolve
these conflicts through Article 3’s mandate that “in all actions concerning children,” the best
interests of the child must be “a primary consideration” (CRC, Art. 3; see also Alston 1992).
Thus, Article 3 elevates the interests of the child, while allowing for other interests to trump
in certain circumstances. But neither the language of the CRC—a primary, not the primary—
nor the best interests of the child standard itself provides a clear answer in all circumstances
(Armstrong, 1995; Mnookin, 1985). These are complex situations that require consideration
for the rights of both the woman and the child. However, these situations constitute a small
fraction of the children’s rights mandate, as Barbara Woodhouse explains: “The CRC is not
a charter of children’s rights to be free from parental authority and control. It is foremost a
charter of children’s rights to be free from abuse, neglect, and oppression by the state”
(Woodhouse, 2006, p. 38). Moreover, situational conflicts among rights are not limited to
women and children. They are inherent in human rights law and law in general. No law can
anticipate every possible outcome. Such situations demand thoughtful consideration and must
be carefully navigated to ensure the best possible outcome for all individuals. However, isolated
conflicts between rights do not negate the overall value that women’s rights has for children
and children’s rights has for women.

A Holistic Approach to Children’s Rights and All Human Rights

The lives and well-being of children are inextricably linked with adults, especially their parents
and other caregivers (see the chapter by Tobin in this volume on the relationship between
children and parents as considered in the CRC). The vast majority of children grow and develop
within a family. The CRC recognizes the family as “the fundamental group of society and
the natural environment for the growth and well-being of all its members and particularly
children” (CRC, Preamble). Children’s development and well-being are deeply tied to the
status, customs, and attitudes of their parents, family members, and communities. As detailed
in this chapter, the evidence is clear that women play a particularly important role in the lives
of children, both directly and indirectly. Achieving full realization of children’s rights, therefore,
will require attending to the rights of adults who nurture the development of each child.

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In accounting for the rights of adults, governments and civil society must pay special attention
to women’s rights, because of both the roles women play and the fact that their rights are
often constrained to the detriment of children.
Conversely, children’s rights serve as the building blocks of a society in which the rights
of all individuals are recognized and ensured. Securing the rights of children will bolster women’s
capacity to fulfill their own rights. Ultimately, enabling all children to realize their rights will
position them to develop to their fullest potential and enter adulthood as empowered individuals
who can advocate for their rights and help secure the rights of others.

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 3
Children’s Rights
A Framework to Eliminate Social Exclusion?
Critical Discussions and Tensions

Didier Reynaert and Rudi Roose

Introduction
Children’s rights are considered an important framework for eradicating the social exclusion of
children (see Cemlyn & Briskman, 2003; Davis, 2007; Tisdall, Davis, Hill & Prout, 2006). The
main objective originating from the children’s rights agenda is to include children as co-citizens
in society. From the 1960s and 1970s on, the children’s rights movement, a social movement
in defence of the interests of children, challenged societal structures, policies, and practices that
excluded children from society. Verhellen (1998, p. 486) made this clear with his statement to
‘bring children back into society’. The critique of the children’s rights movement was directed
at the discourse of child protection that made its appearance at the end of the nineteenth century
in industrialised societies (Archard, 2004; Verhellen, 2000). Typical for the protection discourse
was the exclusion of children from society, based on the childhood image of the ‘incompetent
child’ (Reynaert, Bouverne-De Bie & Vandevelde, 2009). The purpose of child protection was
to initiate children into adulthood. Childhood was directed at instructing children to become
competent. ‘Integration by means of separation’ as Honig (2008, p. 201) explained, or inclusion
by exclusion. The children’s rights movement expressed a rather radical critique to this con-
ceptualisation of children and childhood. They argued for the recognition of the agency of
children and therefore, for the recognition of children as fellow citizens in society (Archard,
2004; Verhellen, 2000). Children should not be included in society, the children’s rights
movement stated, as they are part of it already. Children should be acknowledged in their
competency as autonomous human beings, eliminating the argument of incompetency as ground
for the social exclusion of children (Reynaert et al., 2009). In recent years, social exclusion and
children’s rights have become more associated with particular problems such as poverty or
discrimination, preventing children from participating in society. Participation became a central
notion in the discussion on social exclusion (Davis, 2007; Roche, 1999; Tisdall et al., 2006).
Giving children the opportunity to participate in society should contribute to be included in
this society. Accordingly, children’s rights and social exclusion are strongly intertwined, with
the former being considered as an important instrument to combat the latter.

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 Children’s Rights and Social Exclusion

An underexplored issue in the relationship between children’s rights and social exclusion
is the question of whether children’s rights can also result in social exclusion. This question has
to do with the fact that children’s rights, also the right to participation, can be understood or
interpreted in many different ways (Roose & Bouverne-De Bie, 2007). Different interpretations
of children’s rights can result in different constructions of children’s rights. Similarly, different
constructions of children’s rights can have different effects on children. There is no reason to
presume that children’s rights are de facto in the interest of children. In fact, we have little
‘evidence’ on how children’s rights ‘act’ in policy or practice (Reynaert, Bouverne-De Bie &
Vandevelde, 2012). Each construction of children’s rights entails a number of assumptions –
assumptions on society, childhood or parenthood, responsibility or vulnerability, etc. – directing
children’s rights in one way or another. Some of these constructions of children’s rights may
generate specific dynamics that are not always for the benefit of children (Pupavac, 2001;
Reynaert et al., 2012). Although these constructions probably are shaped with the best
intentions, in retrospect, it does not mean that they always work out in favour for children.
Possibly, some interpretations of children’s rights can also contribute to further social exclusion
of children. Analysing this rather controversial thesis is the aim of this chapter.
We begin our analysis by examining the relationship between children’s rights and social
exclusion. A central concept in this discussion is the notion of participation. Participation in
our analysis is considered as the possibility to engage in society. Logically, social exclusion then
is understood as a lack of opportunities to participate in society, and therefore a violation of
children’s rights. In the main part of this chapter we analyse certain risks that go together with
particular constructions of children’s rights in policy and practice that might result in social
exclusion. To make our case more concrete, we will use the issue of child poverty as an
illustration. The focus on child poverty in policy, practice and academia in industrialised countries
has increased significantly in recent years (see Roets, Roose & Bouverne-De Bie, 2013;
Schiettecat, Roets & Vandenbroeck, 2014; UNICEF, 2005, 2000; Vleminckx & Smeeding,
2003). Furthermore, anti-poverty strategies for children have been increasingly framed from
the perspective of children’s rights (Vandenhole, Vranken & De Boyser, 2010). Therefore,
child poverty is an interesting case to further examine the relation between children’s rights,
participation and social exclusion (see Chapter 8 of this volume for a consideration of the
intersections children’s rights, poverty and children’s work in India). Next, we explore the
underlying logics at play when implementing children’s rights, resulting in social exclusion. In
particular, we will discuss the relationship between children and parents, how this relationship
is constructed using the framework of children’s rights and how particular constructions can
result in opposing interests between children and parents on the one hand and in controlling
strategies for parents on the other hand. What we aim to express with our analysis is that there
is a lack of theoretical foundations and critical scrutiny in the field of children’s rights.
Therefore, in the final section of this chapter, we will emphasise the importance of the practice
of ‘critique’ in the field of children’s rights.

Social Exclusion, Participation and Child Poverty

Social Exclusion: An Issue of Participation

As mentioned in the introduction, the main critique of the children’s rights movement during
the second half of the past century was the social exclusion of children from society (Archard,
2004; Verhellen, 2000). This was prompted by the contestation of the children’s rights

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movement of the underlying child-image of the ‘incompetent child’. Instead, the children’s
rights movement made a case for an alternative child-image, ‘the autonomous child’. This child-
image is characterised by the recognition of agency and full citizenship-status of children
(Reynaert et al., 2009). The critique on the child-image of the incompetent child was not
only directed to how children were perceived generally. It also entailed an account of the
socio-cultural institutionalised status of children in society. Social institutions such as school,
child care or youth work isolated children from society in a separate ‘child world’, a ‘youth
land’ or ‘youth moratorium’ (Zinnecker, 2000). These institutions where established to prepare
children for, or to socialise them into adulthood (Honig, 2008; Verhellen, 2000). With the
recognition of the citizenship-status of children, this institutionalised youth land came under
pressure for socially excluding children from society. What the children’s rights movement
was emphasising was a political conception of social exclusion, i.e., a conception by which the
principles of our democratic society itself were at stake (Biesta, 2011). ‘Age’, or being a minor
was no longer considered as a legitimate ground for social division in society. This motive
could be compared with other ‘carriers’ of political struggle during this time period, such as
ethnicity, disability or gender. These all have in common that individual features were not
considered merely as individual issues. These individual features were ‘politicised’ as they were
part of a particular social, cultural, political and economic context in which they were
constructed, contested and reconstructed.
From these observations, social exclusion could be defined as a lack of access to or a violation
of children’s rights. This links up with Walker and Walker (1997, p. 8), among others, who
argue that social exclusion could be considered as the ‘denial (or non-realization) of the civil,
political and social rights of citizenship’ (see also Room, 1995). These rights include participation
rights for children, one of the three categories of children’s rights recognised in the United
Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC, article 12), besides protection and
provision rights (the 3P-approach; see Quennerstedt, 2010). Participation rights of children
have been discussed considerably in international literature the past decades. Participation has
been conceptualised in very different ways, emphasising different understandings and definitions
(see Percy-Smith & Thomas, 2009; Thomas, 2007; Tisdall, 2015). In the framework of discussing
in- and exclusion of children in society, it is important to highlight the ‘social’ and ‘political’
dimension of participation, i.e. the possibilities children have to take part in everyday social
life and to exercise power in order to change social structures (Thomas, 2007; Mollenhauer,
1983). If we consider children as co-authors of society, recognising their right to participate
in shaping this society, social exclusion can be defined as the lack of means or opportunities
to be able to participate in society. Following Burchardt, Le Grand and Piachaud (1999, p.
203), we then can define social exclusion as follows: ‘An individual is socially excluded if (a)
he or she is geographically resident in a society and (b) he or she does not participate in the
normal activities of citizens in that society.’ Social exclusion is considered a structural process
of non-participation in social life due to the organisation of society itself according to particular
economic or socio-cultural patterns. In the case of children it is the non-participation of children
in important domains of society because of the ‘ghettoisation’ of childhood in the
institutionalised youth land, i.e. the socio-cultural pattern of separation of children from
adulthood by creating child-specific institutions such as schools or child care institutions. For
instance, children are excluded from the formal political process of decision making in our
democratic societies by denying them the right to vote. This position is legitimised by labelling
children as ‘not-competent-yet’ to make a rational choice in voting.

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 Children’s Rights and Social Exclusion

Social Exclusion: The Case of Child Poverty

The use of a children’s rights framework as an instrument for political struggle to prevent social
exclusion is a continual exercise for the children’s rights movement. With the adoption of the
United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (hereafter CRC), the children’s rights
movement acquired an important tool to combat social exclusion. Particularly article 2 on non-
discrimination bans all kinds of grounds for the discrimination of children. Besson (2005),
referring to the definition of discrimination established under the UN Covenant on Civil and
Political Rights, explains that (social) exclusion could be understood as a specific form of dis-
crimination, i.e. any distinction, restriction or preference resulting in ‘[t]reating people
differently in similar situations without an objective justification’ (Besson, 2005, p. 435). The
nature of the struggle against the social exclusion of children changed over time from a rather
unidimensional focus on age, towards a multidimensional approach at the intersection of age,
gender, ethnicity and other identity markers (De Graeve, 2015). Nowadays, the socio-
economic dimension regained interest with the increased attention for child poverty. This is
mainly due to the consequences of neoliberal tendencies worldwide. Satka et al. (2007, p. 131),
based on insights developed by Lorenz (2006), argued:

The support for the new liberal trend of minimising public expenses has weakened the
status of families with children and children’s welfare: there has been a clear increase in
both child poverty in general and poverty among families in the weakest socio-economic
position. And generally speaking, much less public attention is paid to the root causes of
this disturbing trend, such as poverty, than to its symptomatic behaviours (e.g. criminal
activity, non-conformation, and antisocial tendencies).

In recent years, especially since the outbreak of the global economic crisis, child poverty
received an increased attention in industrialised welfare states from practice, policy and research.
This is in part due to the increasing number of children growing up in poverty since the start
of this century. According to Eurostat (2013), the statistical office of the European Union, 27
per cent of children aged between 0 and 17 years of age were at risk of poverty or social
exclusion. Children are one of the most vulnerable groups for risk of poverty, compared to
adults (24.3 per cent) and elderly (20.5 per cent). The number of children at risk of poverty
or social exclusion almost doubles in single parents households (49.8 per cent) (Eurostat, 2013).
According to a UNICEF (2014) report on the impact of the current economic crisis on child
well-being in rich countries, child poverty increased in 19 of the 32 CoE-countries (members
of the Council of Europe) and in 23 of the 41 OECD-countries (members of the Organisation
for Economic Co-operation and Development) as a consequence of the economic crisis. The
report further explained that the number of children entering into poverty during the recession
was 2.6 million higher than the number that have been able to escape from it since 2008 (6.6
million, as against 4 million). It is estimated that 76.5 million children live in poverty in the
Council of Europe countries, while the United States and Australia have had the largest increases
in the NEET (not in education, employment or training) rate across non-EU OECD countries.
To halt the increasing problem of child poverty in Europe, it was given priority in the Lisbon
Strategy for Social Inclusion (2000), where children were targeted as a particular group of
concern. In 2010, when the Lisbon Strategy came to an end, the Europe 2020 strategy came
in place. It is the Union’s growth strategy for a smart, sustainable and inclusive economy and
aims at realising five goals on employment, innovation, education, social inclusion and climate
by 2020. The strategy also includes new goals to eradicate child poverty.

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While we agree with Levitas (2006) that disentangling poverty and social exclusion is
conceptually difficult, we consider poverty as a particular form of social exclusion. In response
to the problem of child poverty, a child rights-based approach is often put forward (e.g.
Redmond, 2008; Vandenhole et al., 2010). Poverty in this line of thinking is considered as a
violation of the rights of children as recognised in the CRC. At least two features are
of importance in a child rights-based approach to poverty. First, Morrow (2010) argues that
a child rights-based approach emphasises primarily the obligation and accountability of a
government to guarantee access to basic resources. The task of a government consists of pro-
viding the necessary social arrangements within a framework of universal social policies. These
policies should secure those living conditions that guarantee a life in human dignity. Second,
a child rights-based approach highlights participation as a central concept in anti-poverty
strategies. Ridge (2006) explains how children, as a consequence of poverty, are often not able
to participate in social activities and therefore are at risk of social exclusion from leisure activities,
friendships, social networks etc. So, child poverty is an interesting case to further analyse processes
and dynamics of social exclusion in the field of children’s rights.

Children’s Rights and Social Exclusion: A Minimalist Perspective

Despite the fact that a child rights-based approach is set forward as an important frame of reference
to combat social exclusion, different interpretations can exist of such an approach. An over-
all distinction could be made between ‘minimalist’ and ‘maximalist’ perspectives on children’s
rights and social exclusion. In a minimalist perspective, the focus is on the basic living conditions
of children, but these are limited to the classic domains of (social) policies for children and
young people. Strategies for combating social exclusion are sought in the areas of education,
child care, youth work, etc., i.e. in the institutionalised youth land where separate social
provisions for children are established, distinct from those for adults. In this section, we explore
what the implications can be of such a minimalistic perspective on children’s rights and social
exclusion. In particular, we will consider the relationship between children and parents and
investigate how anti-poverty strategies for children play a role in this relationship. We will
discuss issues of victim-blaming and moralisation of parents and explain how they risk being
strengthened by minimalist interpretations of children’s rights, resulting in the further social
exclusion of children.

Child Poverty: Narrowing a Social Problem down to an Educational

Problem
Child policy from a children’s rights perspective considers children as autonomous bearers
of rights (MacNaughton, Hughes & Smith, 2007; Melton, 2005; Reynaert et al., 2009). Conse-
quently, governments increasingly address children directly by the development of child-centred
organisations and institutions. The main idea is that children have a right (of access) to proper
social services. Policies aiming at combating child poverty focus mainly on these child-centred
organisations, in particular organisations in the field of early childhood education and care
(ECEC). The Danish authority in the study of the welfare state, Esping-Andersen (2002) explains
that in the transition of Western welfare states towards social investment states, investing in
the earliest years of childhood pays for the future both for children themselves as for society
(see also Gray, 2014; Lister, 2006a, 2006b). However, strategies to eradicate child poverty from
a children’s rights perspective risk becoming ‘locked up’ in these traditional child policy domains

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such as child care or education, i.e. in the institutionalised youth land. Notwithstanding the
contribution that such child-centred social institutions can make to the fight against child poverty,
this approach narrows the problem of child poverty from a social problem towards a problem
of child rearing. As Mestrum (2011), among others, argued, the problem of child poverty is in
essence a derivative of the broader issue of poverty. In our societies, which are run by market
economies, poverty (including child poverty) is first and foremost all a problem of a lack of
income. Therefore, combating child poverty mainly via organisations in the field of early
childhood education and care risk ignoring the fundamental reasons that cause child poverty.
Lister (2004), in the context of the development of the social investment state in the UK and
Canada, argues that a discourse focusing on child poverty ‘[h]as served to make the structural
causes of poverty less visible; to encourage a response motivated by pity for the helpless child
alongside a mentality of blaming adults/mothers; and to displace women’s issues generally and
women’s poverty specifically’ (Lister, 2006a, p. 328). She further explains that ‘While the
prioritisation given to children has been welcome, it has, in some ways, been at the expense
of their parents. . . . Great emphasis is placed on parenting and the responsibilities of parents’
(Lister, 2006a, p. 326).
Minimalist interpretations of children’s rights, narrowing anti-poverty strategies for children
to the field of early childhood education and care, risk overlooking the socio-economic status
of parents, and therefore, risk developing unequal support for children and parents in poverty
(Featherstone, Broadhurts & Holt, 2011; Pupavac, 2001). Such policies, as Lister pointed out,
likewise risk resulting in opposing interests between children and parents. Minimalist approaches
to children’s rights stem from an understanding of children’s rights that is biased on ‘politics of
recognition’ and consequently loses sight of ‘politics of redistribution’ (Fraser & Honneth, 2003).
With the entrée of children’s rights, the focus in child policy has mainly shifted to the recognition
that children and young people also have a voice and that they are active meaning-makers in
social processes. As Lister (2006a, p. 321) states: ‘Children have moved from the margins to the
heart of social policy.’ However, when disconnecting the official recognition of children’s position
in society in general and in social policy in particular from efforts to develop a redistributive
social policy that meets the interests of all members of society, including parents, this risks resulting
in opposing interests between children and families and excluding children.

Anti-poverty Policies for Children as Governing Strategies for Parents

Anti-poverty policies for children succeed in acquiring a broad base of political and public
support. This is due to the fact that discourses on child poverty are not ‘overloaded’ with victim-
blaming discourses. It is generally accepted that children living in poverty have no responsibility
for the situation in which they find themselves. In contrast to popular discourses on adult poverty
where a victim-blaming ethos is generally accepted (Wright, 1993), poverty is an injustice that
‘happens’ to children and therefore they are not to blame. Where children in poverty might
generally be free of the stigma of ‘guilt’, the situation is typically different for parents. When
child poverty is defined – i.e. narrowed – as a child rearing problem rather than as a social
problem, then at least implicitly it is presumed that parents have an important responsibility
in this problem or in resolving this problem. After all, in a children’s rights approach, parents
are considered to have the primary responsibility for the upbringing and development of their
children (cf. Article 18 CRC). Parents are often held responsible for the situation of poverty
in which their children grew up, or they are blamed for the lack of responsibility they take to
escape from poverty. Analysing parental responsibility in the UK, Gillies observes that family

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policy is shaped from the idea that ‘[p]oor parents are failing to impart the necessary skills and
traits that are needed to propel their children up to the social ranks and thereby sustain a just
society’ (Gillies, 2008a, p. 99). Therefore, initiatives of parenting support are developed to
help parents learn child rearing skills. However, these parenting support programs run the risk
of being designed from a ‘politics of control’ in which parental support by the government
assumes an instrumental character in the function of social integration. According to Gillies
(2008a, p. 96), ‘over the last decade or so, policies have been oriented towards reforming the
lifestyle and conduct of the poorest and most vulnerable in society in order to “save” the next
generation.’ The aim is to adjust parents behaviour in the direction of more desirable child
rearing behaviour. According to this view, parents are at risk of a controlling measure by the
government, intervening in their parental responsibility in the name of protecting children
against poverty and to safeguard children’s rights. In this line of thinking, children’s rights are
understood as ‘parental duties’: as part of anti-poverty policies for children, parents have the
responsibility to contribute to upward social mobility for their children (see the chapter by
Tobin in this volume on the relationship between children’s rights and parents’ rights). This
should allow children to be socially included in society and thus to see their rights realised.
In this victim-blaming discourse it is assumed that poverty is an individual problem, a problem
of parents who lack parental skills and are not fully integrated in society. Inadequate parenting,
it is reasoned is supposed to threaten or undermine the future opportunities of children. Teaching
parents appropriate parenting skills should contribute in preventing children from living in
poverty and therefore being socially excluded from society. Parenting support is specifically
targeting families where parents are labelled as incompetent to reach the dominant ideal of the
‘negotiation household’. This family model emphasises more democratic relationships between
parents and children ( Jans, 2004) and is promoted by children’s rights organisations as an ideal
setting for family education, as it highlights participation rights of children in the family context
(Reynaert et al., 2009). However, Vandenbroeck and Bouverne-De Bie (2006) showed that
this parenting model relies on certain skills and competencies that characterise a middle-class
ideal of negotiation. Parenting support understood in this way is very instrumental and socially
normative in nature: it attempts to conform parents in poverty to the dominant social order.
So, for parents, this is a double punishment. There is not only the stigma of being poor and
labelled as ‘poor parents’; at the same time, parents receiving parental support are considered
to be ‘bad parents’.

The Social Politics of Child Poverty and Children’s Rights

Governing parental behaviour as a means of combating child poverty is part of a broader socio-
political paradigm of Western welfare states. As explained earlier in this chapter, this welfare
state is currently experiencing a shift in ‘architecture’ towards a social investment state. This
shift is associated with an increased concern in social policy for child-oriented policies under
the guise of a ‘child-centred social investment strategy’ (Esping-Andersen, 2002; Kjørholt, 2013;
Lister, 2004; Olk, 2006; Olk & Hübenthal, 2009). Investing in the human capital of children
is considered to be the best guarantee for their individual development and socialisation in
society (Vandenbroeck et al., 2009). The attendance of children in child care for instance is
presumed to be the best safeguard for the prevention of social exclusion of children in later
life (Lister, 2004; Schiettecat et al., 2014).This ‘human capital argument’ (Vleminckx &
Smeeding, 2003) succeeds in mobilising a large political and public support to fight against the
negative impact growing up in poverty can have on the development of children, especially

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young children. Growing up in poverty threatens not only children’s present development but
also their future life chances.
At the same time, activating policy measure for parents aimed at integration into the labour
market should ensure that families themselves can be held responsible for their own maintenance
and be less dependent on social measures provided by the government (Lorenz, 2006).
Investing in opportunities for young children is thus not so much prompted by an emancipatory
agenda or a concern for the best interests of children. Rather, it is driven by an understanding
of the status of children as ‘investment goods’ for future success and therefore investing in
children is the best ‘return on investment’ and the best prevention for social exclusion of children
from society (Olk & Hübenthal, 2009). For this purpose, a government is willing to invest in
children, provided that parents make these investments ‘pay’. Parents who do not succeed
in rendering results from the opportunities put at their disposal risk becoming objects of
controlling governmental measures.
In the context of a child-centred social investment state, social policy measures to combat
child poverty starting from a children’s rights framework – emphasising qualitative child-centred
social provisions for children in their own right – risk being restrained in what we have called
the institutionalised youth land. Such a minimalist interpretation of children’s rights narrows
the issue of child poverty from a social problem to a child rearing problem. Strategies to combat
child poverty then focus on parental responsibility and activating and controlling govern-
ment interventions of parental support. Parents (and children) in this regime are regarded as
‘entrepreneurial selves’ (Masschelein & Quaghebeur, 2005): in order for the investments to pay
off, parents should maximise their obtained opportunities as autonomous and responsible citizens.
Parents who insufficiently use the investments of the government to prepare children for their
future citizenship status are considered to be bad parents. Although it could be argued that the
child-centred social investment strategy merits the integration of child related issues to the centre
of social policy (Olk & Hübenthal, 2009: 164), ‘It is clear that no substantial improvement in
the material living conditions of children can be realized if it was solely based upon a future-
oriented approach relying on social investments.’ This is exactly the problem with a minimalist
perspective on children’s rights, that it overlooks the poor material conditions in which parents
have to raise their children as a consequence of income inequality and insufficient mechanisms
of redistribution of recourses. In the next part, where we present the contours of a maximalist
perspective on children’s rights and social exclusion, we will elaborate this issue further.

Children’s Rights and Social Exclusion: A Maximalist Perspective

Here we elaborate on maximalist perspectives on children’s rights and social exclusion. In a
maximalist perspective the focus is on the basic living conditions of children, but from an integrated
outlook. In this approach, resources directed to children are connected with resources in place
for parents, and thus children’s rights are connected with the human rights of parents. A
maximalist approach therefore aims at the redistribution of resources and enhancing social
equality.

Children’s Rights as an Instrument for the Redistribution of Resources

The first issue to be considered in a maximalist perspective is that child poverty and the social
exclusion of children cannot be understood properly if these issues are not linked with the
broader social developments and structures that shape childhood. Practices and policies to

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eradicate child poverty and social exclusion should be understood against the background of
the institutionalised youth land, i.e. the socio-cultural structuring of childhood.
Two key issues need to be addressed from a maximalist perspective on children’s rights (for
a more profound analysis of these issues, see Reynart and Roose, 2015). The first issue concerns
the realisation of redistributing resources within the institutionalised youth land. Despite the
increasing focus on the rights of children, the conclusion still holds that opportunities for children
are unequally redistributed. An unequal redistribution of resources for children, resulting in not
being able to participate in society, and therefore being socially excluded from society, can have
several causes. First, children can be deprived of their rights. Notwithstanding almost universal
ratification of the CRC, this remains a relevant issue. During the ongoing refugee crisis in Europe,
started in early 2015, children, whether or not accompanied by their parents who made their
journey mainly from Syria, Afghanistan or Iraq are often treated very differently, depending on
their legal status as asylum seekers, being documented or undocumented or accompanied or
unaccompanied. In a joint open letter to the European Heads of State and the President of the
European Council, more than 50 organisations in the field of children’s rights explain that:

Children often move from category to category, and fall through the gaps in the protection
framework. Many of the children who have experienced situations of violence, insecurity,
child-specific forms of persecution, and other human rights violations are not recognised
as in need of international protection, or are only provided a status for a short period of
time. Many of the children claiming asylum today, are likely to be undocumented in a
few months or years. Many were first documented, but lost their status at a later stage,
for example, if their parent lost their job or experienced domestic violence. . . .
Furthermore, as the Council has noted, ‘the EU Charter for Fundamental Rights and the
United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child, establish that children should be
treated as such regardless of their migratory status, nationality or background’. Some children
may have additional protection needs that should be met, but all children have equal rights,
and must have their rights protected, as children first and foremost. No form of
discrimination is acceptable or justifiable, whether taken by public authorities or private
actors.
(ENOC, 2015)

Second, children may be granted rights, but there may be insufficient recourses in place for
realising these rights. Therefore, social exclusion from a child rights-based approach is a matter
of accessibility, i.e. the extent to which children have access to social, political, cultural or economic
goods to participate in society. This is about having access to social services such as schools,
health care, courts, child care etc. From a child rights-based approach, this is the responsibility
of a government and requires a government to provide a network of qualitative basic
institutions. Here is where the difficulty lies in today’s industrialised societies in the context
of a social investment and an active welfare state. As Lorenz (2014, p. 201) explained:

[R]ecipients of public welfare in European countries not only see their benefits
reduced, but are also made to feel that they must not rely on public support. Welfare
changes into an exhortation to become self-reliant, welfare rights give way to an emphasis
on the duty to make private provisions, and the welfare state itself is being denounced as
having weakened social solidarity by creating dependency and reinforcing social division
in society.

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Finally, children can have rights and sufficient resources are in place in order for children
to see their rights realised. Nevertheless, children can profit in an unequal way from these social
resources. This is caused by often implicit social and cultural ‘rules’ by which certain groups of
children profit more from social services than children who are not familiar with these social
and cultural rules. This is what is defined as the ‘Matthew-effect’, i.e. a process of reverse
redistribution where children from higher income groups benefit more from the same provisions
than children from lower income groups (Vandenbroucke & Vleminckx, 2011). These issues
are of particular relevance for the case of child poverty as a specific form of social exclusion.
A second issue concerns the realisation of redistributing resources outside the institution-
alised youth land. This should include the question of whether (and how) child-related matters
are linked to general social policy. The existence of a segregated area of ‘childhood’ could be
seen as problematic if children’s rights are divorced from human rights, as it would push the
debate on the fair and equal redistribution of social resources across all members of society
into the background (Reynaert & Roose, 2015). In relation to the issue of child poverty,
Henricson and Bainham (2005, p. 37) raise the question whether ‘one can split addressing the
poverty of the family from children’s poverty’ and consequently, ‘where does the differentiation
lie?’ Over-stressing the particularity of children can unintentionally result in the further
exclusion of children. These dynamics are often blind spots for children’s rights activists,
policymakers and scholars.

Children’s Rights and the Diversity of Family Education

A second discussion in relation to children’s rights and child poverty concerns the often
decontextualised nature of the discourse of parenting and family education. The way people
in the public and policy debates talk or write on parenting tends to consider parents as a
homogeneous group who all should fit the new ideal of the negotiation household. Family
interventions are too often fed by ideal-typical models of families rather than by the actual
reality in which families live. In exploring classed assumptions underpinning contemporary
family policy in the UK, Gillies (2008a, p. 112) observed that:

In spite of the situated and class-specific nature of parenting, the current government seems
increasingly determined to valorize and enforce particular child-rearing strategies and values.
. . . Aside from the faulty logic of using class-specific parenting practices to account for
the inequality they reflect, this approach imposes a value-laden definition of good
parenting. To avoid a policy approach grounded in middle-class privilege, there is a need
for a much greater appreciation of the varied and situated roles that parents play in caring
for their children.

The problem with using ideal-typical models in family education is that they start to operate
as a new norm. Either families meet this norm or they do not. However, such models might
be more ambiguous than generally assumed and, similarly, family policy measures that support
such models might also be more discursive than commonly suggested (see Gillies, 2008b; Roose,
Roets & Schiettecat, 2014; Stefansen & Farstad, 2010). Family policy measures based on ideal-
typical models of families largely disregard the plurality that exists among families and the diversity
of parenting styles within families. Likewise, such family policy measures pay little heed to the
different social contexts in which parents raise their children. Abstract conceptualisations of
the ideal family tend to favour certain types of families and, consequently, tend to problematise

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other family models. The conception of the negotiation household, as Vandenbroeck and
Bouverne-De Bie (2006) suggest, place undue emphasis on the individuality of children and
parents. This model privileges a white, Western, middle-class family that fits a particular group
of children more than others. Exalting a particular parental model in family policy ignores the
fact that parents often have very different resources at their disposal to educate their children.
As a result, focusing on the ideal parenting model of the negotiation household might favour
certain groups of parents – i.e. those for whom the ideal of negotiation is already a reality and
who have the necessary support (in terms of social resources) to learn to negotiate – while
discriminating against other groups of parents who cannot fulfil this ideal. What is more, and
this is certainly the case in the field of child poverty, the ideal of negotiating risks helping to
shape a tendency towards moralising parents. At the surface, parental support programs starting
from an ideal-typical parenting model may look neutral, but at least implicitly, they are
condemnatory at inappropriate or irresponsible parental behaviour. So, the framework of
children’s rights, promoting the ideal-typical family education of the negotiation household,
risks becoming an instrument to supervise and govern parental responsibility when parents do
not meet the ideal of the negotiating household (Reynaert & Roose, 2015; Roose et al., 2013).
If parents do not meet the social expectations of ‘good parenthood’ the role of the government
moves from social support and protection of children to the supervision of the behaviour and
responsibility of their parents.
Increasingly, granting rights to children from this point of view might not be so contradictory
to the social investment of the state’s doctrine of ‘investing in children’. The trend towards a
social investment state exposes a shift in the way citizenship is conceived, i.e. from citizenship
as a status of rights, over citizenship as a status of duties, to citizenship where rights are considered
as a lever for social integration (Biesta, 2011). Anti-poverty strategies for children in this light
should be considered as concrete policy measures aimed at social integration. Social integration
therefore becomes a precondition for the recognition of citizenship rights. These dynamics disregard
an essential foundation of children’s rights that are indispensable to policymakers and
practitioners working in the field of family policy. It overlooks the connection between, on
the one hand, formal citizenship status and on the other hand, the possibilities family members
have to live a life with human dignity. Consequently, a child rights-based family policy cannot
be properly understood if it is not linked to a broader understanding of family policy from a
human rights perspective. Not only do the interests of children and parents need to be considered
in relation to one another; these interests also need to be construed in the diversity of ways
in which parents and their children forge mutual understanding and respect. As Dean (2007)
suggests, ‘it is perhaps through a politics of needs interpretation that specific human needs may
be translated into claims and asserted as rights, albeit in a manner that might combine struggles
over the redistribution of resources with identity-based struggles for recognition’ (p. 8). Family
policy measures should link with the heterogeneity of the realities of family education and
should support the endeavour toward more equality in the possibilities of living a life with
human dignity. Starting from this ideal, anti-child poverty strategies need to express a collective
social responsibility in relation to child rearing, instead of complementing or correcting
parental responsibilities.

Children’s Rights: Critical Perspectives

In this chapter, we have been discussing children’s rights and we have considered several risks
that come into play when interpreting or constructing children’s rights in a particular way.

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Some of these constructions can have negative outcomes for children (and their parents), due
to very individualising or moralising discourses in which children’s rights become entangled.
In the field of children’s rights, practitioners, policy makers or scholars typically give little
attention to the dynamics that construct children’s rights in a particular way. This is due to
the fact that a ‘positivist conceptualisation’ is common sense in the field of children’s rights.
Positivist approaches to children’s rights proclaim rights as objective standards, for instance in
a system of law. As such, children’s rights ‘exists’ outside of the daily worlds of people and
represent a rather decontextualised perspective on children’s rights (see Ife, 2001). The problem
with such an approach is that the question as to what is just and fair is in essence a normative–
evaluative issue: positivist approaches to children’s rights measure a certain situation in which
children and parents are involved in relation to the presumed ‘objective’ norm of children’s
rights. Whether it is the model of the negotiating household or the ideal of good parenting,
they all share the same underlying logic of objectivism. Children and parents who fulfil the
preconceived norm are included; children and parents who cannot realise this norm are excluded.
We oppose such a positivist view on children’s rights, as this approach essentially ignores the
discursive character of children’s rights. The discursive character of children’s rights points at
the fact that rights operate as a practice surrounded by power relations in a social–political
context. As we have tried to show, children’s rights are not a neutral or power-free frame of
reference. Rights need to be shaped and reshaped as social constructions in the daily lifeworlds
of children and parents.
Ignoring the discursive character of children’s rights reduces children’s rights to a technical
debate where the aim is to come to a better implementation of the CRC (Evans, 2005; Reynaert
et al., 2009, 2012). This overlooks the social, political and ethical basis on which claims for
children’s rights are articulated. Therefore, it is important to introduce a critical perspective
on children’s rights. The practice of ‘critique’ brings in this social, political and ethical bias
with the aim of questioning and challenging the underlying assumptions of children’s rights.
As Boham (2015) has argued, the domain of critique ‘is inquiry into the normative dimension
of social activity, in particular how actors employ their practical knowledge and normative
attitudes from complex perspectives in various sorts of contexts’ (para 98). Critique in the
philosophical ‘thick’ sense is about asking questions about the rationale and legitimacy of
something. It means that we do not aim – at least not primarily – to refine particular truths
(e.g. what is the best strategy to support families in poverty in order to realise social integration?),
but that we engage, as Evans (2005) states, with the ‘politics of truth’ itself (e.g. are the anti-
poverty strategies in place for children fair and just strategies, given the diversity of child rearing
contexts and backgrounds of families?). The latter question alerts us to power and power-
mechanism at work when dealing with implementing children’s rights. It makes one sensitive
to the fact that children’s rights are not just a neutral framework that can be understood in a
clear-cut way. On the contrary, children’s rights in general, and the CRC in particular, need
interpretation. Critique is about questioning our interpretations, based on the recognition that
children’s rights are in its turn just social constructions, and that different social constructions
of the same right can exist. Likewise, critique then is about ‘bringing into dialogue these different
understandings and interpretations in order to comprehend better children’s rights and how
the children’s rights framework can contribute to a greater respect for children’ (Reynaert et
al., 2012, p. 156). Besides its deliberative character (i.e. the dialectical process of understanding
and interpreting children’s rights), critique furthermore needs to be distinguished by its
transformative character (Reynaert et al., 2015). Children’s rights do not only aim at understanding
existing power relations at stake in relation to children and parents. They likewise aim at changing

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Didier Reynaert and Rudi Roose

these power relations and therefore transforming social reality in order to enhance the human
dignity of children.
If we want to overcome, at least partly, the critiques we analysed in this chapter, we should
radically turn around our top-down approach on children’s rights that starts from positivist
conceptualisations. Alternatively, we present a bottom-up approach that tries to construct
children’s rights ‘from below’, from the daily lifeworlds of children (Grunwald & Thiersch,
2009). At least two related issues are of importance to take into account. The first one is a
focus on an interrelational perspective on children’s rights. Following Roose and Bouverne-De
Bie (2007), an approach of ‘relational citizenship’ imposes no citizenship standard but develops
citizenship in diverse activities and relationships between people. Parenting and child rearing
practices from this point of view are not so much technical activities, but rather relational and
interactive practices that occur between people. This idea of relational citizenship is partly
consistent with the feminist ethics of care. Dean (2009) for instance highlights the importance
of solidarity and social networks of care that enable people to deal with their vulnerable status
(see also Cockburn, 2005).
The approach of children’s rights ‘from below’ raises a second matter of equal importance.
Relationships where children and parents construct and reconstruct ideas on children’s rights
are shaped in a broader social context where children interact with material, social and cultural
resources. As we have shown in our analysis, these resources can be both supportive or
obstructive in trying to realise children’s rights (Roets, Roose & Bouverne-De Bie, 2013).
The focus on material resources highlights the structural perspective of children’s rights. If we
criticise the institutionalised youth land, it is not so much because our aim is to abolish it
but rather to point at the fact that resources for children in Western societies are organised in
a particular way. The way this is organised impacts children’s rights and our constructions of
children’s rights. If we try to understand children’s rights with respect to the realisation
of social justice and human dignity for all, then we should be aware of the fact that
overemphasising the difference between children and adults can result in an excessive
dichotomisation of relations between the two. It is important to note that both the interrelational
and structural dimension of an approach of children’s rights ‘from below’ need to be understood
in interconnection, as a sheer structural approach will ignore the interests of individual people,
while a mere focus on individual relations will neglect the structural causes of inequality
(Reynaert & Roose, 2015).

Conclusion
This chapter aimed at enhancing our understanding of the way children’s rights can result in
social exclusion for children and parents. We explained that children’s rights should be
understood as social constructions. Consequently, different social constructions or interpretations
of children’s rights can exist. Not all of these constructions are de facto in the best interest of
children. In this chapter, we analysed this thesis using the case of child poverty and pointed
at risks that can go together with a minimalist interpretation of children’s rights. In such an
interpretation, children’s rights risk becoming locked-up in the institutionalised youth land
overlooking the resources parents have at their disposal in raising their children. This can result
in opposing interests between children and parents. Furthermore, we pointed at the dynamic
where parents can be held responsible or even blamed for the situation of poverty in which
their children grew up and for not sufficiently guaranteeing the realisation of the rights of their
children. These dynamics, as we have clarified, should be understood against the background

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of the development of a child-centred social investment state in Western societies, emphasising

the role of the government as investing in the human capital of children, rather than
contributing in the redistribution of resources for poor families.
Alternatively, we presented a maximalist perspective on children’s rights. In a maximalist
perspective, resources directed to children are connected with resources in place for parents.
A maximalist approach therefore aims at the redistribution of resources and enhancing social
equality. What this maximalist perspective on children’s rights opposes is the positivist
conceptualisation of children’s rights that is quite common under practitioners, policymakers
and academics in the field of children’s rights. To overcome this positivist conceptualisation
we introduced a critical perspective on children’s rights. This perspective, with its deliberative
and transformative character, empathises the need to develop an approach of children’s rights
‘from below’.

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 4
Fixed Concepts but
Changing Conceptions
Understanding the Relationship Between
Children and Parents under the CRC

John Tobin

Author Note
A special thanks to Florence Seow for her assistance with the preparation of this paper, funds
for which have been provided by the Australian Research Council Discovery Grant DP12014,
‘Children’s Rights: From Theory to Practice.’

Introduction
Opposition to the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC; United Nations General
Assembly, 1989) comes from many fronts. Principal among these are the concerns that granting
rights to children will undermine parental authority and legitimize state intervention within
the family. Indeed the CRC has been variously described as ‘the most dangerous attack on
parents’ rights in the history of the United States’ (Rosemond, 1995, p. 116), and a ‘blank
cheque for government intervention in the home’ (Guzman, 1995, p. 3). Within Australia,
where 51 per cent of submissions to a Government committee opposed the CRC ( Joint Standing
Committee Report, 1998, p. ix), it has been said that ‘its gross ambiguities allow for
interpretations which could undermine and place the family unit at the behest of the prevailing
social welfare dogmas of the time’ (Abetz, McGauran & O’Chee, 1998, p. 463). Although
such comments are tainted with a hint of hysteria, it remains the case that anxiety about the
idea of children’s rights and its perceived impact on parental rights and the institution of the
family is an enduring issue within many communities. As such, there is a need to address the
source of this anxiety in a balanced and informed way.
The aim of the chapter is to develop an understanding of the nature of the relationship
between children and parents under the CRC. The argument advanced is that much of the
criticism directed at this instrument stems from a misunderstanding of the conception of ‘rights’
adopted under the CRC and a failure to read and understand the text of this instrument.

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In the first part it will be argued that there is a tendency to understand rights through the
prism of a will theory with its emphasis on individualism. For proponents of this approach, it
follows that recognizing rights for children will necessarily place them in an adversarial
relationship with other rights bearers, principally their parents. The position advanced in this
paper however, is that the CRC adopts an interest theory of rights. Moreover, the interests
protected under the CRC reflect a relational conception of rights whereby the enjoyment of
children’s rights is heavily influenced by their relationship with their parents.
Far from trying to pit parent against child, in the second part it will be demonstrated that
the CRC reserves a special place for parents and the concept of the family. Indeed, under the
CRC the family is exalted as the most important unit within society, and states remain subject
to special obligations to support and enable parents to perform their child rearing responsibilities.
At the same time, it will be shown that the CRC promotes a certain conception of the family
and parents that will not always align with social expectations.
Finally, the third part will examine the concept of children’s evolving capacities – a central
and unique principle under the CRC – and its impact on the relationship between a child and
his or her parents. Crucially, this principle recognizes children’s dependence on their parents
and affirms not just the capacity but the right of parents to influence the upbringing of their
children. However, it rejects a vision whereby parents have control and power over their children
in favour of a relationship which is based on guidance and assistance. It also anticipates that
the legitimacy of parental influence over a child will gradually dissipate over time as a child
matures. Assuredly, this vision of the relationship between parents and their children will be
contentious. However, it should not be understood as an attempt to undermine and destroy
the effective functioning of the family unit. Rather its aim is to foster an alternative conception
of the family and the relationship between parents and children that is based on mutual trust
and respect.

Clarifying the Concept of Rights for Children

US scholar Martin Guggenheim is certainly not the only academic to be critical of the idea of
rights for children. However, his work illustrates the need to be aware of the differing conceptions
of rights when critiquing the idea of rights for children. In his 2005 book, What’s Wrong with
Children’s Rights, he laments that this idea ‘has less substantive content and is less coherent than
many would suppose’ (Guggenheim, 2005, p. xii). In his opinion, ‘[i]t has provided very little
by way of a useful analytic tool for resolving knotty social problems’ (Guggenheim, 2005, p.
xii). For Guggenheim, it simply makes no sense to talk about the need for children’s freedom
as they remain inherently dependent for much of the time they are a child (2005, pp. 10–11).
Moreover, for him, ‘regrettably, a leading characteristic of the children’s rights movement is its
propensity to separate children’s interest from their parents’ (2005, p. 13). It therefore facilitates
state intervention in families, which often leads to outcomes that are detrimental to the interests
of children and their parents. Indeed, history shows that the state makes a very poor parent. He
concludes that he is ‘far less confident that children need rights or that speaking in terms of
‘rights’ is even good for children’ (2005, p. xi).
Guggenheim is clearly more than a skeptic when it comes to the idea of children’s rights
– he is deeply resistant. However, his position is informed by a particular conception of rights
– a conception that is founded on a will or choice theory of rights. This model reflects a traditional
Western liberal understanding of rights and is deeply embedded in the ideas of reason,
autonomy and freedom. For proponents of this model, such as Harry Brighouse, ‘[t]he further

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an agent departs from the liberal model of the competent rational person, the less appropriate
it seems to attribute rights’ (Brighouse, 2002, p. 31). According to Brighouse, as children are
perceived to depart from this model because they are assumed to lack competency, they should
not be entitled to fundamental agency rights (Brighouse, 2002, pp. 31–32). Thus, under the
terms of a will theory of rights, as Onora O’Neill famously declared, a child’s ‘main remedy
is to grow up’ (O’Neill, 1988, p. 463). Although Guggenheim’s assessment may not be quite
as blunt as that of O’Neill, his concerns stem from a similar conception of rights. It is a conception
that is grounded in the US experience of rights, with its emphasis on concepts such as
independence, freedom and autonomy – concepts that are often considered to rest uneasily
with the reality of children’s lives.
Autonomy remains a recurring theme in much of the literature concerning the foundations
of human rights. It is not however the only basis upon which to ground rights. The main
alternative model is the interest theory of rights (Brennan, 2002). Under this model, as Goodin
and Gibson explain, ‘it does not matter that rights-holders are not in a position to assert rights
. . . what it is to be a right-holder . . . is merely to be a direct intended beneficiary of someone
else’s duty bound performance’ to recognize the interests of the right holder (Goodin & Gibson,
1997, p. 188). Significantly, not only do many scholars endorse this model (Freeman, 2010;
Kramer, 1998; MacCormick, 1976), it is the preferred theory of rights under international
instruments, including the CRC. The only prerequisite to being entitled to human rights under
international law is that the claimant be a human being. As children are recognized under
international law as human beings and not merely becomings, they are entitled to human rights
irrespective of their capacity to exercise those rights (Tobin, 2013, p. 9).
The consequence of adopting an interest theory of rights under the CRC is that any critique
of this instrument regarding the relationship between children and their parents must focus on
the interests that are protected under the CRC, as opposed to assessments that are based on a
will theory of rights. It is to this issue that I now turn.

Identifying the Interests Protected under the CRC

The Exalted Status of a Child’s Family

Rather than concentrate on the alleged rights of children the CRC should have concentrated
on family and the particular needs of those children who have the misfortune of being without
a family structure.
(Abetz, McGauran and O’Chee, 1998, p. 464)

This quote reflects a common assumption that the CRC is insensitive to the role and
significance of the family in children’s lives. However, it is a position that finds no basis in the
text of the CRC. Indeed the family occupies an exalted status under the CRC. The preamble
clearly provides that ‘the family is the fundamental group of society and the natural environment
for the growth and well-being of all its members’ (paragraph 5) and that ‘children should grow
up in a family environment’ (paragraph 6). Although the preambular text does not form part
of the binding obligations imposed on States under the CRC, it does reflect the values and
principles that should inform the interpretation and application of the CRC (Tobin, 2005,
p. 33).
Importantly, this vision of the family is consistent with other international human rights
treaties that also affirm the central and fundamental role of the family in society and its special

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significance for children (Universal Declaration of Human Rights, Article 16(3); International
Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, Article 23; International Covenant on Economic, Social,
and Cultural Rights, Article 10(1)). Moreover, the Committee on the Rights of the Child
(‘Committee’), the body of independent experts responsible for monitoring the implementation
of the CRC, held a discussion day on ‘The Role of the Family in the Promotion of the Rights
of the Child’ where it declared that, ‘the basic institution in society for the survival, protection
and development of the child is the family’ (Committee, 1994, para. 2.1). It also went further
to suggest that ‘[t]he family is an essential agent for creating awareness and preservation of
human rights and respect for human values, cultural identity and heritage and other civilizations’
(Committee, 1994, para. 2.2). Thus there can be no basis for any suggestion that the CRC is
indifferent to, dismissive of, or insensitive to the concept of a child’s family.

Protection against Arbitrary and Unlawful Interference

The special status of a child’s family is also supported by substantive provisions under the CRC
including Article 8 which provides a child with a right to preserve his or her family relations
and Articles 9 and 16 which effectively protect children against unlawful or arbitrary interference
with their family (Committee, 2011b, para. [c][vi]; MacDonald, 2011, pp. 478–480, 482–496).
These provisions create a strong presumption against the separation of a child from his or her
parents that can only be justified where the separation is undertaken pursuant to a valid law
and necessary to ensure the best interests and well-being of the child.
The European Convention on Human Rights also provides a similar source of protection;
the European Court of Human Rights has held that a decision to place a child into care is a
positive ‘interference of a very serious order’ (Olsson v. Sweden No. 1, 1988, para. 72), and the
reasons to justify this interference must be ‘relevant and sufficient’ (Olsson v. Sweden No. 1,
1988, paras. 68, 71; Ignaccolo-Zenide v. Romania, 2000, para. 102). Moreover, any measures of
implementation must be consistent with the ultimate aim of reuniting a family (Olsson v. Sweden
No. 1, 1988; Hokkanen v. Finland, 1994, para. 55).
Importantly, the integrity of the family unit is not inviolable and where the rights and best
interests of a child necessitate his or her separation from his or her parents, such separation
will be justified. However, the threshold for such intervention is very high and a state must
provide objective evidence to justify the removal of a child from his or her family and prove
that all reasonably available alternatives have been exhausted (Olsson v. Sweden No. 1, 1988,
para 81; YC v. UK, 2012, para. 168). Thus, even if Guggenheim’s concerns about the language
of children’s rights enabling excessive state intervention in the family within the USA were
to hold true, the conception of rights adopted under the CRC erects a formidable bulwark
against unnecessary state intervention.

A Changing Conception of the Family

Although the concept of the family is firmly rooted within the CRC, it offers no definition
of this term. In response to this void, the Committee has adopted a robust approach and explained
that:

When considering the family environment the Convention reflects different family
structures arising from the various cultural patterns and emerging familial relationships.

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In this regard the Convention refers to the extended family and the community and applies
to situations of nuclear family, separated parents, single parent family, common law family
and adoptive family.
(Committee, 1994, para. 2.1)

The Committee has also affirmed ‘other traditional and modern community based arrangements
provided they are consistent with children’s rights and best interests’ (Committee, 2006a, para.
15). Under this model, the meaning of ‘family’ is not confined to the traditional nuclear family
and extends to the varied and evolving forms in which parents arrange for the care of their
children and the concept of the extended family which includes grandparents and relatives (CRC,
Article 5; Committee, 2006a, para. 19; Committee, 2013b, para. 59).
Critically, this evolving conception of the family raises the prospect that sexual orientation,
marital status, and biological relationship are irrelevant in determining whether the structure
for the care of a child is a ‘family’ for the purposes of the CRC. This will no doubt prove
controversial among those who insist upon a narrow and/or traditional conception of the family.
However, this broader understanding outlined by the Committee accords with the reality of
evolving contemporary family structures and the reality that they are not harmful to children
(Tobin & McNair, 2009). It is also consistent with a child-focused understanding of the concept
of family that is concerned with the relationships between a child and those persons whom he
or she identifies as being part of his or her family (MacDonald, 2011, pp. 454–455).
Importantly this progressive conception of family need not sound a death knell for ‘the
family’ as a social institution. As Justice Skweyiya of the Constitutional Court of South Africa
explained when rejecting the historical insistence on heterosexual parenting with respect to
adoption in South Africa:

The institutions of marriage and family are important social pillars that provide for
security, support and companionship between members of our society and play a pivotal
role in the rearing of children. However we must approach the issues in the present matter
on the basis that family life as contemplated by the Constitution can be provided in different
ways and that legal conceptions of the family and what constitutes family life should change
as social practices and traditions change.
(Du Toit v. Minister, 2003, para. 19)

The Committee has adopted the same approach with respect to the idea of the family under
the CRC. Although the meaning of this term has been re-envisioned, this institution still remains
the fundamental unit of society and the optimal place in which all children should be raised
and provided with care. But the effective functioning of this unit is not to be assessed by reference
to its structure or the sexuality of its members. Rather, it must be evaluated on the basis of
the capacity of its members to ensure the ‘healthy development of a child through the
provision a stable, consistent, warm and responsive relationship between a child and his or her
care giver’ (Re K, 1995, p. 143; Committee, 2006a, para. 15).

Recognition of Parents’ Special Role

The special protection accorded to the concept of the family under the CRC is complemented
by the special protection afforded to a child’s parents. Indeed this is a constant and recurring

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theme throughout the CRC. For example, Article 5 demands that states protect the rights of
parents to provide children direction and guidance in the exercise of a child’s rights under the
Convention; Article 7 provides children with a right to know and be cared for by their parents;
Article 8 provides children with a right to preserve the family relations; Article 9 prevents
separation of a child from his or her parents unless this is necessary to secure the child’s best
interests; Article 10 demands reunification of a child with his or her parents when they become
separated and a right to maintain contact while they are separated; Articles 18(1) and Article
27(2) recognize that parents have primary responsibility for the care of their children;
Article 28(1) demands that education must be directed towards respect for a child’s parents
and Article 28(2) allows parents to set up institutions for the education of their children.
Collectively these provisions demonstrate a commitment to respect and recognize the special
role that parents occupy in the lives of the children (Committee, 2006b, paras. 15, 18). Far
from seeking to drive a wedge between children and their parents, the CRC makes it clear
that children’s interests are best served when they enjoy a strong and supportive relationship
with their parents.

Support and Assistance for Parents

Significantly, the CRC may recognize that parents have primary responsibility for the care of
their children but it does not place this burden exclusively on parents. On the contrary the
CRC makes it clear that States must assist parents in the performance of their responsibilities
and provides in Article 18(2) that: ‘State parties shall render appropriate assistance to parents
and legal guardians in the performance of their child rearing responsibilities and shall ensure
the development of institutions, facilities and services for the care of children.’ It goes further
in Article 18(3) to impose an obligation on States to ‘take all appropriate measures to ensure
that children of working parents have the right to benefit from child care services and facilities
for which they are eligible’.
In light of such provisions, comments that granting rights to children will threaten the integrity
and communal fabric required for effective family functioning are misplaced. Rather than pitting
the rights of parents against those of children, the CRC actually advocates a model that enables
parents to make claims upon the State, and by implication the broader community, to provide
them with the assistance necessary to meet the demands of parenting. At a time when the issue
of balancing family and workplace responsibilities and the inadequacy of child care placements
occupy a significant space within political discourse, the provisions of the CRC are particularly
pertinent. Indeed, far from undermining the family structure, they demand that States take
measures to strengthen and embolden the capacity of parents to perform their responsibilities
(Committee, 2006a, para. 20).
Moreover, the model advanced under the CRC not only demands that States reallocate
resources for the creation of the institutional and social structures necessary to support families
but also demands, where necessary, the provision of direct assistance and requires under Article
27(2) that States ‘take appropriate measures to assist parents and . . . shall in case of need provide
material assistance and support programmes particularly with regard to nutrition, clothing and
housing’. Such an approach, while respectful of the primary responsibility exercised by parents
for the care of children, clearly eschews the abandonment of a family to its own resources
which are often limited given the vast number of children living in poverty, in favour of the
provision of appropriate assistance and support. In doing so it advocates the integral value of
the family unit and the common interest in facilitating the effective functioning of this unit

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within society. Rather than offering a destructive and anti-communal paradigm, the CRC
actually seeks to promote interdependence and shared responsibilities for the care of children
and dismantles any notion of exclusive parental responsibility in favour of one that considers
the upbringing and development of children to be a societal and community concern
(Bjornberg, 2002; Soraino et al., 2001; Sullivan, 1999).
Indeed the CRC offers what could be termed a collaborative or cooperative conception of the
relationship between the state and the family when it comes to the upbringing of children.
This conception sits somewhere between the liberal individualist conception of the family, in
which the state must not interfere with a family unless a child is at risk and the collectivist
conception in which child rearing is under the direct control of the community (Archard,
2004, pp. 167–191). Under a collaborative/cooperative model, parents still have primary
responsibility for the upbringing of children but the state (and by implication the broader
community from which the state will draw its resources) must play a critical role in assisting
parents.

More Changing Conceptions—the Definition of a Parent

The meaning of ‘parents’ is not defined in the CRC and the Committee is yet to address this
issue specifically. This silence does not present any difficulties in the context of traditional family
formations where a heterosexual relationship between two persons leads to the creation and
care of a child. Under such circumstances the ordinary meaning of the term ‘parents’ is taken
to mean the two persons who have direct biological, gestational and social nexus with a child.
But increasingly, family formation does not align with this traditional understanding, and the
definition of parent has become more contentious (Bainham, 1999; Kelly, 2009; Horsey, 2010).
In response to this trend, rather than insist upon and privilege orthodox forms of heterosexual
family formation, as noted above the Committee has endorsed the need for states to recognise
alternative family formations (Committee, 1994, para. 2.1; Committee, 2006a, para. 15). This
opens up the possibility that a child may have more than two parents and that such persons
need not be in a heterosexual relationship (Tobin & McNair, 2009, pp. 112–114). Indeed, the
concept of a parent can potentially be understood as having three dimensions that need not
be perfectly aligned. First, a child’s birth/gestational parent, which can be understood as the
woman who gave birth to the child, and who may not necessarily have a genetic connection
to the child, given the capacity for assisted reproduction. Second, a child’s genetic/biological
parents, meaning the woman whose ovum was used for the creation of the child and the man
whose sperm was used to fertilize the ovum via unassisted or assisted methods of conception.
Third, the child’s social parents, meaning the person or persons who perform the function of
undertaking the day-to-day care of the child. Such persons need not have any genetic or
gestational connection to the child, nor must they be in an opposite sex relationship.
Certainly such a model represents a challenge to the dualist and heteronormative conception
of parents that dominates most legal systems in their preference for legal recognition of two
opposite sex parents. However, clinging to this traditional Western conception of parents risks
denying children access to information about, and legal recognition of, those persons who play
a critical role in both their creation and care (American Academy of Pediatrics, 2013; Tobin,
2009). Indeed this traditional model represents a myopic conception of parents that places an
emphasis on the need for adults to have certainty about their status as a parent at the expense
of children having a complete understanding as to the identity of those persons who contributed
to their creation and subsequent care.

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Parenting as a Common Responsibility

The CRC also seeks to assign the responsibility for raising children within a family in a way
that challenges traditional expectations. Article 18(1) requires States to recognize the principle
that ‘both parents have common responsibilities for the upbringing and development of the
child’. This principle creates a distinctively egalitarian family unit, which rejects the assignment
of parenting responsibilities along gender lines and fractures any notion of the family as being
the ‘empire of the father’ (Collier, 1995, p. 13). Indeed the idea of the family unit as being a
location for the exercise of power, authority and dominance by men (Collier, 1995, p. 15)
simply has no place in the paradigm advanced by Article 18.
As a consequence, mothers under the CRC are not expected to assume sole responsibility
for the care of a child (Sylvester, 2001). Indeed the Committee has expressed concern ‘that
the responsibilities of parents may not be equally shared in the upbringing of their children’
(Committee, 2009a, para. 42) and recommended that all necessary measures be taken to ‘ensure
that mothers and fathers share responsibility for their children on an equal basis’ (Committee,
2011a, para. 42)
In practical terms this means that the responsibilities of fatherhood are not to be reduced
solely to an economic nexus, that is, to be financially responsible (Collier, 1995, p. 15). As
Collier explains ‘the breadwinner ideal’, which involves the physical absence from the family,
has traditionally been sanctioned by law (Collier, 1995, p. 16). In contrast, Article 18 requires
more than simply an economic contribution to the care of a child on the part of fathers. Indeed
the Committee has stressed that States take measures for the promotion of higher levels of
involvement of fathers in the upbringing and development of their children (Committee, 2010,
para. 36; Committee, 2013a, para. 41). Although it has failed to specify what measures could
be taken for this purpose, examples include the provision and encouragement of fathers to
take non-transferable paternity leave and the encouragement of employers to provide flexible
working hours. As Collier further explains, the real challenge is to shift the perception that a
father’s natural primary duty is to employment rather than the care of his or her children (Collier,
1995, p. 19).

Protection Against All Forms of Violence

Although the view has been expressed that ‘[c]hildren rarely need protection from family’ (Abetz,
McGauran & O’Chee, 1998, p. 464), such a position rests on a romanticized vision of family
life that is unsupported by the research that indicates that the experience of many children in
the home is often one of abuse and neglect (Krug et al., 2002, pp. 57–86; Pinheiro, 2006, pp.
45–96). The CRC acknowledges this reality and requires under Article 19 that States take all
appropriate measures to protect children from all forms of physical or mental violence, abuse,
neglect or maltreatment while in the care of their parents. It therefore provides children with
a right to demand that the State ensure their protection against all forms of violence within
the home.
Significantly, the CRC does not adopt a pathological model of child protection whereby
all responsibility for any harm experienced by a child is attributed towards the failings of his
or her parent(s). On the contrary, it is aligned more closely with an ecological model (Vondra
& Toth, 1989, p. 9) that is focused on the prevention of family violence by demanding that
States take all necessary measures within the scope of their available resources to address those
factors that contribute to the existence of violence against children within the home. Thus for

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example, the Committee in its General Comment on protecting children against violence has
recommended that States support parents and caregivers to understand, embrace and implement
good child rearing, based on knowledge of child rights, child development and techniques for
positive discipline; provide pre- and post-natal services, home visitation programmes; quality
early childhood development programmes and income generation programmes for
disadvantaged groups; family support centres and respite programmes (Committee, 2011b, para.
47). As Archard explains, ‘such work is preventative rather than interventionist, integrated in
its provision of services and co-operative rather than coercive’ (2004, p. 11).
At the same time, as noted above, the CRC does acknowledge that there will be circum-
stances where removal of a child from his or her parents will still be necessary to ensure the
child’s best interests notwithstanding the provision of assistance to parents. However, such
interference will only be justified where it is a matter of last resort and all other alternatives
have been explored. Critically, such an intervention will be confined to circumstances where
parents have exercised their responsibilities in a violent or negligent manner. Thus, the CRC
in no way confirms Guggenheim’s fear that the language of children’s rights authorizes
excessive interference in the family unit. At the same time, the CRC is not prepared to cede
complete sovereignty to parents. Indeed, the obligation of a state to protect children living in
a violent and/or neglectful family, disrupts the ‘ideologies of privacy and parental rights’
(McGillivray, 1992, p. 230) and operates to distinguish the ‘preservation of adult supremacy
from the child’s need for intimacy, protection and nurture’ (McGillivray, 1992, p. 230).
The right of a child to protection against violence also demands that children are not subject
to any form of physical discipline within a home. This clearly represents a challenge to traditional
conceptions of the family whereby corporal punishment is considered to be a legitimate form
of parental discipline (also see chapter by Saunders in this volume on the topic of children’s
rights and corporal punishment). The Committee, however, has repeatedly made it clear that
such punishment can never be justified (Committee, 2006b, 2011b). This robust position is
necessary because ‘[t]he concept of dignity requires that every child is recognised, respected
and protected as a rights holder and as a unique human being with an individual personality,
distinct needs, interests and privacy’ (Committee, 2011b, para. 3(b); Committee, 2006b, para.
21). According to the Committee, any form of physical (or indeed psychological) violence
however light will always compromise these principles (2006b, para. 11). By the same token,
the Committee has not taken the view that children can never be disciplined (2006b, para.
13). As such, it cannot be said that the CRC strips parents of their ability to discipline their
children. However, the Committee has demanded that any disciplinary techniques used by
parents must not offend a child’s rights under the CRC.

Making a Child’s Best Interests Parents’ Basic Concern

Historically, children were regarded as the chattels of their fathers and certainly not the
beneficiaries of rights (for a complete history of children’s rights see chapter by Stearns in this
volume). This position was enshrined in the Roman doctrine of patria potestas – paternal power
– which essentially granted a father exclusive control over his children (Eekelaar, 1986, p. 162).
This view found favour in the historical development of the common law where, for example,
the late nineteenth century English decision, In re Agar-Ellis, warned that any move by a court
to override ‘the natural jurisdiction’ of a father over his child ‘would be really to set aside the
whole course and order of nature, and it seems to me it would disturb the very foundation of
family life’ (In re Agar-Ellis (1883) 24 Ch. D 317, pp. 329, 336).

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Judicial and legislative developments at the domestic level have led to a substantial retreat
from this position over time while at the international level, this gradual evolution led to the
adoption of Article 18(4) of the CRC which requires that the best interests of the child be a
parent’s basic concern. It thus demands a reorientation of values that would grant any parent,
male or female, unfettered authority over the care of children and represents a shift away from
the notion of unfettered parental authority or rights with respect to children to one of parental
responsibilities.
Of course the perennial challenge associated with any use of the best interests principle is
the meaning to be attributed to this term. In the context of article 18, this principle cannot
be used as a proxy for the interests of parents. Rather the determination of a child’s best interests
must be informed by any available evidence (Tobin, 2009, p. 614) and constrained by the
rights and principles provided for under the Convention (Committee, 2013b, para. 33). From
a practical perspective this requires that parents develop their understanding of their child’s
best interests in accordance with what the Committee has identified as the guiding principles
of the CRC. These guiding principles include:

• the prohibition against discrimination under Article 2 with respect to the enjoyment of
any of the rights under the CRC on the basis of any status. Thus, for example, parents
should not treat a child less favourably on account of his or her gender or physical disability;
• the right to survival and development under Article 6, an umbrella concept that focuses
on the physical, mental, moral, spiritual, psychological, social and cultural development
of a child. Thus for example, within the context of intercountry adoption, parents could
not simply focus on the physical well being of a child but completely neglect the child’s
cultural connections with his or her country of origin; and
• the right to participation, which requires that children have a right to express their views
with respect to all matters affecting them and have such views taken into account in
accordance with their age and maturity under Article 12. With respect to this entitlement
the Committee has recommended that, ‘States parties should encourage, . . . parents,
guardians . . . to listen to children and give due weight to their views in matters that concern
them’ (Committee, 2009b, para. 92). Although such an approach jars with notions of
parenting that would prefer children to be seen but not heard, as the Committee has
explained, a participatory ‘approach to parenting serves to promote individual development,
enhance family relations and support children’s socialization’ (Committee, 2009b, para. 90).

Parents must also act consistently with the other provisions under the CRC such as the protection
against all forms of violence (Article 19); the right to an adequate standard of living (Article
27); the right to education (Article 28); the right to play and leisure (Article 31) and protection
against all forms of exploitation (Articles 32–36).
Importantly, the requirement that parents ensure that their children’s best interests remain
their basic concern extends to all those activities undertaken by parents that have an impact
on their children. For example, the Committee, in its report for Iceland expressed its concern:

[T]hat the best interest of the child to spend time in his/her family environment may be
infringed by the long working hours of parents and that sufficient measures have not been
taken to prevent children from being home alone at home during their parents’ working
hours.
(Committee, 1996, para. 18)

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This is not to say that the CRC demands that parents must refrain from leisure activities or
undertaking employment. However it does require that parents give consideration to the impact
of their activities on children and what measures may be necessary to minimize any negative
impact on their development. In such circumstances there is also an obligation on States to
promote measures that seek to balance work and family life and ensure that working parents
have access to child care services and facilities as required by paragraph 3 of Article 18 (Davis
& Powell, 2003).

Recognition of Children’s Evolving Capacities and the

Consequences for Family Life

A Relational Conception of Rights

The preceding discussion demonstrates that the CRC offers a conception of rights for children
that is deeply relational when compared with the individualist conception traditionally associated
with rights discourse (Tobin, 2013). Rights for children under the CRC are not to be enjoyed
in isolation from their parents and family. This is made clear by Article 5 which requires States
to respect the rights of parents to provide direction and guidance for children in the exercise
of their rights. It is also affirmed by other provisions, such as Articles 18 and 27, which recognize
the primary role of parents in the upbringing of a child. Thus, it is clear that the realization
of children’s rights will be deeply connected to, and interdependent with, the exercise of parental
rights and responsibilities (Tobin, 2015). As such, the family, and indeed the community and
culture in which a child lives, will be the paradigm in which their rights will be understood,
mediated and enjoyed.
This relational conception of rights is consistent with children’s own conception of their
relationship with adults. As the sociologist Berry Mayall has observed, ‘[c]hildren recognize
the central importance of child-family relationships . . . They emphasize interdependence and
reciprocity, rather than lonely autonomy as central values’ (Mayall, 2000, p. 254). Thus, whereas
‘Western liberal thinkers have regarded the autonomous independent moral agent as the highest
form of life, children regard relationships as the cornerstone of their lives’ (Mayall, 2000, p.
256). Significantly, the CRC recognizes the special relationship between children and their
parents. It therefore challenges the orthodox individualistic (and masculinist) conception of
autonomy by offering a conception in which the autonomy of a young person is relational.
Crucially, this relational conception of autonomy is also tempered by the requirement under
Article 5 that parental guidance and assistance remains subject to a child’s evolving capacities.
This principle, which is unique to the CRC, generates yet a further consideration that must
be examined when seeking to understand the nature of the relationship between children and
their parents under this instrument.

Children’s Evolving Capacities

For some commentators the idea of rights for children is assumed to abandon them to their
autonomy (Hafen & Hafen, 1996) while for others, this idea ignores the reality that for ‘children,
at least for an important period of their lives, are dependent on adults for their very existence’
(Guggenheim, 2005, p. 10). Such concerns, however, are based on a liberal rather than relational
conception of rights. They also fail to recognize that the CRC is sensitive to the reality of
children’s dependency as reflected in provisions such as Articles 5, 18 and 27. However, unlike

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other conceptions of childhood, which define children exclusively by reference to their

dependency, the inclusion of the principle of evolving capacities as a qualification on parental
influence marks a different approach.
Importantly, the principle of evolving capacities must not be mistaken for a licence for
children to exercise complete autonomy in all matters affecting them (Lansdown, 2005). Its
role, though contentious, is more modest and pragmatic. In essence, it recognizes that as a
child’s maturity and capacity evolves over time, the justification for the protective and
paternalistic measures taken by parents to secure their children’s best interests will gradually
dissipate. As the Committee has explained:

The more the child himself or herself knows, has experienced and understands, the more
the parent, legal guardian or other persons legally responsible for the child have to transform
direction and guidance into reminders and advice and later to an exchange on an equal
footing. This transformation will not take place at a fixed point in a child’s development,
but will steadily increase as the child is encouraged to contribute her or his views.
(Committee, 2009b, para. 84)

Indeed a proper application of the principle of evolving capacities anticipates that a child may
reach a level of maturity and understanding with respect to an issue that is sufficient to dispense
with the need for parental guidance and assistance (Tobin, 2013).
From a practical perspective this extends to children’s decision making with respect to
contentious issues such as access to contraception and the refusal of medical treatment (Freeman,
2005). The prospect that children may enjoy autonomy with respect to such issues will be
challenging for many parents who would prefer to exercise control in such matters. However,
the drafters of the CRC, which, it should be noted, were all States, consciously decided to
respect children’s evolving capacities rather than traditional assumptions regarding the
parent–child relationship. At the same time the Committee has explained that this recognition
of children’s evolving capacities is not to be taken as a licence to fragment and destroy the
functioning of the parent–child relationship. For example, within the context of adolescent
sexual health, the Committee has indicated that States must assist parents by:

providing adequate information and parental support to facilitate the development of a

relationship of trust and confidence in which issues regarding . . . sexuality and sexual
behaviour and risky lifestyles can be openly discussed and acceptable solutions found that
respect the adolescent’s rights.
(Committee, 2003, para. 16)

Thus, the Committee expects a participatory and inclusive model of parenting that is based
on mutual respect between parents and child.
Ultimately the principle of evolving capacities demands that parents concede that they are
not always the sole arbiters of a child’s best interests. It also demands that parents work with
their children to create systems and processes that allow for children’s views to be heard in all
matters affecting them (Thomas, 2007), that the views of children must be taken into account
and treated seriously in decision-making processes, and that parents must explain to children
why certain decisions have been made. It accepts that there will be occasions when parents
must still take sole responsibility for making decisions that are in their children’s best interests.

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 Fixed Concepts but Changing Conceptions

But there will be other occasions when parents and children must undertake the decision-
making process collaboratively and even more controversially, when parents must devolve or
cede the decision-making process to children themselves (Committee, 2009b).

Conclusion — The Need to Reorient the Lens

It remains the case that a strong source of objection to the concept of children’s rights generally
and the rights under the CRC is the perception that recognizing human rights for children
will undermine the family unit by promoting a conception of childhood that is severed from,
and potentially antithetical to, the idea of the family. Such criticisms, however, are based on
a conception of rights that finds no place under the CRC. Instead an informed critique of the
idea of rights for children under the CRC requires a reorientation in the lens of inquiry to
focus on the actual text of this instrument and the relational conception of rights that it promotes.
Such a reorientation reveals that far from being diminished or devalued, the concept of the
family and the role of parents are exalted and supported under the CRC.
At the same time, while these concepts may be privileged under the CRC, the meaning
of the family and the role of parents offered under this instrument will not always accord with
social expectations in at least five respects. First, although the CRC allows for due deference
to parental rights and responsibilities, this deference remains subject to a child’s evolving capacities
and will only be allowed where parental powers are exercised so as to guide and assist children
in the realization of their rights. This approach is inconsistent with a conception of the family
in which parents maintain exclusive power and control over a child and are not required to respect
their evolving capacities.
Second, the CRC tolerates no form of violence, neglect or abuse towards a child who is
in the care of a parent or another guardian (Committee, 2011b). This conception contrasts
sharply with those conceptions of the family in which a reasonable level of violence (and more
specifically corporal punishment) is accepted as a legitimate disciplinary technique for children.
Third, the CRC demands that parents share common responsibilities for the upbringing and
development of a child. This conception contrasts with those conceptions of the family in
which the responsibility for child rearing is understood along gender lines. Fourth, the
Committee approach to the meaning of ‘family’ and ‘parents’ opens up the possibility that
these terms may be interpreted in ways that challenge dominant and traditional understandings
of the ‘family’ and ‘parents’.
Finally, the CRC offers what could be termed a collaborative or cooperative conception of the
relationship between the State and the family when it comes to the upbringing of children.
This conception sits somewhere between the liberal individualist conception of the family, in
which the State must not interfere with a family unless a child is at risk and the collectivist
conception in which child rearing is under the direct control of the community. The practical
significance of such an approach is that the CRC advocates a model that enables parents to
make claims upon the State and by implication the broader community to take reasonable
measures to provide them with the assistance necessary to satisfy the responsibilities of parenting.
In light of such consequences, it must be conceded that the CRC promotes what for some
may be a radically different conception of the relationship between children, their parents and
the State. However, any claim that children’s rights under the CRC threaten the integrity and
communal fabric required for effective family functioning is without foundation. Instead of
pitting the rights of parents against those of children, the CRC offers a relational rather than
individualistic conception of rights that is based on trust, mutual respect, dialogue and

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John Tobin

community support – values that are more likely to promote the dignity of each child (and
indeed parent) than a conception of the family that promotes violence, control, silence and/or
the invisibility of children.

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 5
Children’s Rights and Well-Being
Asher Ben-Arieh and Noam Tarshish

The landscape of children’s rights and well-being has changed with historical shifts, public views,
and advancing research. Hart’s work (1991) points to three major developments in children’s
status and rights in the Western world: (1) a move from property status to human status; (2)
a shift from valueless being to an object worthy of protection; and (3) a move from an object
of protection to an emerging citizen with a new spectrum of children’s rights, highlighting
the rising importance of participation rights. Each stage reflects a shift in public views toward
children. Similarly, as children’s rights evolve, so does our definition of what are adequate and
good terms of life for children. Thus, today we no longer look at children’s welfare as the
main point of reference, rather we moved to a focus on children’s well-being, a holistic concept
taking into consideration the multifaceted nature of childhood (Ben Arieh, Casas, Frønes &
Korbin, 2014). This new understanding of children’s well-being takes into consideration the
child’s present views towards different domains of life, including subjective feelings, thus, creating
new domains and measures of the phenomenon.
In this chapter we will outline the historical changes in the definition and implementation
of children’s rights and children’s well-being. Although the two concepts may have taken
different trajectories throughout the years, it is now becoming more apparent that there is a
common ground connecting the two. The view of the child as a person whose opinion matters
is the most recent point of convergence, shared by the historical course of both children’s
rights and children’s well-being. The goal of this chapter is to present how children’s
participation entered the discourse in both children’s rights and children’s well-being, and to
point to the participation of children in decisions as the focal point from which we can improve
children’s conditions of life. As a result we argue that a fourth shift in public views towards
children is needed: from children as emerging citizens to children as experts in the field of childhood.

The Changing Landscape of Children Rights

From Property to Human Status

Prior to the sixteenth century, children were treated as “small adults” and were expected to
hold various responsibilities and to partake in meaningful work. It was common for young

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children aged seven and older to work on farms or in households shoulder to shoulder with
adults, earning a considerable economic value (Flekkøy & Kaufman, 1997). Parents had un-
limited power over their children, which led in many cases to child maltreatment, including
abuse, enslavement, and physical or emotional neglect (Hart, 1991). These harsh conditions
were apparent in the high mortality rate among young children and infants, making them even
more transparent to society, replaceable, and deprived of identity (Alaimo, 2002). Being raised
in these conditions often resulted in adults who were prone to violence, thus repeating the
hardship in the next generation, and reinforcing the low social status of children (Stone, 1977).

From a Valueless Being to an Object Worthy of Protection

The tides began to turn for children in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, as the distinction
between children and adults as a class began to take shape. This “child saving” era viewed
children as a special vulnerable class in need of protection (Hart, 1991). Rousseau’s Emile and
Locke’s Some Thoughts Concerning Education are considered the basis for “child centered
education” that emerged at the time (Archard, 1993). Both philosophers helped clarify the
distinction between adults, sovereign entities, responsible for their actions, and children, who
were perceived vulnerable, innocent, pure, and in need of protection, guidance and care (Cox,
1996).
This shift can also be credited to growing public awareness of the harmful consequences
macro conditions such as immigration, urbanization, and industrialization hold over children
(Hart, 1991; Perera, 2014). The dawn of the industrial revolution saw children used as a cheap
workforce in sweatshops, mines, factories, and other hazardous working environments, causing
a sharp deterioration in their health and well-being (Alaimo, 2002). Such conditions would
act as a catalyst to various efforts targeting the health and welfare of children (Hart, 1991). The
child labor reform movement argued in favor of schooling children and took a stand against
child labor with the intent to first regulate and then eradicate child labor, reopening the discourse
on the social meaning of childhood, parental roles and child status in society (Alaimo, 2002).
The late nineteenth century and the dawn of the twentieth century saw child-oriented reforms
set to protect children and childhood. Many countries began legislating child endangerment
laws and reform policies targeting children, such as the Children’s Charter in Great Britain
and the Child Protection Act in Norway (Alaimo, 2002; Hart, 1991). Alaimo (2002) identified
three unique aspects of this era that would change the place of children in society: (1) the state
and state-appointed professionals became the guarantor of children’s newly formed rights; (2)
authorities challenged the authority and autonomy of parents over their children; and (3) the
separation of adulthood and childhood deepened and childhood was considered a distinctive
stage of life with age-specific requirements. However, it is important to note that the emerging
separation between adulthood and childhood derived from an understanding of the importance
of specific age appropriate care and protection in shaping the child into an adult (Alaimo, 2002),
not as a consequence of the recognition in children’s voice or civil rights.

From an Object of Protection to an Emerging Citizen with a New

Spectrum of Children’s Rights
The most recent shift in public views toward children came in the second half of the twentieth
century. It was then that the child was first viewed as a present being, an active bearer of rights
rather a site of future potential (Hart, 1991). This shift demonstrated the importance of “new”

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self-determination rights and individual liberties alongside “old” rights of protection and care.
The human rights movement emerging after World War II took a parallel road to the
children’s rights movement, but one that would prove influential to children’s rights, for the
two were advocating to human dignity (Cohen, 2002). A comprehensive history of children’s
rights is provided in the chapter by Stearns in this volume.
Human rights treaties, declarations and resolutions such as the UN resolutions in the Universal
Declaration of Human Rights (1949), the International Covenant on Civil and Political rights
(1966) and the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural rights (1966) were
used as instruments in applying rights to all human beings, while others argued that particular
groups might need special measures in order to ensure successful implementation of their rights
(Flekkoy & Kaufman, 1997). The documents mentioned above where general, and centered
on protection and nurturance, but from the 1970s and on the human rights movement extended
its reach to include children, and slowly but surely official statements that followed began to
address children in particular and also stressed self-determination rights for the first time along
with the already familiar protection and nurturance rights (Hart, 1991).
The single most important document reinforcing that belief is the United Nations Con-
vention on the Rights of the Child (CRC; United Nations General Assembly, 1989) adopted
November 20, 1989 (Cohen, 2002). The CRC soon became the most comprehensive
international convention regarding children, ratified by all UN member states with the excep-
tion of the United States. The CRC outlines children’s political, civil, social, and economic
rights. Not limited to a child’s right of protection, it affirms for the first time that children
have the right to have a childhood, to develop into autonomous adults, and to have a voice
in matters that affect and concern them (Ben-Arieh & Kosher, 2014).
Since then, many efforts have been made to group the rights into clusters. One classic typology
is the “three Ps”: protection, provision, and participation rights (Troope, 1996). Provision concerns
the adequate provision of services and resources, goods, and services, so youth can fully develop
their abilities. These provisions include the right to an adequate standard of living, education,
health, and child care, for example. Protection concerns the right to be protected from various
potentially negative conditions, such as exploitation, neglect, abuse, violence, and discrimination.
Participation concerns the right to be a contributing member of society; to be respected as an
active member of a family, community, and society (Ben-Arieh & Kosher, 2014).
The full spectrum of children’s rights, provision, protection, and participation encompasses
the evolution of beliefs, rights, and research, influenced by the past while looking toward the
future. In that sense, the CRC can be viewed as an amendment to the past injustices against
children and childhood. In many respects, rights that guarantee autonomy and individuality
are a counterpoint to the “child saving” era when children were considered powerless, while
children’s participation in matters of self-interest is a corrective to the segregation of the
“innocent” child from adults (Alaimo, 2002).

The Rising Importance of Participation Rights

Children today are no longer considered passive bearers of rights. Throughout the last century
children progressed to become active participants whose opinions matter (Ben-Arieh, 2005).
With respect to children’s new “person status”, during the last few decades participation has
been so well integrated into the discourse on children’s rights that the question is no longer
what services should be provided to children, but how to build a concrete framework enabling
the active participation of children (Cohen, 2002). The participation of children in decisions

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is by no means limited to their personal sphere; today, the debate entails the participation of
children as a group in the public sphere of decision making (Tisdall, 2008; Willow, 2002).
Moreover, child participation is not merely an important right by itself but can also play an
important role in the realization of other children’s rights. In that sense, participation can have
a dual contribution to children’s lives: it can empower children and develop their skills and
capability as a result of taking part, and it can also change outcomes and bring on more relevant
decisions that are better suited for children (Hart, 2008).
However, researchers and child advocates have raised concerns about tokenism and lack of
impact of children’s participation in matters of policymaking (Hinton, 2008). As with any new
right moving from theory to practice, implementation is lagging behind legislation. It is therefore
apparent that to allow children to participate fully, a social consensus is still needed regarding
the weight and validity of children’s opinions.
As history runs its course, rights are being formed, amended, and revoked. To fully under-
stand children’s rights, and to ensure their implementation in practice, we must first take into
consideration the congruence between the historical path of those rights as reviewed here and
the framework regarding children’s lives as a whole, what do children need, want, and believe
in? This framework has also undergone a major shift in discourse, a transition from child welfare
to child well-being set to assess and improve the quality of children’s lives. This shift is composed
of four main transitions that have been evolving in the last few decades: Measuring Well-Being:
Beyond Survival; From “Negative” to “Positive”; From Well-Becoming to Well-Being; and The Emerging
Importance of the Subjective Perspective. Those transitions will be discussed in detail in the follow-
ing section.

From Child Welfare to Child Well-Being

As noted, the ideas and actions toward children emerging in the twentieth century, especially
the ratification of the CRC, marked an important tipping point in the way society views children
and childhood, a view that now more expansively focuses on well-being. The widespread
acceptance of values the CRC holds can be influential to children’s lives, since rights are often
understood as a tool creating well-being or opportunities for well-being in key spheres of
children’s lives and childhood (Ben-Arieh, Casas, Frønes, & Korbin, 2014). The CRC ampli-
fied the importance of three types of rights: Protection rights, Provision rights, and Participation
rights. Since child welfare in its original form serves to protect children from harm, the term
could only be understood as implementing protection and later some provisional rights of
children. The acceptance of a wider spectrum of rights calls for a wider definition of children’s
terms of life and consequently their quality of life and happiness, spreading well beyond the
safe warehousing of children—a move from saving or protecting children to enhancing their
well-being (Kahn, 2010).
The concept of well-being as we know it today has its roots grounded in two parallel
movements, one is the field of health science and the other is the field of social sciences (Ben-
Arieh et al., 2014). Bauer introduced the research world with the concept of “Social Indicators”:
“statistics, statistical series, and all other forms of evidence that enable us to assess where we
stand and are going with respect to our values and goals, and to evaluate specific programs and
their impact” (Bauer 1966, p. 1). His book is still considered among the cornerstones of the
social indicators movement (Land, 1983), and the starting point of the concept “Quality of
life”, sparking new interest in developing models to asses quality of life after years of not being

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considered a valid scientific examination (Ben-Arieh et al., 2014). The 1960s and 1970s became
a critical time in the development of the term well-being as the Organisation for Economic
Co-operation and Development and researchers, notably Andrews and Whitey, Cantril,
Bradburn, and Campbell conceptualized the term, slowly shifting its focus from material well-
being to include more subjective domains (Andelman, Attkisson, Zima & Rosenblatt, 1999;
Glatzer, 2008). The health field had already been influenced by the World Health Organ-
ization’s conceptualization of health as encompassing aspects of social, mental, and physical of
well-being (Andelman et al., 1999). The concept of “Quality of Life” also took a respectable
place in health science research, although authors in this discipline used “Quality of Life” similarly
to “well-being,” and not like their colleagues in social sciences, who regard “Quality of Life”
as a broader concept than well-being (Ben-Arieh et al., 2014), composed of positive well-
being, negative well-being, and future expectations (Glatzer, 2014).
Well-being today encompasses much more than a desired state of happiness, health, and
prosperity; it includes fulfillment of desires and is related to the balance of pleasure and pain,
living conditions and more (Ben-Arieh & Fronas, 2011). It is a concept consisting of political,
theoretical, and empirical perspectives on welfare and development. It refers to objective living
conditions as well as subjective feelings and experiences, allowing for a direct relation between
a child’s perspectives and needs, both at the micro and macro levels. Well-being is not limited
to one measurement of a moment in life, but rather how conditions affect well-being over
time. The multifaceted concept of well-being is constantly changing, and its flexibility allows
it to continue to grow and develop, taking into account the various fields affecting, contributing,
and harming children (Ben-Arieh et al., 2014).
The emerging view of well-being as a point of reference to children’s lives compels society
to change how we measure and monitor children’s lives. In the last few decades, several
transitions have taken place globally, each pointing in the same direction but occurring at a
different pace in each society or country: from a focus on survival to a focus on well-being;
from negative to positive measures; from well-being to well-becoming; and the emerging
importance of a subjective perspective.

Measuring Well-Being: Beyond Survival

In the recent past, efforts to evaluate the status of children have focused on survival and basic
needs, especially risk factors and obvious threats to one’s well-being (Ben-Arieh, 2000, 2010).
Among those we can count child mortality rates, percentage of immunized children, and
percentage of children malnourished. Sets of indicators measuring survival, those mentioned
here and more, have led to the creation of programs aimed at saving children’s lives (Ben-
Arieh, 2010). UNICEF state of the child report utilized survival indicators as a mean to monitor
and improve the living conditions of children (Adamson, 1996). Although this focus has proved
fruitful, for example when addressing immunization coverage, since the 1990s a strong call to
reassess indicators of children’s well-being was heard. This need for revision emerged from an
increased interest of child advocates, researchers and policymakers in the state of children, their
well-being, and their quality of life. In the eyes of researchers, the concepts “quality of life”
and “well-being” have exceeded the boundary of survival, calling for measures of more expansive
domains (Aber, 1997; Ben-Arieh et al., 2001; Pittman & Irby, 1997). Ben-Arieh (2008) believes
this shift is slowly moving from monitoring “minimums” to a focus on quality of life in all it
entails (Casas, 2000; Huebner, 2004).

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From “Negative” to “Positive”

As our view of childhood changes, indicators of what constitutes a good childhood have also
changed. Children were always considered a vulnerable minority group, subjected to exclusion
and neglect (Kamerman, 2010), thus Indicators of negative events or conditions played an
important role, pointing out areas of exclusion and poor care. As most of the research involving
children is framed by adults, no wonder it is mostly centered on children and youth at-risk,
assessing risk factors rather than assets or positives (Ben-Arieh et al., 2001). However, measur-
ing negative indicators alone is not enough. The main challenge of this new era will be to
hold policymakers and society accountable to more than ensuring the safety of children (Pittman
& Irby, 1997). Using positive indicators may be the answer, as Resnick (1995) stated,
“children’s well-being indicators are on the move from concentrating only on trends of dying,
distress, disability, and discomfort to tackling the issue of indicators of sparkle, satisfaction, and
well-being” (p. 3).
Aber (1997) presented two main reasons for using positive indicators. First, some uni-
dimensional indicators are more complex than they appear. Rating negative and positive
emotions separately rather than as part of a continuum yields different outcomes; it creates a
broader view of the child’s life. Second, the question of policymaking arises, as policy targeting
the reduction of negative outcomes is much different than policy aimed at improving positive
outcomes. In other words, positive and negative indicators are very different conditions; the
absence of a problem does not mean the presence of a positive condition or that the outcome
is any way better (Ben-Arieh, 2006). This view is well grounded in the field of public health
and can be traced back to The World Health Organization definition of health as “a state of
complete physical, mental, and social well-being and not merely the absence of disease or
infirmity” (World Health Organization, 1964, p. 1). Through this radical notion of health,
WHO has had two major contributions to the health field: (1) a change in health thinking
beyond the narrow pathology based perspective to a rather positive notion of well-being; (2)
by including concepts of well-being and mental health, WHO expanded the scope of health
reach dramatically (Mann et al., 1994). Here we argue the same: The use of positive indicators
is expending our field beyond welfare and to the domain of well-being.

From Well-Becoming to Well-Being

If one wishes to advance the understanding of children and childhood, further conceptualization
is needed. The sociology of childhood offers a conceptualization based on two dimensions,
both derived from Greek mythology—being and becoming. The first refers to life in the present
tense and the latter to life as a step toward adulthood (Ben-Arieh et al., 2014). It is more than
sensible to address children as becoming for they are future adults, and we as a society have an
obligation to prepare them to become fully functioning, content adults. Developmental
psychology in the twentieth century reinforced that belief. However, this preoccupation with
the future disregards the present by ignoring a child’s citizenship rights. Uprichard (2008) finds
two main problems in the becoming child discourse. First, becoming is oriented toward the future
and does not place enough importance on what the child is at present. That is, the child is
viewed as a “future adult” not a “young human being.” Uprichard’s second argument relates
to competency, as the becoming perspective perceives competency as a trait of adults, one a
child cannot possess. It may be that the CRC holds the best solution to this matter. The CRC

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Asher Ben-Arieh and Noam Tarshish

regards children as human beings, taking into consideration their protection, provision, and
participation in childhood (Qvortrup, 1999), as well as securing their future. Hence the CRC
takes into consideration children both being and becoming.
Understanding the symbiotic relations between being and becoming holds special significance
in measuring children’s well-being. In addition to using objective indicators, of health and
poverty for example, that address both being and becoming, researchers in the field should also
use subjective indicators to gauge the present, the being of the child. Such an examination views
the child as a competent, capable social actor whose opinion matters.

The Emerging Importance of the Subjective Perspective

Until recently, much of the research on children relied on the assumption that objective
indicators can best explain variations in the child’s life, viewing children as passive entities
subjected to adult standards (Ben Arieh, 2008). These “objective” standards can be explained
with an examination of outcomes and risk and protective factors in children’s lives. Outcomes
are aspects of health and development such as behavior, physical health, and educational skills,
while risk and protective factors are the potential influences on those aspects, characteristics,
experiences, or contexts that increase or diminish the chance of negative outcomes. Health
and development combined with the impacting factors are in fact the areas covered by
“objective” well-being (Axford, Jordell & Hobbs, 2014). The focus on outcomes and impacting
factors on an individual are in a sense the essence of the passive nature of objective well-being.
The need for more than objective measures is well stressed in Prout’s (1997) statement that,
“large-scale social phenomena and small scale intersubjective action implicate each other such
that the complexity of the social world cannot be expressed through a simple asymmetry of
objective social structures and subjective actors” (p. 96).
Measuring “active” rather the “passive” well-being means using subjective indicators of well-
being. Subjective well-being is a comprehensive assessment of all domains in one’s life. It can
be defined as “a person’s cognitive and affective evaluations of his or her life. These evaluations
include emotional reactions to events as well as cognitive judgments of satisfaction and
fulfillment” (Diener, Oishi & Lucas, 2009, p. 63). As one can note, absent from this defini-
tion are objective indicators that may influence subjective well-being for those are not
considered a necessary part of the term (Diener, 1984). Decomposition of the definition
“subjective well-being” points to three components of subjective well-being: life satisfaction,
pleasant affect, and unpleasant affect. Affect refers to moods and emotions, negative and positive,
while life satisfaction is a cognitive component (Diener & Suh, 1997).With this unique toolkit,
measuring subjective well-being has many merits. Rees, Goswami and Bradshaw (2010) point
to three aspects that highlight the importance of subjective well-being: (1) A strong body of
evidence points to substantial variations in average well-being across countries that cannot be
explained solely by objective indicators above a certain level of national prosperity; (2)
subjective well-being may point towards the most important aspects in people’s lives; (3) evidence
shows that low subjective well-being can be a precursor for problems in one’s life (e.g. poor
mental health).
Diener (1984) points to three hallmarks in the area of subjective well-being that correspond
well with the transitions we have presented here: (1) It is subjective, derives from ones
experience, and the perceptions and evaluations of those, leaving out objective conditions such
as wealth and health; (2) It includes positive factors, not limited to the absence of negative
measures; (3) Subjective well-being is a global assessment, life satisfaction of all the domains

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of one’s life. In our view, the emergence of subjective well-being is the essence of the shift
from welfare to well-being, since it encompasses use of positive indicators; it stretches well beyond
survival; and stresses the being of the child over his becoming.
Yet, for the most part of the twentieth century children were not seen as competent
enough to supply reliable self-reported information regarding their own lives. However, in
the last two decades there has been a growing body of research indicating that even young
elementary school children can report on subjective indices in their own life with high reliability
(Ben Arieh et al., 2014; Huebner, 1991). Moreover, from this body of research it is apparent
that child reports are not merely scientifically reliable, but also provide important opportunities
for children beyond the data collected. Child reports highlight the child’s perspective and by
that respects children as persons, provides a foundation for child advocacy, increases
policymakers’ awareness, and contributes to democratic socialization of children (Melton &
Limber, 1992).

The Added Value of Integrating Children’s Rights and Well-Being

As we have shown, both the concept of children’s well-being and its measurement as well as
our understanding of the concept of children’s rights have undergone major changes throughout
history. Although the historical timelines are not identical, as children’s rights have been evolving
for centuries, while measuring children’s well-being has been around for only decades, it is
clear both trajectories of rights and well-being have converged in the dawn of the twenty-first
century. We can now point to a common ground, the notion that looking into children’s
quality of life, happiness, and well-being needs to be based at least partially on children’s subjective
views about their life, and rooted in the understanding that children are human beings with
a full spectrum of rights.
However, despite this common ground found between children’s rights and measuring
children’s life, there is still more ground to cover. Khadka (2013) claims that since the time
the CRC was drafted it has become a primary source used by governments and organizations
to assess welfare issues in children’s lives. But do children’s rights and especially the view expressed
in the CRC encompass the broader well-being definition? Scholars still debate that question.
Bradshaw, Hoelscher and Richardson (2007) stress that the CRC can well be seen as “a
normative framework for understanding child well-being” (p. 6), drawing from the congruence
between the conceptualization of well-being and the four general principals of the CRC: Non-
discrimination, the best interest of the child, survival and development, and respect for the
view of the child. Lundy (2014) on the other hand believes children’s rights and well-being
are not as close. Lundy exemplifies the connection as “cousins” rather than “twins,” arguing
the basic modest nature of human rights, meant to create a world standard (especially in inter-
national conventions), is opposite to the broader well-being concept that includes life satisfaction
and happiness. Moreover, Lundy also points out that despite some points of intersection between
children’s rights and well-being, the literary dialogue is divided on a disciplinary basis between
child rights scholars, child well-being scholars, and participation experts with only some
overlapping methods and fields of research.
The answer may lie in children’s participation with regards to both well-being and children’s
rights. As we have mentioned here before, the point of convergence between the two is the
newly found understanding, brought about in the twilight of last century, that children should
not be regarded only as objects of protection, but as active bearers of rights, able to participate
in decisions regarding their life. This notion has the potential not only to improve children’s

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lives, but also to bring consensus to the disciplinary distinction in literature, tying aspects of
both well-being and children’s rights in the understanding that, in order to improve children’s
lives, we must take the children as experts in their own field, knowledgeable more than any
legislation, indicator or scholar.
The active participation of children in that sense is twofold. One way of participation could
follow the idea that well-being is in fact a realization of the opportunity guaranteed in children’s
rights (Bradshaw, Hoelscher & Richardson, 2007), meaning well-being indicators, and especially
subjective well-being, could be used to measure how children’s rights are brought into
practice. For example, the participation rights of children should be looked upon through the
lens of the provision of equal opportunities to participate (Hinton, 2008; UN/CRC/GC/12,
2009). In that sense, well-being measures can point to areas where the right to participation
is not possible. Active monitoring of subjective indicators, such as measures of life satisfaction,
will allow a child to actively state how he or she perceives participation. Most importantly,
active participation of children in monitoring their own lives is an example of participation
rights brought to life (Ben-Arieh, 2005). This view is, however, limited to the rights of children
today and more importantly follows the outlines of the CRC, which can be, as we have shown
here before, somewhat basic and open to interpretation.
With regards to this notion, assessing implementation of children’s rights is merely one side
of the story. As history progresses, it is safe to say that children’s rights are bound to shift again.
As children’s rights shift, monitoring well-being will become an important tool in assessing
not only the implementation of these rights, but also for the construction of new children’s
rights. Monitoring the worlds of children and allowing children to participate and take part
in decisions might spur new rights for children, rights that will better suit childhood. This is
in a way a regulatory system for the world of adults. Children can help us with more than
showing how they are doing with respect to the adult created notions of child rights or child
well-being indicators. Active participation means also asking children what rights would they
want to have and what do they consider important in their life for us to measure. This would
be the active realization of child participation—the child as social actor with the power to
influence policy (Ben-Arieh, 2005).
In light of the emerging necessity to allow the voice of children to be heard in assembling
the puzzle of childhood, especially in the domain of children’s rights, society is in need of a
fourth shift in public views of children: from children as emerging citizens to children as experts in
the field of childhood. In other words, to fit the changing world to the needs of our children,
we must hear their voices and let them, as experts in the field of childhood today, guide us.
As Hart (1991, p. 57) so eloquently stated:

Effective and developmentally appropriate involvement of children in the movement for

their rights will be dependent on the existence of the empirical supports and positive
ideology. Involvement of children in negotiating and asserting their rights will increase
validity of the standards promoted and indicate that children are valued as persons at each
point in their developmental process.

In this chapter we have reviewed two parallel trajectories in the development of societal
views toward children: Shifts that correspond with children’s rights throughout history, taking
the course from property status to an emerging citizen and bearer of participation rights; alongside
shifts in measuring and monitoring terms of children lives, from child welfare to a more holistic
perspective of child well-being. The two, children’s well-being and children’s rights, converged

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in recent decades and are now incomplete without each other. While new and old rights call
for frequent measurement in practice in order to secure their implementation, findings from
efforts to measure well-being can be used to rectify new rights and amend old rights. This
cycle of feedback, along with the active participation of children in measurement, will
hopefully bring upon a social climate better fitted for children.

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 6
The Convention on the
Rights of the Child after
Twenty-five Years
Challenges of Content and Implementation
Ursula Kilkelly

Introduction
The Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC; or ‘the Convention’) stands as a landmark
international treaty. As the first articulation of children’s rights standards in binding international
law, the drafting and adoption of the Convention was characterised by unusual consensus and
unity of purpose. The CRC was adopted by unanimous vote of the General Assembly of the
United Nations on 20 November 1989 (now known as international children’s rights day)1
and it came into force in record time on 2 September 1990. It remains the most highly ratified
instrument in international law; 197 states have ratified the CRC, and only one signatory –
the United States of America – has not undertaken ratification.
It is a hallmark of the CRC that it is a comprehensive treaty detailing the rights of children
across all aspects of their lives, with rights that are relevant to all children as well as those in
especially vulnerable circumstances. The drafters navigated a number of contentious issues to
successfully bring about the CRC’s adoption and in the 25 years since its enactment, the
Committee on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC) has supplemented this breadth and depth
with 16 General Comments articulating the Convention’s application across a range of
children’s rights issues.
This chapter seeks to reflect on these aspects of the Convention’s origins and to ask, 25
years on, whether the CRC has lived up to its promise as a comprehensive treaty of widespread
appeal. It considers whether the CRC is fit for purpose to protect the rights of children for
the twenty-first century and whether the compromises necessitated by achieving consensus in
the drafting of the Convention have ultimately weakened its impact. The chapter does this in
two parts – first, it reviews the content of the CRC and second, it considers the CRC’s
mechanisms for implementation and enforcement. The chapter then concludes with some
observations about the future implementation of the CRC.

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 The CRC after 25 Years

The Convention on the Rights of the Child

The CRC was drafted following a Polish initiative to mark the UN-sponsored International
Year of the Child in 1979 (Fortin, 2005, pp. 38–39). Apart from the desire to draft a children’s
rights instrument that was widely relevant and could be ratified by as many states as possible,
the intention was to adopt an instrument that would have binding legal effect (Van Bueren,
1995, pp. 13–16). This was especially important given that there already existed two non-
binding declarations in this area – one limited Declaration had been adopted by the League
of Nations in 1924 and another, more detailed Declaration was adopted by the United Nations
in 1959.2 The case for a legal instrument codifying children’s rights was also supported by the
fact that in 1966 the UN had adopted two instruments – namely the International Covenant
on Civil and Political Rights3 and the Covenant on International, Economic and Social Rights4
– reflecting its commitment to promote respect for human rights through the adoption of binding
human rights standards. With the decision to draft the CRC, the UN showed its support for
an international instrument on children’s rights that would be legally binding on states parties
and widely applicable across political, economic and social divides. Although the ten-year drafting
process was not without difficulty, the strength of the commitment to the objectives of drafting
a legally binding treaty to which all states could sign up meant that any stumbling blocks were
overcome through political compromise, resulting in reduced standards, instead of being allowed
to derail the process altogether (Hammarberg, 1990; LeBlanc, 1991).
The drafters were largely successful in achieving their objectives (Holzscheiter, 2010). The
CRC was adopted unanimously by the General Assembly on 20 November 19895 and 30 days
after the requisite 20 instruments of ratification had been received the CRC came into force
just over nine months later, on 2 September 1990. It has now been ratified by 197 States Parties,
just one short of universal ratification.6 As is well known, the United States of America has
signed7 but not ratified the treaty (see Kilbourne, 1998; Lawrence-Karski, 1996).
The CRC is a detailed and comprehensive treaty that recognises the rights of all children,
rights that are relevant to all areas of their lives and applicable throughout their lives from birth
to 18.8 The CRC’s wide remit is one of its defining features and McGoldrick (1991), who
published one of the first analyses of the Convention, noted the significance of it encompassing
civil and political rights, economic, social and cultural rights, and humanitarian provisions in
a single human rights instrument (p. 133). The CRC reaches into all aspects of childhood,
including school (Arts. 28, 29), family life (Arts. 3, 5, 18, 20, 21) and health and material welfare
(Arts. 6, 24, 27), and it recognises the importance of children’s fundamental rights in these
areas (Kilkelly, 2015). Its provisions address rights relevant to all children, such as the right to
play and leisure (Art. 31), but it also contains provisions directed to vulnerable children and
those in particularly difficult circumstances such as children whose parents have separated (Arts.
3, 9), children who have been subjected to abuse and exploitation (Arts. 19, 30–34, 37), refugee
children (Arts. 7, 8, 10), children with disabilities (Art. 23), and children in conflict with the
law (Arts. 37, 40). It contains civil rights such as the rights to privacy and identity (Art. 7, 8,
16) and the more traditional rights of freedom of expression, religion and association (Arts.
13, 14, 17). The CRC refers to the right to financial support, social security and an adequate
standard of living (Arts. 18, 24, 26) and specifies the duties of the state to respect and vindicate
the rights of children individually as well as members of a group (for example, Arts. 24 and
29). Consistent with human rights law, the CRC is based on the principle of children as rights-
holders and the state as the duty bearer (UNCRC, 2003, para. 1). At the same time, it
acknowledges that parents and carers play a pivotal role in children’s lives and in supporting

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them to exercise their rights (Art. 18) in line with their evolving capacity and maturity (Arts.
5, 14) (see Vandenhole, Desmet, Reynaert & Lembrechts, 2015). Four provisions of the
Convention have been given ‘general principle’ status by the UNCRC (the treaty body that
monitors implementation of the Convention); they are Article 2 (non-discrimination), Article
3 (the requirement that the child’s best interests are a primary consideration in all actions
concerning children, Article 6 (the right to life survival and development) and Article 12 (the
right of the child to have a say in all matters affecting him/her) (UNCRC, 2003, para. 12).
Important also is the duty on the state under Article 42 to ‘make the principles and provisions
of the CRC widely known, by appropriate and active means, to adults and children alike’.
Overall, the coverage and scope of the CRC in recognising the rights of children and setting
out how they are to be both promoted and protected is impressive in terms of its comprehensive
nature (Kilkelly & Lundy, 2006). This next section seeks to reflect on the Convention’s content,
examining the continued relevance of its provisions 25 years after its adoption.

Analysis of the Convention’s Content

While the CRC is widely regarded as the ‘touchstone for children’s rights throughout the
world’ (Fortin, 2003, p. 49), some commentators have been guarded in their praise, presenting
the CRC as an important, if somewhat limited, milestone on children’s rights (McGoldrick,
1991, p. 32). Lopatka described the Convention as a statement of ‘moderate rather than unduly
ambitious standards of promotion and protection of the rights of the child’ (Lopatka, 1992, p.
51) and Freeman famously highlighted its adoption as a ‘beginning, but only a beginning’
(Freeman, 1992, p. 71).
Notwithstanding the significant merits of the CRC as explained above, an assessment of
the Convention’s content reveals certain gaps and weaknesses. A textual review highlights that
some standards provide a poor or low level of protection. These include those areas of protection
– such as Article 38 on armed conflict (Hanson, 2011) and the right of the unborn child to
protection (Alston, 1990) – on which compromises were made during the drafting process.
They also include those provisions such as Article 23 on the rights of children with disabilities
– whose caveats weaken the protection provided. Article 23 recognises the right of a mentally
or physically disabled child to enjoy a full and decent life, in conditions that ensure dignity,
promote self-reliance and facilitate the child’s active participation in the community. But the
provision is not only vague, it places an emphasis on ‘welfare rather than rights’ (Freeman,
2000, p. 283). Moreover, in accordance with Article 23(2), States Parties:

recognise the right of the disabled child to special care and shall encourage and ensure the
extension, subject to available resources, to the eligible child and those responsible for his
or her care, of assistance for which application is made and which is appropriate to the
child’s condition and to the circumstances of the parents or others caring for the child.

Article 23 appears to contain more limitations than any other CRC provision and can be said
to offer little in the articulation of the rights of children with disabilities to education, including
special needs education, specialised health care and independent living (Kilkelly, 2002). In a
similar way, Article 22 offers little protection to the rights of children in the asylum and refugee
process due to the way the provision is phrased. Even though Article 22 makes reference to
such children being entitled to ‘receive appropriate protection and humanitarian assistance in
the enjoyment of applicable rights set forth in the present Convention’, the provision goes on

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to provide that this applies only to ‘a child who is seeking refugee status or who is considered
a refugee in accordance with applicable international or domestic law and procedures’. In this
way, the provision offers little protection to the substantive or procedural rights of highly
vulnerable refugee children short of reinforcing that they, like all children, are entitled to the
Convention’s protection.
Although some CRC provisions – such as article 19 on the right of the child to protection
from violence – recognise children’s rights in unequivocal terms, many provisions are overly
broad and vague in their style. While the broad wording of some of the individual provisions
provides flexibility in terms of their application, it is clear that this allows governments some
discretion to avoid the legal commitment to their implementation (An-Na’im, 1994, p. 63;
King, 1994, pp. 322–323). Key among the vague provisions is Article 3, which provides that
the best interests of the child shall be a primary consideration in all decisions taken concerning
the child (Azer, 1994; Parker, 1994).9 What is in the child’s best interests in any particular area
is not defined in the CRC10 with the result that this principle has the potential to ‘mean all
things to all people’ (Kilkelly & Lundy, 2006, p. 336), if indeed it can be said to mean anything
at all (Sutherland & Macfarlane, in press). An analysis of the content and purpose of this provision
lends support to the argument that Article 3, with its emphasis on ‘interests’ over ‘rights’, does
not belong in the CRC (Kilkelly, in press). Similar criticism can be made of other provisions
that appear to support treatment of children that is contrary to their rights. In this regard, for
example, Article 37, which provides that detention must be a measure of last resort, has been
criticised for legitimising a form of treatment that, Goldson (2005) argues, is hugely damaging
to the rights of children.
Part of the difficulty here is that the CRC does not address potential conflict between the
rights of children. It offers no means of balancing the right of the child to protection from
harm, for example, with the right to liberty. Nor does it propose how to resolve conflict between
the rights of the child and those of others (including the rights of other children). An obvious
example involves the right to education, where tensions between the rights of an individual
child are difficult to resolve with those of the collective. Similar tensions can arise in health
care, as in other areas of decision making, where the right to have a say in decision making
(Art. 12) might be perceived as contrary to what is in the child’s best interests (Art. 3, Art.
24). An example of the tension in this context relates to the child’s right to access sexual health
information and services. Although it might be said to be read into article 24 (on health and
health care), the absence of express provision for these rights makes it difficult to argue that
children have a right to autonomy in these areas (Kilkelly, 2015). Similarly, children’s
participation in research – also absent from the Convention – means that they have no right
to participate in such studies without parental consent, and the manner of their participation
is not necessarily guided by a duty to ensure that the research process is rights compliant (Lundy
& McEvoy, 2012).
A contemporary analysis of the CRC also highlights that there are other, obvious gaps in
its protections. For instance, there is scant reference to children and technology (although Article
17 provides an important reference to the role of the ‘mass media’), meaning that the
Convention has no obvious application to a huge aspect of children’s lives. Even if the extent
to which the internet now pervades children’s lives could not have been fully anticipated,11
the CRC’s failure to address the issue limits its application and relevance to today’s children
(Livingstone & Drake, 2010). The CRC acknowledges the important role of parents (Art. 18)
and proposes in Article 5 the principle of evolving capacity as a bridge to bring young children,
whose parents exercise their rights on their behalf, across to adulthood, where they exercise

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these rights for themselves. However, it offers no express means to guide decision making
when parents assert that their rights – or indeed their view of their child’s interests – trump
those of their children.
Fortunately, the Convention’s reference to broad concepts such as family, which it does
not define, has allowed it to adapt and evolve as the definition of family changes. At the same
time, the implications of modern family forms and the increase of assisted reproduction, including
surrogacy, are not expressly mentioned in the CRC. Although it is clear that the CRC’s
provisions apply to children regardless of the nature of their conception or their family
environment, the Convention does not address the children’s rights implications of adults having
recourse to these mechanisms in the first place (see Fenton-Glynn, 2015, p. 161). The
provisions concerning identity (Article 7 and Article 8) are particularly disappointing when
applied in the context of assisted human reproduction (Blyth & Farrand, 2004). Similar
concerns arise with respect to non-traditional family forms including LGBT (Tobin & McNair,
2009).
Although the Declarations that preceded the Convention’s drafting highlighted the
vulnerability of children during war and natural disaster, these issues are surprisingly absent
from the CRC. Although Articles 38 and 39 deal with children’s participation in armed conflict,12
the CRC is silent on the particular circumstances faced by children exposed to war and conflict,
and the Convention fails, equally, to contemplate mass migration, environmental disaster and
climate change, challenging its contemporary relevance (see Boothby & Ager, 2010). Although
the claim from earlier Declarations on the Rights of the Child that children should be entitled
to priority protection in times of distress is repeated in the Preamble, it now appears neglectful
not to have given it binding legal status in the CRC itself. A further similar gap emerges from
the application of the CRC to the policies of austerity that have swept parts of the world as
part of the recent global recession.
Despite the CRC’s breadth, it is a concern that certain rights, such as the right to vote, are
denied to all children by their omission from the CRC (Freeman, 2000). The Convention is
equally silent on broader citizenship rights for children, such as their right to a voice in the
political process (Ivernizzi & Williams, 2007). For older children in particular, this limits the
CRC’s relevance to their lives and lessens its ability to prepare them for adulthood. A further
difficulty in this area is that the CRC guarantees civil rights but not in a child-specific manner.
For example, Article 15 of the CRC guarantees the right to freedom of association in almost
identical terms to Article 21 of the International Covenant and Civil and Political Rights
(ICCPR) and thus does not adapt it to take into account the importance for young people to
have the right to the company of their friends or peers. Similar complaints can be levelled at
the right to freedom of expression protected by Article 13; even though some concession is
made with regard to the manner of the expression by children there is little here to adapt this
right to the particular circumstances of children. On the other hand, certain provisions core
to human rights law, such as freedom of religion, are present in a diluted form in the CRC
(Kilkelly, 2009). While it is arguable that the concerns or wishes of children – as with adults
– are not always capable of being represented in the form or language of rights, it also reflects
the fact that the CRC was drafted about, but not by children (see Kilkelly & Lundy, 2006).
In this way, its language is unfamiliar and unrepresentative of children and arguably contradicts
its own standards. As Freeman highlights:

[t]he 1989 Convention was not formulated by children, nor did they have any real input
into it. How different a convention in which the child’s voice is heard would look is a

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matter of some controversy. There is, though, not a little irony in having a Convention,
which emphasises participatory rights (Art. 12) whilst foreclosing the participation of children
in the formulation of rights to be encoded. The next Convention cannot afford to ignore
the rights of children.
(Freeman, 2000, p. 282)

In conclusion, this review of the CRC highlights that its significant strength remains its
breadth and scope. But its weaknesses are many – provisions are inadequately precise and broad,
protections are frequently weak and thinly veiled and caveats and gaps in the rights protected
are too numerous. Internal inconsistencies are not resolved and the failure to address conflicting
rights – both between children and between children and other rights holders – threatens to
weaken the Convention’s usefulness. Although arguably necessary to achieve international
consensus around the Convention’s adoption, these faults heighten the challenge of imple-
menting the CRC, particularly against the backdrop of the twenty-first century. At the same
time, an analysis of the Convention’s content can only ever be considered half of the story –
a study of its implementation and enforcement is vital to complete the picture as to the CRC’s
impact in its 25 year lifespan. The section that follows thus aims to complete the analysis.

Implementation and Enforcement

Notwithstanding the weaknesses highlighted in the above critique of the Convention’s content,
it is inescapable that the biggest contemporary challenge associated with the CRC is not to
revise its standards upwards but rather to secure their greater implementation. It is not possible
to do justice in a paper of this length to the extent to which the CRC has been implemented
worldwide in the 25 years since its adoption. Even acknowledging that laments about the failure
to observe the Convention’s standards are likely to be louder than chants of praise, it is evident
that the CRC remains observed more in the breach than in the implementation. A perusal of
UNICEF’s annual publication – State of the World’s Children – provides a snapshot of the major
challenges in the implementation of the CRC around the world. For instance, even though
the edition celebrating the twentieth anniversary of the CRC highlights its continued relevance,
it also points to the continued obstacles to the full realisation of the Convention’s potential
(UNICEF, 2009). Global studies such as the Pinheiro Study on Violence against Children
similarly highlight the horrific extent to which violence continues to pervade children’s
everyday lives all over the world (Doek, 2009; Pinheiro, 2006). At the same time, the leading
international journal – the International Journal of Children’s Rights – publishes varied critiques
of the failure to implement the CRC, while authors also routinely address how breaches of
such rights can be remedied.
If gaps in the Convention’s provision can be remedied by creative techniques of
interpretation (Kilkelly & Lundy, 2006), the gap between the Convention’s terms and their
implementation is not so easily closed. Commentators agree that the issues of enforcement and
implementation are the key to maximise the CRC’s potential to improve the lives of children
and young people worldwide (see Balton, 1990, p. 1; Fottrell, 2000, pp. 125–129). There are
multiple ways in which the CRC’s implementation can be achieved. These include the direct
responsibility of states to implement the Convention (under Article 4), supported by the
Committee on the Rights of the Child, as well as the broader impact that the CRC has had
on international law. These will now be examined before contemplating the further means by
which the CRC can be enforced.

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The Role of the Committee on the Rights of the Child

As with all human rights treaties, Articles 43 and 44 of the Convention on the Rights of the
Child provide for a Committee of independent experts with responsibility to consider state
party reports on implementation of the Convention (see Doek, 2003). The UNCRC (or the
Committee) considers periodic reports from all States Parties to the Convention and, following
public dialogue with the government delegation, it publishes Concluding Observations, making
recommendations as to how greater implementation might be achieved. In general, this is a
constructive process where states are asked to reflect on what obstacles prevent greater
implementation of the CRC and the Committee then identifies the means by which greater
progress can be made (Kilkelly, 1996). The Committee’s aim is to persuade rather than to
demand that the State Party take further action to implement the Convention. Its Concluding
Observations, the formal document issued following its dialogue with the State Party, reflect
this approach – detailing positive developments alongside the negative ones, and making
constructive recommendations as to how the State Party can achieve a greater level of
compatibility between the CRC and domestic law, policy and practice. In this way, the reporting
process plays an important role in promoting greater implementation of the CRC in States
Parties, and the Concluding Observations can be a very useful source of material for public
and political advocacy at national and international level.
The large number of states that have ratified the Convention makes the role of the
Committee on the Rights of the Child exceptionally onerous. Long delays in the consideration
of state party reports are now normal practice and it is commonplace for the process to extend
well beyond the five year reporting interval set out in Article 44, notwithstanding the range
of measures adopted by the Committee to improve its work-rate. Recommendations are often
relevant and specific, and address issues on which progress has been difficult to achieve. At the
same time, this is not always the case, and comparisons across states parties are difficult to draw
given that the material is not currently available in a searchable and easily analytical format
(see, Cohen, Hart & Kosloske, 1992; Heymann, McNeill & Raub, 2014).
The second aspect of the Committee’s work – not expressly referenced in the CRC – is
its adoption of statements, known as General Comments, on the interpretation of specific
Convention provisions or the application of the CRC to children in particular circumstances.
To date, the Committee has adopted 16 General Comments focusing on precise issues such
as corporal punishment (UNCRC, 2007), general areas such as the right to health (UNCRC,
2013) and cross-cutting themes such as the rights of the child in early childhood (UNCRC,
2005). These considered statements, often drafted by the Committee in conjunction with
international experts and building on general days of discussion hosted by the Committee, are
an important means to clarify and assist in the interpretation and implementation of the CRC.
Engagement with the NGO and academic communities on draft General Comments also
prompts international debate on the Convention’s application and serves to improve com-
munication between the Committee and States Parties at national level. The Committee’s
General Comments are increasingly used by academic commentators and policy analysts at
national level to audit compliance with the Convention’s provisions (Kilkelly, 2006; Kilkelly
& Lundy, 2006). In this way, the Committee’s work contributes indirectly to the imple-
mentation of the CRC.

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Measures of Implementation
Article 4 of the CRC requires that states take all appropriate legislative, administrative and
other measures to implement Convention rights. According to the Committee on the Rights
of the Child:

Ensuring that all domestic legislation is fully compatible with the Convention and that
the Convention’s principles and provisions can be directly applied and appropriately enforced
is fundamental. In addition, . . . a wide range of measures . . . are needed for effective
implementation, including the development of special structures and monitoring, training
and other activities in Government, parliament and the judiciary at all levels.
(UNCRC, 2003)

In respect of the legal measures required to implement the Convention, the Committee
has highlighted that putting children’s rights, especially the CRC’s general principles, at the
heart of the legislative process is a necessary step (UNCRC, 2003, para. 12). It has recom-
mended the incorporation of the CRC into domestic law, so that it can be directly invoked
before the courts, applied by national authorities, and will prevail where there is a conflict
with domestic legislation (UNCRC, 2003, para 20). It has welcomed the inclusion of children’s
provisions in national constitutions while at the same time noting that:

in order to promote the full implementation of these rights, including, where appropriate,
the exercise of rights by children themselves, additional legislative and other measures may
be necessary.
(UNCRC, 2003, para. 21)

Research is beginning to record the incorporation of the CRC into the domestic law of
States Parties. In 2007, the UNICEF Innocenti Research Centre examined the legal reform
measures taken by 52 states following ratification of the Convention and found it ‘impressive
that the Convention has been incorporated directly into the law of two thirds of the countries
studied’ (UNICEF, 2007, p. viii). Furthermore, the study found that provisions on the rights
of children had been incorporated into the constitutions of one third of the countries studied
(UNICEF, 2007, p. viii), indicating that important steps had been taken by States Parties –
many of whom are in Africa – to give the ultimate national standing to CRC provisions. More
recent research undertaken by the Venice Commission of the Council of Europe echoed the
finding that many states – this time in Europe – are taking steps to give constitutional standing
to children’s rights (European Commission for Democracy through Law, 2014). Also evident
in this study was the diversity among state approaches to giving constitutional expression to
children’s rights, with approaches ranging from those who gave explicit constitutional stand-
ing to the CRC or its general principles to those whose constitutional expression was limited
to protection – rather than rights-based – references to children (European Commission for
Democracy through Law, 2014, p. 28). The Commission recommended that Council of Europe
states give full constitutional expression to children’s rights, acknowledging children as rights
holders, in order to strengthen the constitutional recognition and protection of children’s rights
(European Commission for Democracy through Law, 2014, p. 29). Clearly, this progress is
welcome although it reflects a narrow approach to the legal incorporation of CRC rights into
national constitutions after 25 years, as indeed the following analysis also reveals.

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A detailed study conducted for UNICEF UK in 2012 also noted evidence of the
incorporation of the Convention’s provisions into the 12 States Parties examined (Kilkelly, Lundy,
Byrne & Kang, 2013, p. 450). Although in most cases, this involved just the incorporation of
Article 3 (the best interests principle) into national sectoral laws, predominantly child and family
law, there was some evidence that States Parties were extending the application of this principle
in laws on youth justice and immigration (Kilkelly, Lundy, Byrne & Kang, 2013, p. 450;
Sandberg, 2014). Many states were also noted to have incorporated the participation principle
(Article 12) into their domestic laws and although some states restricted this to legal proceedings
concerning family decision making, other states had used the provision to underpin legislation
on school councils (Kilkelly, Lundy, Byrne & Kang, 2013). At the same time, the study found
that states’ efforts to incorporate the CRC were mainly limited to these two principles, with
little evidence of other CRC provisions being given statutory expression at national level. As
with the incorporation of the CRC into national constitutions, this indicates important but
nonetheless limited progress in the implementation of the Convention at national level.
As Doek (2006) notes, however, the CRC requires more than legal measures to achieve
implementation, it requires ‘a rather significant change of beliefs, attitudes and practices’ (p.
202). To enable this transition, the Committee has highlighted that a range of non-legal measures
are necessary to achieve effective implementation of the Convention (UNCRC, 2003, paras.
28–39). Research has identified that core to the success of any legal strategy to implement the
CRC are: training and awareness, the role of independent human rights institutions, systematic
collection of data, and national action plans to coordinate the implementation of the CRC
(see Lundy, Kilkelly, Byrne & Kang, 2013). Although it is difficult to establish in any definitive
way the actual impact on the lives of children of these approaches, it is beginning to emerge
from research that children’s rights are better protected where the CRC has been given legal
status at a national level and where states parties have followed this up by establishing the necessary
systems to effectively support, monitor and enforce the implementation of CRC rights
(Kilkelly, Lundy, Byrne & Kang, 2013). At the very least, this research appears to vindicate
the Committee’s approach in General Comment No. 5, where it emphasises the importance
of adopting both legal and non-legal measures in order to further implementation of the
Convention (UNCRC, 2003).

The CRC as an Instrument of International Law

Moving beyond the duty of states to take steps under Article 4 to implement the Convention,
it is important to reflect on the wider effect that the Convention has had on international and
regional law. Since the Convention’s adoption, it has been argued that its status as a treaty of
international law could be used to secure its influence on regional human rights mechanisms
(Kilkelly, 2001). This argument has grown in importance with the Convention’s standing in
international law as the almost universally accepted standard of children’s rights. Although this
theory originally focused on the European Convention on Human Rights (Van Bueren, 2007),
its extension to the European Union (Stalford, 2012), and more recently to other regional
human rights mechanisms, is evidence of its increasing impact. In this context, Nolan and Kilkelly
(in press) noted that:

the growing reference to, and employment of, the CRC by regional human rights bodies
has contributed to an increasing harmonisation of regional approaches to children’s rights.

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This level of harmonisation is a strong testament to the influence of that instrument given
both the diverse challenges faced by children in Europe, Africa and Americas, and the
variations in approach to children’s rights in the basic instruments of the regional human
rights systems under consideration.

Although the authors note that the CRC plays a different role in each mechanism, it is increas-
ingly clear that ‘the CRC is the tie that binds in child rights protection at regional as well as
international level’ (Nolan & Kilkelly, in press).
The indirect impact of the Convention can also be ascertained from an analysis of
international legal developments. In Europe, the CRC has had a very direct impact on standard-
setting in both the Council of Europe and the European Union. In particular, the EU Charter
of Fundamental Rights and Freedoms contains a provision dedicated solely to children’s rights
(McGlynn, 2002).13 Article 24 contains two of the general principles of the CRC – the best
interests standard and the right to be heard – while also making substantive provision in Article
24(1) for the child’s right to protection and care, and in Article 24(3) for the child’s right to
maintain a personal relationship and direct contact with his/her parents on a regular basis. The
presence of these standards in the Charter appears capable of galvanising political support for
greater children’s rights protection in EU law and policy with some optimism that the Lisbon
Treaty presents new opportunities for integrating children’s rights into all stages of the decision
making and implementation process (Stalford & Shuurman, 2011).
The impact of the CRC is also visible on the broader, political landscape occupied by the
Council of Europe. The Council of Europe has drafted several binding treaties in the areas of
child and family law, many of which have either been revised or adopted following the entry
into force of the CRC. These include the Convention on the Adoption of Children,14 the
Convention on Contact Concerning Children,15 and the Convention on the Exercise of
Children’s Rights, concerning the procedural rights of children in family law matters.16 As
Fortin notes, this latter treaty was specifically drafted to remedy a perceived weakness of the
CRC: that children might not be able to exercise their substantive rights without the adoption
of specific procedural measures to support them (as cited in Fortin, 2009, p. 236). Also notable
in this area is the Convention on the Protection of children against Sexual Exploitation and
Sexual Abuse which came into force in July 2010.17 The existence of such a range of children’s
rights treaties, all informed by the terms of the CRC but adopted within the political context
of the Council of Europe, is further evidence of the Convention’s dominant influence.
Although not all member states of the Council of Europe have ratified each treaty, in devel-
oping such a body of human rights law on children’s issues, the Council is itself reflecting a
consensus in favour of giving legal protection to children’s rights at international level.
The CRC did not originally provide for an individual petition for children and, after
decades of campaigning from NGOs and children’s rights advocates, the General Assembly
finally adopted the Third Optional Protocol to the Convention (known as OP3), which made
such a complaint mechanism available to children. Egan (2014) considers that the OP3
achieves a ‘certain parity of esteem for children vis-à-vis complainants under other core UN
human rights instruments’ by providing them with the opportunity to make complaints to
the Committee on the Rights of the Child with respect to their rights under the Convention
(p. 205). It is noted with some irony, however, the text of the Protocol has in many respects
failed to deliver a rights compliant complaints mechanism for children. It has yet to be tested,
however, and so petitioners will be the ultimate judge of that.

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Conclusion
This chapter sought to review the content and implementation of the Convention on the Rights
of the Child, reflecting on the consensus that dominated the treaty’s drafting and adoption.
Although this is by no means a comprehensive analysis – other gaps such as the regional
application of the CRC are also worthy of analysis – in summary, it is apparent that the ambition
to develop a comprehensive children’s rights treaty that would have wide appeal resulted in
the dilution of some of the Convention’s standards. Application of the CRC to specific contexts
– such as the modern technology age and increased recourse to assisted human reproduction
– reveals the shortcomings of some provisions. In addition, the understanding of the CRC’s
importance has led to regret that its scope does not adequately cover the rights of particularly
older or indeed particularly vulnerable children, such as those caught up in war or natural
disasters.
Although large-scale studies of the Convention’s implementation are surprisingly small in
number, it is possible to conclude that the CRC has had a significant impact at a national and
an international level and is being implemented by a range of legal and non-legal measures.
At the same time, there would appear to be sufficient cause for concern that legal incorporation
of the Convention has in many instances been limited to Articles 3 and 12. Notwithstanding
the importance of these provisions, this clearly limits the impact of the CRC as a whole. If
the full potential of the entire Convention is to be realised, implementation of the CRC needs
to be intensified, drawing on the entire range and depth of the Convention’s provisions.

Notes
1 UN Doc A/RES/44/25, 61st plenary meeting, 20 November 1989.
2 Declaration of the Rights of the Child (1959) GA res 1386 (XIV), 14 UN GAOR Supp (No 16) at
19, UN Doc A/4354. See generally S. Detrick (ed) The UN Convention on the Rights of the Child. A
Guide to the Travaux Preparatoires (Martinus Nihoff, 1992).
3 Adopted and opened for signature, ratification and accession by General Assembly resolution 2200A
(XXI) of 16 December 1966.
4 Adopted and opened for signature, ratification and accession by General Assembly resolution 2200A
(XXI) of 16 December 1966.
5 Adopted and opened for signature, ratification and accession by General Assembly resolution 44/25
of 20 November 1989. The Convention entered into force on 2 September 1990, in accordance with
article 49.
6 For full details of ratification, reservations and declarations see www.ohchr.org.
7 The US signed the Convention on 15 February 1994.
8 Article 1 defines the child as ‘every human being below the age of 18 years’ and is not generally
considered to apply to children before birth (although a more rigorous analysis of this issue might
reveal a more nuanced position).
9 The concept is regularly described as ‘abstract’ and ‘vague’.
10 Admittedly this has been the subject of a General Comment of the UN Committee on the Rights of
the Child which attempted to give the provision structure. See Committee on the Rights of the Child
(2013b).
11 Although clearly it was not an unknown phenomenon when the Convention was being adopted. See
for example Hick (2001).
12 See the Optional Protocol to the Convention on the Rights of the Child on the involvement of children
in armed conflict Adopted and opened for signature, ratification and accession by General Assembly
resolution A/RES/54/263 of 25 May 2000, entered into force on 12 February 2002.
13 The Charter came into force as part of the Lisbon Treaty on 1st December 2009.
14 European Convention on the Adoption of Children (CETS No 58) and European Convention on
the Adoption of Children Revised (CETS No 202).

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15 The Convention on Contact concerning Children (CETS No 192).

16 The European Convention on the Exercise of Children’s Rights (ETS No. 160).
17 The Convention on the Protection of Children against Sexual Exploitation and Sexual Abuse (CETS
No. 201).

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 Part II
Social Science and Theoretical
Perspectives on Children’s Rights

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 7
Anthropological Perspectives
on Children’s Rights
Heather Montgomery

Introduction
Social anthropology’s engagement with both children and their rights is a recent and still evolving
process. Like scholars from the other disciplinary perspectives discussed in this volume, anthro-
pologists only began to theorize children systematically in the last 30 years and have often done
so in collaboration with others in the social sciences. It is difficult therefore to point to distinct
anthropological perspectives on understanding childhood and children’s rights because of the
close collaboration between disciplines and the borrowings and influences from sociology,
geography, psychology, philosophy and law, often described under the umbrella heading as
the “New Social Studies of Childhood.” All share an interest in understanding childhood
as a social construction and as a valuable stage of life in its own right. These disciplines also
acknowledge children as active agents, useful informants and equal participants in research and
all have been heavily influenced by the idea of children’s rights, particularly those enshrined
in the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC; United Nations General
Assembly, 1989). Furthermore the distinctive methods and geographical locations that once
made anthropological study unique have been widely adopted across the social sciences and
ethnographic methods, locations and writing are no longer the sole preserve of the discipline.
However it is still possible to look at certain issues with which anthropologists have struggled,
perhaps more than others, and with which they are most closely associated, particularly cultural
relativism. In this chapter I will look at some of the challenges anthropologists have found
when studying children’s lives and children’s rights as well as some of the insights they have
brought to the new theorization of childhood. I will look at the impact that the CRC has had
on anthropological research on children and at the continuing discussions and tensions that
accompany contemporary anthropological studies of childhood and children’s rights.

Background: Anthropology and Cultural Relativism

Put very simply, social anthropology is the study of culture, especially, in the early days of the
discipline, of “other” cultures, often small scale “traditional” societies in non-industrialized
parts of the world (or among native populations in the USA, Canada or Australia). Although

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this definition is no longer accurate as anthropologists now work all over the world, it remains
the case that anthropologists are interested in the social relationships of human beings. They
are interested in family structures, religion, political and economic life and study symbols,
meanings, patterns of thought and every aspect of culture (culture here meant in its broadest
sense to refer to the shared beliefs, ideas, concepts and rules of behavior by which any social
group functions, not just the “high” culture of books, art, etc.). While the popular image of
an anthropologist is a white man in a pith helmet discovering previously unknown tribes,
anthropologists today are just as likely to work in schools, hospitals or studying social
relationships on the internet and in modern, Western urban spaces.
Anthropology has often been regarded as a comparative and culturally relativist discipline.
Although cultural relativism has become a highly contested concept (Hatch, 1997; Zechenter,
1997), its original purpose was an honorable one that sought to show that the normative moral
frameworks of different cultures, especially those under colonial rule, differed very radically
and needed to be judged in terms of their own logic and own morality, not that of an external
(usually Western) moral reasoning (Freeman, 1995). As one of cultural relativism’s foremost
proponents Melville Herskovits argued: “The very core of cultural relativism is the social
discipline that comes of respect for mutual differences—of mutual respect” (1972, p. 33).
Herskovits had worked extensively in Africa, and also in Haiti documenting voodoo practices,
and believed firmly in the importance of looking at indigenous ideas in their own terms, and
understanding them as rational and valuable. According to the cultural relativist ideal,
anthropologists should examine local norms and indigenous knowledge and use these as a basis
for interpretations of other cultures. Most importantly of all they should respect other cultural
traditions and make no value judgments.
A strict cultural relativist stance became more problematic post-1945 however when,
after the horrors of the Second World War and the Holocaust, there was a new commitment
at the international level to settle disputes through international mediation and to codify and
protect the human rights of all. One of the most important instruments for doing so was
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR), adopted by the General Assembly of
the United Nations in 1948, which asserted that human rights applied to everyone, wherever
they lived and whatever their nationality. The Declaration was guided by four main principles:
that rights are universal (they apply equally to everyone), inalienable (they cannot be taken
away arbitrarily), indivisible (governments cannot pick and choose which rights they enforce)
and interdependent (supplementary rights cannot conflict with the universal principles of human
rights law). While the special status of children was noted and marked out for protection in
international law as far back as 1924 through the Declaration of the Rights of the Child, the
1948 Declaration made no specific mention of children and it has since been argued that the
Declaration overlooked and marginalized children and their needs (Van Bueren, 1995).
For many anthropologists, however, the ideal of universal human rights, codified in
international law, was problematic because they believed that there could be no universal
standards of morality that could apply to all people given their cultural diversity (Alston, 1994;
André, 2015; Merry, 2001). In 1947 the executive board of the American Anthropological
Association withdrew from discussions that led to the Declaration because it felt that setting
universal standards would suggest moral imperialism and serve as a further form of colonial-
ism (Merry, 2001). The Association argued that the UDHR was drawn up using Western
ideas about democracy, the relationship between an individual and the state, and the rule of
law, and it was assumed that these were universal ideals that states would aspire to as they
modernized and became part of a “civilized” world (Merry, 2001). In a statement it asked:

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“How can the proposed Declaration be applicable to all human beings, and not be a statement
of rights conceived only in terms of the values prevalent in the countries of western Europe
and America?” before going on to claim that, “the history of the expansion of the western
world has been marked by the demoralization of human personality and the disintegration of
human rights among the peoples over whom hegemony has been established” (quoted in Merry,
2001, pp. 33–34).
Yet this antagonism to the idea of human rights was not universal at the time and there
were other voices who challenged this relativistic argument (see Zechenter, 1997 for a full
discussion of these debates). While it may be desirable to protect the culture of those colonized
and oppressed by Western powers, what about those cultural practices carried out in modern
nation states? The segregation between black and white in the USA, for example, the newly
codified system of apartheid in South Africa, the horrors of Nazi Germany or the economic
and cultural imperialism of the British empire? These too could be seen and defended as forms
of prized cultural heritage that made sense in their own context. Relativism could therefore
be used in two ways, it was argued, and was not necessarily as beneficial or as benevolent to
those suffering from oppression as some anthropologists would like to believe.

Anthropological Perspectives on Childhood and Children’s Lives

Insights and Blind Spots

In this early debate lie the seeds for the continuing discussions and dilemmas with which
anthropologists looking at children and their rights continue to struggle. However before looking
at the problems of cultural relativism and children’s rights, it is also important to look at how
anthropologists have studied children and why anthropological perspectives on children’s lives
have both supported and held back discussions of their rights.
It has often argued that children were routinely ignored by anthropologists before the 1970s
and viewed only the “raw material, unfinished specimens of the social beings whose ideas and
behaviour [were] the proper subject matter for social science” (La Fontaine, 1986, p. 10). There
is some justification for this viewpoint and while the study of children within anthropology
has a long history, it has been patchy and anthropologists have often “used children as a population
of ‘others’ to facilitate the investigation of a range of topics, from developing racial typologies
to investigat[ing] acculturation, but they have rarely been perceived as a legitimate topic of
research in their own right” (Schwartzman, 2001, p. 15, emphasis in original).
It is certainly true that children’s lives were often dismissed by anthropologists as marginal,
largely separate from the adult world and of little interest to adults in general and anthropologists
in particular (Hirschfeld, 2002). Even Margaret Mead, renowned for her interest in children,
wrote that Manus children in Papua New Guinea led “a dull, uninteresting child life, romping
good-naturedly until they are tired, then lying inert and breathless until rested sufficiently to
romp again” (1930, p. 14). What little interest children themselves had for anthropologists lay
in what they would become in the future rather than what they were in the present. Children
were seen as knowing little about their culture, they did not take part in the public practices
of religion or politics. They were economically invisible, contributing little (apparently) to the
household or the wider community and their role, if they had one, was to absorb passively
the cultural beliefs and practices of their parents. Like women, children were largely consigned
to the intimate, domestic, private world that most male anthropologists had little interest in,
and felt they could not access. Even those who worked on issues such as initiation did not

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think to ask children themselves their thoughts on the processes they were going through.
Writing in the 1950s about girls’ initiation rites among the Bemba of Zambia, Audrey Richards
acknowledged the absence of the girls’ opinions and wished she had asked them what they
had experienced and how they understood it but commented instead that the girls being initiated
“are both the centres of the ceremony, and yet the least interesting of the actors in it” (1956,
p. 63).
In many ways such an absence is very odd. Children were often highly visible in the small
scale societies studied by anthropologists in the past and anthropologists such as Richards were
well versed in the child development literature of the time (LeVine, 2007). However, Richards
and her colleagues were also products of their own time and place, and if they ignored children
or failed to see them this was, in part, because of the attitudes and social beliefs in the countries
they came from. It is instructive to note that Raymond Firth discusses the family life of the
Tikopia (a community living on an island in the South Pacific) with much warmth and interest,
describing how children are raised, how they are loved, and their social and economic role in
society, but also comments, with mild amazement that, “children are often spoken to quite
gravely by adults, as if they were fully responsible and competent beings” (Firth, 1936, p. 145).
That they might well be so seems beyond his comprehension.
Despite these criticisms, however, social anthropologists have not been entirely hostile to
children in the past and there are many ethnographic examples where children’s centrality
to social organization was implicitly recognized (Montgomery, 2009). Children have always
been important because of their role in legitimating marriage (Goody, 1982), as the inheritors
of filial obligations that lie at the heart of kinship (Fortes, 1949), and as the outcome of bride
price payments (indeed, child price payments may well be a better term as the payment is
predicated on the birth of children). There has also always been discussion of the impact that
gender has on children’s lives so that it is very clear that the childhoods of boys and girls are
very different and that they often end at very different times. To give but one example, based
on his fieldwork among the Akwe-Shavante of Amazonia in the 1960s, David Maybury-Lewis
discusses the different skills and knowledge that boys and girls are expected to have and notes
that “a girl of about six tends to behave like a small, weak, and underdeveloped woman.
A boy of the same age gives the impression of still being a child” (Maybury-Lewis, 1974, p.
73). Maybury-Lewis does not explicitly look at childhood or discuss what he thinks a child
should be, but because boys continue to do more “childish” things such as having races and
dancing, he implies that he associates childhood with playing, with a lack of responsibility and
freedom from work. In contrast, by the age of six, a girl is expected to have mastered the
womanly skills of her mother; she looks after her siblings, accompanies her mother on short
collecting trips and helps in the house.
Other classic anthropological work is also able to tell us much about how childhood is
conceptualized and experienced. Whether children live in a polygamous or monogamous
household, the relative status of their mother, whether they have many kin around or whether
they are illegitimate all affect their status and the subsequent way they are treated (see
Wedgwood, 1938, for an account of the impacts of these factors on children in Manam of
Papua New Guinea). Their position in the family can also be important. If they are an
unwelcome addition to an already stretched family, they may well be treated less well than a
first-born (Firth, 1956). In those societies that practice primogeniture it is the first-born child,
usually the first-born son, who inherits from his parents and may well have a totally different
childhood from his siblings. With reference to the Tallensi of northern Ghana, Meyer Fortes

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(1949, 1974) discusses at length the different relationships that a first-born son and daughter
had to their parents and the different ritual obligations that they perform after their parents’
death. Alternatively, the final child may well have a special place within the family and, under
systems of ultimo-geniture, inherit family lands, and property. In other contexts, children may
be seen as having more in common with their age-sets than their siblings and two siblings may
belong to very different generations and have very different roles within the community and
within the family ( Jackson, 1978). Ideas about children and descriptions of their lives have
also been embedded in studies of rites of passage and initiation and age sets. This research
inevitably has much to say about the status of childhood—what is expected of them, what
they can and cannot do, their role within social organizations, and their transformation into
fully competent social beings (Montgomery, 2009).
Other studies, especially relating to neonatal children and birth practices, have also
contributed to a greater understanding about the diversity of beliefs about childhood and how
children are transformed into full social persons. Gestation, quickening, birth and very early
childhood are all precarious, transitional moments where personhood is ambiguous and must
be symbolically and ritually conferred, and there is a long tradition of looking at these moments
within social anthropology (Conklin & Morgan,1996). Studies of reincarnation (Mills, 1994)
or work on spirit children (Gottlieb, 2000) have also raised profound and important questions
about the identity of children and their role in kinship and religious systems. Studies of twins
in Africa (Diduk, 2001), or of child witches (de Boeck, 2005), demonstrate very different
understandings of children and their potentially dangerous role in society.
There has also been extensive work, especially from the US, on the socialization of children
and how patterns of child rearing, and the every day practices of infant and child care, differ
across societies. These studies have shown how children are socialized into full membership
of a community and how such practices are optimally developed to ensure the continuation
of certain behaviors and belief systems (LeVine, 1977). Drawing heavily on psychology this
work has emphasized that there is nothing natural, or universal, about the ways young children
act and that their lives are defined as much by their culture and environment as by biology.
In summary, all this work, even if not focused directly on childhood or on the daily
experiences of children’s lives, is important to recognize as contributing to an anthropology
of childhood because it shows that while all societies acknowledge that children are different
from adults, and have different roles and expectations placed on them, there is also a great
diversity in definitions of, and ideas about, childhood. Importantly, all these studies suggest
that how childhood is understood has a profound impact on how children are treated. The
rejection of a “universal” child is thus central to anthropological views on childhood and this
is one area that has led to difficulties and dilemmas for anthropologists studying children’s rights.

From the Margins to the Center: Making Children Visible

In the early 1970s the marginalization of children within the discipline started to be questioned.
Spurred on by the rise of feminist anthropology in the late 1960s, which argued that women
had been systematically sidelined in both ethnographic descriptions and anthropological theory,
anthropologists started to look at children themselves, not as the passive recipients of socialization
practices, but as central participants and subjects within ethnography. In 1973 Charlotte
Hardman made the radical claim, since taken as axiomatic that “children [are] people to be
studied in their own right” (1973, p. 87, emphasis added). She proposed that children were

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the creators of a complete culture that they passed on to other children without adult inter-
vention. They had their own ways of thinking, their own worldviews and their own cultural
understandings in the form of games and rhymes. She also drew heavily on the newly emerging
anthropology of women and, in particular, Edwin Ardener’s concept of “muted voices” (1972).
Following Ardener’s work she concluded that children, like women, did not have access to
power and had to use the language of patriarchy and were consequently dismissed as incomplete
or incompetent rather than being looked at in their own terms or as possessing different, but
equally valid, competencies.
Building on these insights, others began to re-conceptualize and rethink ideas about
childhood, looking at what childhood meant in contemporary societies and calling for the critical
re-examination of categories such as “the child,” “childhood” or “children” ( James, 2004). They
started to demand the inclusion of children’s perspectives in ethnography and an
acknowledgment of their role as social actors who needed to be seen as people in their own
right—human beings rather than human “becomings” (see Uprichard, 2008 for a detailed and
nuanced discussion of the limitations of seeing children as either beings or becomings). They
argued that while all children undergo recognizable patterns of physical and psychological
development and growth, the meanings given to these vary enormously within and between
cultures so that childhood, like adulthood should always be understood as “a matter of social
definition rather than physical maturity” (La Fontaine, 1986, p. 19).
As children became more central to anthropology, the 1970s and 1980s saw a small number
of ethnographic studies that focused particularly on children’s perspectives and their daily lives
and paved the way for the more extensive theorization of childhood in the following decade.
Pioneers in the field included Myra Bluebond-Langner (1978) and Enid Schildkrout (1978)
who showed how a shift of focus and an emphasis on children’s thoughts, actions and
experiences could transform understandings of social processes. Bluebond-Langner demonstrated
how terminally ill children understood and interpreted their parents’ attitudes towards their
illnesses and how knowledge about their treatment and prognosis was often arrived at through
an unspoken negotiation between adults and children. Schildkrout analyzed the social roles of
children in Hausa communities in Nigeria and looked at how that intersected with, and
supported, women’s roles, pointing out that adults and children were complementary
participants in the social system. She argued that children were of crucial importance in social
and structural terms and that their labor, while contributing little directly to their family’s
subsistence, allowed their mothers to work in the home and therefore facilitated the performance
of adult social roles (Schildkrout, 1978). She emphasized that children were economic, as well
as social, actors and that their contribution to the economy was as important as their social
contribution.
The revealing insights from such ethnographies gave a new legitimacy and impetus to the
study of children. This way of analyzing children’s lives might best be described as “child-
centered” or “child-focused” anthropology as it demanded the use of children as primary
informants and emphasized the need to focus on children’s views and their agency. It looked
at the ways that children themselves created meanings and formed their own belief systems,
and examined how they negotiated and shaped social attitudes about childhood. Bluebond-
Langner and Schildkrout were followed by a number of groundbreaking works in the 1980s
and 1990s that analyzed children’s own perspectives of their lives and what they experienced
in the present. Rather than looking forward to a time when children became adults, anthro-
pologists focused on children in the present and on their everyday lives in schools ( James,

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1993), at home (Solberg, 1997) or as workers in the global South (Ennew & Milne, 1989).
Such work was complemented by a more politicized theorization of the cultural politics of
childhood, which analyzed how childhood had become a conflicted and contested idea, and
which laid bare the multiple structures and processes of power that had often negative impacts
on children’s experiences of childhood (Scheper-Hughes & Sargent, 1998; Stephens, 1995).

Child Centered Anthropology and the Role of Children’s Rights

It is perhaps not surprising that the new interest in childhood within anthropology was
contemporaneous with the CRC and the new focus on children as rights-bearing citizens in
the international arena. While the rise of child centered anthropology pre-dated the opening
for signature of the CRC (and the CRC was, of course, the culmination of six decades of
work for children’s rights and special protection for children going back as far as 1924 when
the special status of children was noted in the Declaration of the Rights of the Child), the
drafting of the convention by international lawyers and children’s rights advocates, and the
emphasis on children’s experiences and worldviews within academia, were both part of a growing
understanding of the particular needs, vulnerabilities and capacities of children. The CRC
reaffirmed the idea that children’s rights are human rights and that while children needed special
protection because of their age and development these rights spring from the inalienable fact
of their humanity. Such ideals fitted easily with new theorizations coming out of academia
that argued that children were people, that society could not be properly understood without
understanding the role and experiences of every member, including children, and that children’s
own perspectives and daily realities were valid and worthwhile areas of research. By valuing
them in their own right, children were seen by both academics and those drafting and
implementing the CRC as individuals with rights and the potential for independent action
and agency, not as appendages to their family or the passive recipients of socialization.

Divergences and Dilemmas

The relationship between academic anthropology and children’s rights advocates has never been
an easy or straightforward one, however, despite the synergies between the two, and the shared
belief in the centrality of children to social organization and the importance of recognizing
and supporting their capabilities. Many anthropologists interested in children have responded
somewhat ambivalently to the CRC and, while generally supporting the notion that children
can be useful and revealing informants, have also been critical of the ways in which the CRC
has conceptualized the child and promoted a particular type of childhood (Boyden, 1997; Burr,
2004).
Such criticism has led to a re-examination of anthropology’s dilemmas over human rights
more generally, especially the predicament inherent in discussions of cultural relativity. One
of the most obvious problems is the anthropological insistence on cultural specificity and the
multiple versions of childhood that can be found throughout the world. Although cultural
relativism may no longer be a desirable lens through which to understand different childhoods,
it remains the case that childhood is understood very differently in different contexts and that
there remains a discrepancy between many children’s experiences and the universalizing
instincts and ideals of the CRC. Even though all Conventions are aspirational rather than a
list of policy initiatives, these discrepancies have continued to worry anthropologists.

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The setting of a universal definition of childhood based on age, for example, is problematic
in many places and anthropologists have regularly pointed out the differences between the
realities of children’s lives and the rigidity of the Convention which defines a child as any
person under the age of 18. They have argued that this simply does not hold true in many
societies where children marry, bear their own children, work, or are initiated as adults before
the age of 18 and where personhood is thought about very differently and adulthood
acknowledged at different times and in different ways. For many young women, age is a much
less reliable marker of adulthood than marriage and childbirth and it is often the birth of a first
child that transforms children into adults (Montgomery, 2009). A woman well under the age
of 18 can be an adult if she is a mother and one who never bears children may remain a child
all her life. For some boys it might be initiation, sometimes accompanied by painful bodily
modification such as circumcision or scarification that marks the end of childhood and their
entry into full adulthood. Unless and until a boy goes through these rituals he can never be a
man but the point at which this happens may be anytime from early adolescence until his late
twenties (Montgomery, 2009).

The CRC as Ethnocentric

Although the preamble of the CRC mentions the importance of taking into account the
“traditions and cultural values of each people” there has been trenchant criticism that the CRC
is profoundly ethnocentric. Not only does the definition of childhood given take no account
of local definitions of childhood but the image of childhood that the CRC promotes is based
on “images of childhood favored in the industrial North [which] have been exported to the
South” (Boyden, 1997, p. 203). It has been argued that the vision of childhood enshrined in
the CRC is one in which childhood is separated, conceptually and physically from adulthood,
where education is privileged over work, family over street life, consumerism over productivity.
It is based on the premise that children are equal to adults and should be seen as rights-bearing
citizens rather than immature beings even though this view of adult/child relations does not
always translate easily into other societies where children are not always seen as individuals in
their own right or as competent members of society. In Tonga, for example, children are (or
have been in the past) associated with foolishness, bad behavior, a lack of restraint and dirtiness.
They are conceptually related to the insane and mentally challenged (Kavapalu, 1993). In a
similar way the Mende of Sierra Leone view children as lacking in understanding and unable
to control themselves either in terms of behavior or their bodily functions (Ferme, 2001). They
are likened to animals and before they are initiated are referred to by a word that also means
“mad” and “mentally deficient.”
Critics claim that the child envisaged in the CRC is an individual, autonomous being, an
inheritor of the liberal, humanist ideals of the Enlightenment. Social psychologist Erica Burman
(1996) has argued that the CRC is based on the notion that each human is an individual who
has the right to liberty, to shelter and to freedom of expression, yet in many places children
are not seen as autonomous individuals but as parents’ dependents and sometimes even their
property. In many countries children are viewed as being embedded in a web of relationships,
which come with duties, obligations, and sometimes the expectation of sacrifice on behalf of
the family. Rachel Burr has claimed that, in Vietnam (and other Asian societies), “children are
most likely to be valued as part of the family collective and not as autonomous individuals
holding independent positions in society” (2004, p. 152), while in his work on how the CRC
was understood and introduced in Japan, Roger Goodman has argued that:

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[W]hen the concept of ‘rights’ was introduced into Japan. . . . a whole new vocabulary
had to be developed to explain it, as did the idea of the individual who could be endowed
with such rights. Even today, individualism has strongly negative connections in Japan
and is frequently associated with western concepts of selfishness.
(Goodman 1996, p. 131)

Others have gone further and argued that not only is the CRC ethnocentric and fails to
deal with the lived realities of children’s experiences in the global South, it may also act as a
new kind of colonialism that gives Westerners the “right” to interfere and intervene in those
countries that do not support or properly enforce children’s rights. There have been claims
that the CRC is part of the power struggle between the West and “the rest” in which the
values of the former are foisted onto the latter in a new form of colonialism (Ennew, 1986).
Underneath the rhetoric of empowerment, and an ostensible move from child saving to children’s
rights, it has been claimed that international NGOs have imposed an alien and politically
damaging set of standards of childhood on children that have little to do with their own needs
and expectations and everything to do with neo-imperialism and the imposition of a new world
order (Pupavac, 2001, see also Wells, 2014). Western countries stand accused of interfering in
the private relationships of families in the non-industrialized world and, through the CRC,
imposing on them definitions of childhood that are very different from locally understood
concepts. As Rebecca Wallace has commented:

The countries of the South contend that the wealthy countries of North adopt the moral
high ground and use human rights instruments as sticks with which to beat them. The
North is accused of low intensity political warfare in which the South is cast as the villain,
while the North’s image is that of a paragon of morality and enlightenment, a successful
Euro-American civilization, which has got all the “fundamentals right”.
(Wallace, 2001, p. 11)

Afua Twum-Danso, who conducted research on views of the CRC in her home country
of Ghana, found that some parents were vocal in their rejection of the CRC and the vision
of a good childhood it presented (although others felt differently). They believed that children’s
rights would lead to division within families, cause children to become selfish and neglect their
parents and their responsibilities and reciprocal obligations. They told her, “we don’t want
Western children in Ghana” (2009, p. 426).

Local Childhoods, Local Rights?

Against this backdrop of concern about whether or not the CRC imposes an ideal standard
of childhood on those who can never hope to achieve it, it is instructive to note that many
anthropologists interested in studying children in non-Western contexts have been drawn
towards those children who exist as apparent anomalies in the new globalized notion of childhood
(Hall & Montgomery, 2000). They have often studied children who are out of place physically
in that they are neither in home or school, nor with their families, such as orphans (Ennew,
1994), street children (Burr, 2006; Hecht, 1998; Panter-Brick, 2001), trafficked children
(O’Connell-Davidson, 2005) or those who have been adopted (Bowie, 2004). Alternatively
they have turned their attention to children who act in ways contrary to accepted ideals of
childhood, such as child laborers (Bourdillon & Levison, 2010; Ennew et al., 2005), child

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prostitutes (Montgomery, 2001) or child soldiers (Boyden & de Berry, 2004; Denov &
Buccitelli, Chapter 28, this volume; Rosen, 2007). Many of the anthropologists who have
worked with such children have been critical of the top-down imposition of the CRC by
NGOs and governments and have exposed the gaps between the rhetoric of children’s rights
and the reality on the ground. They have raised uncomfortable questions about whether insisting
on children’s rights, even for the most vulnerable of children, is the best way to support them
or whether it could be counter-productive. As Pamela Reynolds et al. argue:

[T]here is a real risk that issues confronting children may be cloaked in a discourse on
rights that, in effect, both diagnoses and prescribes and, thus, eclipses alternatives that
may be more sensible, more realistic and more attractive to the children concerned. . . .
There may be a real danger that in the name of their rights positive aspects of children’s
lives are discarded and the alternatives, for the vast majority of them, may remain out
of reach.
(Reynolds et al., 2006, p. 292)

In response to such concerns there has been a growing trend to analyze children’s rights
“from below” (Liebel, 2011) and to look at children’s agency and how children themselves
think about rights (Hanson & Nieuwenhuys, 2012; Reynolds et al., 2006). In examining this
many anthropologists have been able to demonstrate children’s resistance, resilience and
capacity for survival in even the most difficult of circumstances. They have also shown that
children make choices and set their own priorities that may or may not coincide with those
set down in the CRC and promoted by NGOs or their national government. Thus a child
soldier who joins a militia seeking retribution for the death of his family (Rosen, 2007), a child
turning to sex work to fulfill their perceived obligations (Montgomery, 2001) or a child leaving
home to live on the streets in order to relieve the pressure from an already over stretched
home (Quesada, 1998) have all made choices for themselves that they may vigorously defend
even though they are difficult to see as being in the child’s best interests or as “good” choices
when they are living in situations that seriously constrict their agency.
All these ethnographies of children “in pain” (Bourgois, 1995) raise difficult questions about
the relationship between anthropology and children’s rights. On a personal level anthropologists
have struggled between wanting to place children’s agency and their own voices at the centre
of their ethnography while also finding themselves deeply uncomfortable with what children
actually say and the explanations they offer when these seem to be so obviously detrimental
to their well-being (Montgomery, 2007). Working with such vulnerable or exploited children
can also lead to accusations of defending the indefensible and implicitly offering an essentialized
and ahistorical version of culture that suggests, for example, that Thai culture demands that
some children sell sex, or that the persecution of child witches is an intrinsic part of culture
in the Democratic Republic of Congo or that becoming a child soldier is a valued part of
tradition in some African countries. While anthropologists have shown that the societies in
which these children live may think very differently about their roles within the family it does
not follow (and none has made the argument) that children should prostitute themselves, fight
on the front line, or endure accusations of witchcraft in the name of culture or tradition
(de Boeck, 2005; Montgomery, 2001; Rosen, 2007). Appeals to both cultural differences and
children’s rights must be treated with some caution, therefore, if they are to protect and
acknowledge children’s own agencies and coping strategies while also allowing for the protec-
tion that many children continue to need.

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Furthermore, appeals to cultural relativity and to local understandings of childhood are not
politically neutral and have also been used in a conservative and potentially repressive way by
some national governments. Allowing governments to place reservations on their ratification
of the Convention (as all conventions allow countries to do) has allowed some to bypass certain
articles and ignore particular rights. Singapore, for example, lodged reservations about outlawing
corporal punishment, claiming it remains an effective form of discipline and part of the cultural
background of family life in Singapore. It argued that it is carried out:

[W]ith respect for the authority of parents, schools and other persons who are entrusted
with the care of the child and in the best interests of the child and in accordance with
the customs, values and religions of Singapore’s multi-racial and multi-religious society
regarding the place of the child within and outside the family.
(OHCHR, 2015)

Other countries, such as Saudi Arabia, have lodged reservations to “all such articles as are
in conflict with the provisions of Islamic law” (OHCHR, 2015), suggesting that claims to
local understandings of the appropriate relationship between parents, children and the state
may be used as a way of denying civil and social rights to children. Such reservations put
anthropologists in a difficult position. While they reject the notion of the universal child and
champion the idea that children’s lives and experiences differ greatly across the world, such
arguments come very close to those of repressive regimes that use culture and tradition as a
way of reinforcing a potentially exploitative status quo.

Children’s Rights, Anthropology and Social Change

After so many pages of criticism of the CRC—it is ethnocentric, meaningless to many children
and bypassed by legislative sleights of hand in some instances—it is worth looking more positively
at the CRC and how anthropologists have recently engaged with it more productively. Although
the debates over cultural relativism have never fully gone away, anthropologists today are now
more likely to look at change and its processes rather than identifying or reifying particular
aspects of culture to preserve or hold up as truly authentic. There is an understanding that
relativism can essentialize cultural difference, allowing no room for change and presenting culture
as timeless and ahistorical (André, 2015) and that no culture is homogeneous and appeals to
“tradition” or “cultural norms” have often led to the acceptance of the domination and
oppression of women, children, minorities and other marginalized groups (Cowan, Dembour
& Wilson, 2001; Freeman, 1995).
Many anthropologists have recognized that the CRC articulates a benevolent ideal designed
to protect children from possible abuses of adult power. They acknowledge that some cultural
practices, while having a long history and forming an important part of social and individual
identity, might pose risks to children and that even though these may be rooted in cultural
norms it does not follow that they are therefore permanent cultural features (Nieuwenhuys,
2008, p. 6). Early marriage or early childbirth, female genital mutilation or gender discrim-
ination, corporal punishment or physically grueling initiation rituals all have long cultural
precedents and can be well understood by anthropologists, yet need not always be morally
justified or defended as an intrinsic part of culture. Michael Freeman’s suggestion of distinguish-
ing between cultural relativism and cultural pluralism is useful in these cases. He argues that
cultural pluralism acknowledges and respects cultural difference (and emphasizes the necessity

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of looking at social and economic context) but does not view that difference as unchallengeable
in all circumstances. Pluralists accept that there can be conflicts between values but argue that
these “can be resolved by appealing to some reasonable ranking of the values in question”
(Freeman, 1995, p. 7), so that, for example, early marriage can be understood and valued within
its own context but this should not take precedence over protecting a child from the physical
and emotional risks that early marriage can bring. Such reasoning, while useful, has not been
much cited by anthropologists although perhaps Judith Ennew came closest when she argued
that “While cultural context must be respected, it is important to note that culture is not a
‘trump card’ in international human rights” (1998, p. 8).
Anthropologists have also looked at how the CRC could improve children’s lives and have
argued that it is important to look at it holistically, while also recognizing that “even the most
basic rights are not compatible in every situation and cannot always be simultaneously
maximized” (Ennew et al. 1996, p. 33). Such a statement might be taken as an excuse for
inaction but Ennew and colleagues are arguing a different point and emphasize the need to
understand the CRC as a whole and to look at its articles as truly indivisible. In their work
on child sexual exploitation, they argue that although Article 34 (“State Parties undertake to
protect the child from all forms of sexual exploitation and sexual abuse”) is often given
precedence in discussions of child sexual exploitation, it may not in fact prove to be the most
useful in protecting children and may obscure other potentially more useful protections
(Ennew et al., 1996). Articles that discuss the definition of childhood (Article 1) or children’s
identity and dignity (Articles 2 and 8) are as vital to an understanding of children’s rights in
regard to sexual exploitation as they deal with the very aspects that are violated when sexual
exploitation takes place. Likewise Article 12 which gives a child the right to give or withhold
consent or Articles 5, 8, 19, 26, 27 which deal with family support must be seen as inherently
relevant. However, too often they are not related to each other and Article 34 is quoted in
isolation from all the others, decontextualizing sexual abuse and presenting it as the paramount
difficulty that poor and socially marginalized children face, without linking it to global issues
of poverty, cultural background and discrimination.
The convention of using the ethnographic present, when anthropologists appear to be
describing societies as they currently are, not as they were at the moment they were observed,
can be disconcerting and has the effect of suggesting that cultures are static and ahistorical. Yet
this is firmly rejected by anthropologists who have made significant contributions to analyses
of social change and have examined how children are affected (and affect) wider processes of
globalization and change in their societies. This process of change is vital in terms of
understanding children and their rights and many anthropologists have tried to incorporate it
into their work. It is no longer enough to claim that ethnographic work shows that many
children’s rights are infringed or that the CRC has no meaning to them. Instead anthropologists
have started to examine how ideas of childhood are changing, the impact this has on their
communities, and on children themselves. A useful example here is the work carried out by
Helen Morton (who previously wrote as Helen Kavapalu) on child-rearing in Tonga (Kavapalu,
1993; Morton, 1996). She has written with much insight on the corporal punishment of children
in Tonga, describing a society in which children are regularly beaten by adults and other children.
She writes of the Tongans having 30 different terms for hitting children, of beatings being
severe, and of adults finding the physical punishment of children amusing, even when the
children are clearly in distress (Kavapalu, 1993). She relates this to indigenous ideas about power,
status and correct social behavior and to notions of the nature of childhood and the necessity
of shaping children in a particular way. While understanding that the beatings she witnessed

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were not random violence or cruelty, her writing reflects great unease about what she saw and
people’s explanations for it. Unusually she also asked children themselves for their views on
these beatings and found that their feelings were complex and sometimes contradictory. Some
children even talked of punishment as a form of affection, claiming that their parents “punish
me with their love” (Morton, 1996, p. 196).
Despite understanding the rationale behind child beating, and its place in the Tongan
worldview, Morton makes it clear that it was difficult for her to watch the constant physical
chastisement of young children (Kavapalu, 1993) and she makes no appeals to cultural relativity
or to the necessity of continuing and upholding local forms of socialization. She also charts,
however, social change in this country and looks at how such practices that, at first glance,
seem so deeply embedded can and do change. She describes how ideas about child development
and social structure are slowly transforming in Tonga, caused in part by the introduction of
compulsory education and also wider processes of social development and globalization.
Beatings are no longer carried out universally and new understandings of social hierarchies,
including those concerning parent/child relationships are coming to the fore. The idea of
“punishing with love” has not faded entirely but children are beginning to be thought about
and treated in differently. She does not link this explicitly to the CRC but it is clear that some
parents have started to see their children as more equal and that discipline has inevitably changed
as a result. This is not to say that the process is uncontested or uncontroversial, or that many
parents do not resent what they see as an alien notion of rights being imposed on them and
their children, but it does suggest that discourses of children’s rights are now very much part
of processes of social change that anthropologists can examine and make visible.
At an international policy and legislative level, there has also been a shift towards a more
culturally relevant understanding of children’s rights that supports and strengthens the CRC
while also making rights more specifically applicable to local contexts. Although anthropologists
cannot claim credit for this, it is possible to see in some recent international legislation attempts
to take local cultures and histories into context and therefore to make rights more meaningful
to all children. The African Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child (1990) highlights
both the concerns and reservations that some countries felt about the cultural presumptions of
the CRC. While supporting and supplementing the CRC, the African Charter is based on
other understandings of childhood and different visions of the roles and responsibilities of
children. It recognizes that childhood is seen in multiple ways in many African communities
and that the relationships between parents and children are, as anthropologists have long argued,
constructed very differently and therefore that the realities of children’s rights are played out
in distinctive ways in African contexts. Indeed, it specifically refers to “the historical background
and the values of African civilization” and discusses issues that are of particular importance
within Africa, such as the legacy of apartheid, or the large numbers of refugees and children
caught up in armed conflict.
Importantly, it stresses both the rights and the responsibilities of the child and gives equal
weight to the concurrent rights and responsibilities of the community towards the child. Its
first section is not called “Children’s Rights” but “Rights and Duties.” The African Charter
sets out clearly the responsibility that parents have to their children and the duties and
responsibilities that children have towards their parents. In contrast, in the CRC, the words
responsibilities and duties never feature in relation to children, only to the adults caring for
them. The African Charter views families as much more interdependent—parents must rely
on children as much as children on parents and therefore rights come with responsibilities.
The Charter has been widely ratified in Africa but there has, as yet, been little anthropological

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analysis of its impact and it is difficult to tell whether it has been more successful than the
CRC in promoting children’s rights or ensuring their cultural relevance. Furthermore calling
on the “values of African civilization” is also an extremely problematic phrase, given the ethnic,
social and cultural diversity of the continent. However, it does show the increasing willingness
of governments and NGOs to take on board the need for cultural sensitivity in discussing
children’s rights.

Conclusion
Both children’s rights and the anthropological focus on children are relatively new areas of
academic concern and the twin quests to understand rights legislation holistically, and to be
sensitive to cultural context, are in many ways only just beginning. There remains a tension
between the anthropological drive to understand issues from an insider, local perspective and
the globalizing trend to promote a universal ideal. Anthropologists have increasingly started to
see children’s rights as a series of living social practices that occur as a result of children (and
their families) creating and recreating rights within the context of their daily lives and their
own particular social, economic and cultural circumstances. This work on children’s agency
and “rights from below” continues to be revealing and no doubt ethnographic work in the
future will uncover much more about how children themselves engage with ideas of rights,
how they claim them, how they are affected by their infringement and how they shape their
own worldviews and understandings. In the future anthropologists interested in children will
probably continue to question the philosophy of the Convention, argue about the vision of
childhood it promotes, detail its limitations in the societies in which they work and query
whether it makes any improvement (or even difference) to children’s lives. What they cannot
do is ignore it.

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 8
Sociological Approaches to
Children’s Rights
Virginia Morrow and Kirrily Pells

Introduction

Where after all do universal human rights begin? In small places, close to home—so close
and so small that they cannot be seen on any map of the world. Yet they are the world of
the individual person: the neighbourhood he lives in; the school or college he attends; the
factory, farm or office where he works. Such are the places where every man, woman, and
child seeks equal justice, equal opportunity, equal dignity without discrimination. Unless these
rights have meaning there, they have little meaning anywhere.
(Eleanor Roosevelt, remarks at the United Nations, March 27, 1953)1

Michael Freeman, editor of the International Journal of Children’s Rights, has for many years
called for a dialogue between children’s rights advocates and sociologists of childhood (Freeman,
1998, 2012). This chapter sets out to contribute to this dialogue, and will argue that the two
fields of study have come closer, and they bring differing perspectives to bear. However, there
are fundamental epistemological differences between sociologists and lawyers, and this limits
the extent to which the two can align. The chapter introduces sociological theories of
childhood, through various phases, and explores how sociological approaches are important
to understanding children’s human rights. The chapter is structured as follows: the first section
briefly explains what sociology is, and what sociology has to say about human rights in general.
The second section describes ideas about children and childhood within sociology, and the
third section draws on an empirical example from India to illustrate how a sociological
approach may facilitate better understanding of multiple interconnecting processes that operate
as barriers to, or enablers of, the implementation of children’s rights.

What is Sociology? And How do Sociologists Address Rights?

Sociology is the science of or study of (modern or modernising) societies. It is a relatively new
discipline, with its origins in the late nineteenth century, as thinkers and philosophers (Auguste
Comte, for example) tried to explain the nature and pace of the massive societal changes brought
about by the industrial revolution. For most of the twentieth century, sociologists mainly

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confined their thinking and analysis to industrialised, or developed, societies, but this has changed
rapidly at the start of the twenty-first century, as middle and low-income countries have
modernised through globalisation. There are ongoing calls for sociology to pay greater attention
to global concerns, such as inequality, in the face of rapid development and economic growth.
Sociology necessarily focuses ‘on the large-scale and its intersections with the small-scale, on
the interrelations of the macro with the micro, on inter-relations between structure and agency’
(Mayall, 2015, p. 78), and importantly, on power relationships between social groups and within
societies. It is not a big leap to connect sociological theorising to ideas of rights, social justice
and practical action. C. Wright Mills, in his classic work ‘The Sociological Imagination’
emphasised the connections between ‘personal troubles and public issues’:

[M]any personal troubles . . . must be understood in terms of the problems of history

making . . .the problems of social science . . . must include both troubles and issues,
both biography and history, and the range of their intricate relations. Within that range
the life of the individual and the making of societies occur; and within that range the
sociological imagination has its chance to make a difference in the quality of human life
in our time.
(Mills, 1959, p. 225)

However, as Hynes et al. (2010) noted, the few sociologists who have engaged with human
rights have been sceptical, partly for historical reasons linked to Marx’s view of human rights
as rooted in ownership of property and as ‘merely a facade’ to mask fundamental inequalities
(Turner, 1993, p. 492). In a much-cited paper, Turner (1993, p. 490) discussed the silence
about rights in sociology: ‘human rights debates and legislation are major features of the socio-
political processes and institutions of modern societies, but sociology apparently possesses no
contemporary theory of rights’. He suggested that there is ‘no necessary reason why rights as
such should be understood exclusively from an individualist perspective’ (Turner, 1993, p. 492).
Turner proposed an analysis of human rights grounded in concepts of human frailty, in the
precariousness of social institutions, and in a theory of moral sympathy, to match the
‘increasingly risky nature of social life’ (Turner, 1993, p. 508). More recently, however,
sociological interest in human rights has expanded. For example, O’Byrne (2012) has argued
that ‘The sociologist is interested in the processes and conditions which make possible not
only the institutionalisation of dignified, respectful treatment towards all people in some societies,
but also the denial of this in others’ (p. 838; see also Woodiwiss, 2012).
We began this chapter with the words of Eleanor Roosevelt, and a fundamental flaw of human
rights, according to critics, is the failure to fulfil her proposition that rights must gain relevance
and legitimacy at the local level as the basis for achieving acceptance (Mohan and Holland, 2001).
However, this can be attributed to the prevalence of a ‘legal reflex’ within human rights, namely
‘the automatic and unthinking resort to the law in the belief that it is the most effective and
perhaps the only form of protection and remedy’ (Gready & Ensor, 2005, p. 13). The ‘legal
reflex’ varies cross-culturally, and is particularly marked in the USA where, for historical reasons
linking to the development of the US constitution, rights are almost entirely conceptualised as
the property of individuals, in an adversarial manner. Thus, children’s rights are understood to
be in opposition to parents’ rights (see Freeman 2006), in contrast to an understanding of rights
as interdependent and indivisible, inclusive, and universal. This may be helpful in understanding
the difficulties that the USA appears to have with ratification of the United Nations Convention
on the Rights of the Child (CRC; United Nations General Assembly, 1989).

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Connor Gearty (2011, p. 243), a leading human rights lawyer, argues for human rights ‘as
an idea, a way of asserting dignity’, and asks ‘[h]ow can we resist the lawyers’ plundering of
human rights, their transformation of it from a source of emancipatory power into an arid
mechanism for the resolution of disputes’? One way is to take a sociological approach to rights,
paying greater attention to ‘small places’, to local contexts, meanings, power and agency (Short,
2009), as well as viewing rights as socially constructed (Miller, 2010), which is what we attempt
in this chapter.

What is Sociology of Childhood?

The past 30 years have seen an increasing recognition of the importance of childhood as a
separate stage in the life course, as the subject of social and political interventions (see also
Mayall, 2013, for a history of the sociology of childhood). The near universal ratification of
the CRC raised awareness of the situation of children globally. There have also been waves
of concern about the effects of rapid social change on children’s lives. Various social science
disciplines such as psychology, anthropology and sociology have influenced understandings of
‘childhood’ throughout history and into the present (see Chapters 7, 9, 14 and 17 in this volume).
Differing disciplines bring differing perspectives on childhood. Sometimes theoretical
perspectives in research about children within the social sciences are explicit, but at other times
they have to be deduced or inferred. Theories and ideas about children and childhood are
important, because they affect how societies, governments, policymakers, practitioners and
parents, deal with and engage with children and young people in everyday life and practice.
Until the mid 1980s, sociologists rarely considered childhood as anything other than a phase
of the life course that involved socialisation; that is, the process whereby children became
civilised, functioning adults. The study of children was dominated by developmental
psychologists (see Chapters 9 and 17 in this volume). Sociologists focused instead on families
and family life, and occasionally on generations (Mannheim, 1923/1952). From its earliest roots,
sociology had relied upon a particular view of children and childhood. Emile Durkheim, the
French thinker and (with Marx and Weber) one of the ‘founding fathers’ of sociology, suggested
that childhood is a period:

[I]n which the individual, in both the physical and moral sense, does not yet exist, the
period in which he [sic] is made, developed and is formed . . . the educationist is presented
with a becoming, an incipient being, a person in the process of formation.
(Durkheim, 1911/1979, p. 150)

The idea children are ‘becomings’, or tabula rasa (blank slates) upon which culture could
be ‘written’, dominated sociological and social thought during most of the twentieth century.
To argue that children could be viewed as fully social beings capable of acting in the social
world, was radical (Waksler, 1991). However, during the late 1980s and early 1990s, sociologists
increasingly acknowledged that research specifically related to children and childhood was
underdeveloped (Prout & James, 1990).
The Danish sociologist, Jens Qvortrup, was the first to break from the emphasis on the
sociology of the family in the mid 1980s (Qvortrup, 1985). He noted that family sociology
tended to focus on parents, or at best parent–child (usually mother–child) relationships, not
on children as a separate social group. There were plenty of ‘sociologically relevant discussions

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of children’s problems and problem children’, but few studies that were grounded in children’s
experiences of their daily lives (Qvortrup, 1987, p. 3). James and Prout’s (seminal) edited book,
Constructing and Reconstructing Childhood: Contemporary issues in the sociological study of childhood,
first published in 1990, proposed a framework for understanding childhood as follows:

• childhood is understood as a social construction;

• childhood is a variable of social analysis;
• children’s social relationships and cultures are worthy of study in their own right,
independent of the perspective and concerns of adults;
• that children are and must be seen as active in the construction and determination of
their own social lives, the lives of those around them, and of the societies in which
they live (Prout & James 1990, p. 8).

The interest in childhood sociology also developed in other European countries during the
1980s and 1990s. From a macro-sociological perspective, Qvortrup argued that the ways in
which children have become the focus of specific professions, and how an expertise has been
generated about childhood through, for example, psychological, psychiatric and pedagogic
institutions, ought itself to be the subject of sociological enquiry:

The postulate that childhood (as a structural element and a status position) changes in time
and space in accordance with the dominant adult society’s needs and interests seems so
evident, indeed almost trivial, that we may be surprised that it is almost impossible to find
this perspective represented among sociologists.
(Qvortrup, 1987, p. 6)

Qvortrup led a comparative study Childhood as a Social Phenomenon across 16 countries

between 1987–1992, highlighting fundamental gaps in sociological and social policy knowledge
about children in Western countries (Qvortrup et al., 1994). In the United States Barrie Thorne
(1987) highlighted the neglect of children within sociology, and observed that research ‘has
either ignored children, seen them as objects of adults (primarily women’s) labour, or confined
them to questions of socialisation and development’ (Thorne, 1990, p. 101). Thorne’s seminal
book Gender Play (1993) demonstrated how young children’s interactions with their peers
regulate behaviour in gender-specific ways.
The ‘sociology of childhood’ thus involves moving beyond understandings of childhood as
a period of socialisation (the study of what children are ‘becoming’) to a sociology that is
interested in how children experience their lives in the here-and-now. Berry Mayall has, in
various publications over the years, explored the links between sociology of childhood and
children’s rights, and suggested that there is a ‘need to extricate children conceptually from
parents, families, professionals . . . to study the social condition of childhood and write children
into the script of the social order’ (2000, p. 243). She emphasised that:

Childhood is a political issue. Theories about what children need, about how they
develop and what input from adults is appropriate, are indeed theories or stories (rather
than facts) and practices that derive exclusively from adult perspectives. They derive from
adults’ study of children, contextualised and structured by adults’ social and economic goals
in specific societies.
(Mayall, 2000, pp. 244–245)

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More recently, Mayall has suggested that:

[S]tudying childhood is about describing the character and status of childhood, and
advancing arguments in favour of improving its character and status. If sociology is the
study of social systems, about how social groups interrelate and how the social order works,
with due attention to power issues, then the focus as regards children and childhood has
to be as it is for adults and adulthood—a central focus on the social.
(Mayall, 2013, p. 35)

For Mayall (2013: p. 36):

[S]ociology can be seen to have a discrete function in proposing other ways of

understanding children: as agents in the present tense, as competent and as a social group.
Sociology also presents potentially useful challenges . . . in proposing the crucial importance
of processes within intergenerational relations, as structuring childhoods, and how they
are lived and experienced.

Berry Mayall has worked closely with Leena Alanen, leading Finnish sociologist of childhood.
They identified three key approaches within the broad category of ‘sociology of childhood’
that help us to think more critically about children and childhood. First, the ‘sociology of children’,
understands children as active participants in constructing knowledge. This involved focusing
on: ‘[S]tudying children in their own right and from their own perspectives, . . . taking children
as the units of research and focusing the study directly on children and their life conditions,
activities, relationships, knowledge and experiences’ (Alanen, 2001, p. 12).
The second approach, deconstructive sociology of childhood (Alanen, 2001), emphasised
how childhood is socially constructed and how ideas about childhood change through time and
space (cf. Prout and James’ point outlined above). The analytic process of deconstruction
questions taken-for-granted assumptions about childhood. The third approach, the structural
sociology of childhood, understands childhood as a permanent social category in societies:

Its members change, but childhood, in its relations with the other major social group—
adulthood—continues as an essential component of a social order where the general
understanding is that childhood is a first and separate lifespan whose characteristics are
different from the later ones.
(Mayall, 2002, p. 23)

The structural sociology of childhood is perhaps the least well developed of the three
approaches, not least because it can be difficult to trace the political and economic forces that
shape children’s everyday lives if we focus entirely on what children have to say about their
circumstances. For sociology, the task:

is to link the empirical manifestations of childhood at the level of children’s lives with
their macro-level contexts, and to focus on the social structures and mechanisms as
they may be found to ‘determine’ these manifestations and in this sense help to explain
them.
(Alanen, 2001, p. 13)

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Alanen utilised the concept of generation to distinguish children as a separate social group,
which helps to identify the ‘structures from which children’s powers (or lack of them) derive:
the source of their agency . . . is to be found in the social organisation of generational relations’
(Alanen, 2001, p. 21). As Mayall noted:

[M]uch of the major work in this strand has been done through large-scale work where
such major movements as industrialisation, urbanisation, scholarization have been analysed
in relation to distributive justice, concepts of work, and the character of children’s actual
everyday lives.
(Mayall, 2002, p. 23)

Two key points – social constructionism, and children’s agency – need further elaboration here.
First, the idea that childhood was ‘socially constructed’ was important, and sociologists of
childhood drew on the work of the French social historian, Philippe Ariès (1979, p. 128), who
made the controversial claim that ‘in medieval society the idea of childhood did not exist: this
is not to suggest that children were neglected, forsaken or despised’. While Ariès’ work has
been much-criticised, his emphasis on ‘the idea’ of childhood was helpful because it enabled
a questioning of taken-for-granted ideas about children, by highlighting the ways in which
children have differing roles/undertake differing activities, according to historical period and
culture. Ariès argued that children existed alongside adults, and once they were past infancy,
they participated in the life of their communities, working (and playing) with adults, with no
distinctive practices (or clothes) focused on them ‘as children’. Gradually, bourgeois (middle-
class) boys were singled out for special treatment in the form of education, and this was
eventually, over the course of two or three centuries, extended to middle class girls, then to
working class children. So, for example, for most of history, children were expected to work,
first with their families, and then as wage labourers, in order that they and their families could
survive. This is still, of course, the case in many low-income countries, though has shifted
very rapidly since the turn of the new Millennium, given the expansion of enrolment in primary
schooling.
Social constructionism is thus ‘a theoretical perspective that explores the ways in which
“reality” is negotiated in everyday life through people’s interactions and through sets of discourses’
( James & James, 2008, p. 122). A range of taken-for-granted ideas can also be seen as social
constructions – such as ‘adolescence’, ‘teenager’, ‘youth’. Alanen (2015) suggested that social
constructionism appeals to sociologists because it unmasks the ‘seemingly natural as contingently
constructed. This opens up possibilities for intentional personal and social change towards greater
justice, freedom, equality and human fulfilment’ (p. 150). This links to ideas about rights and
social justice. In other words, it enables researchers to imagine that the world does not have
to be the way it is. However, she also warned that there is a risk that social constructionism
obscures more than it reveals, as it becomes a postmodernist buzz-word for one discipline and
risks excluding others, creating barriers towards interdisciplinary working (for example, lawyers
and economists probably do not recognise social constructionism nor find it useful) so constant
caution needs to be exercised in its use.
The second idea that needs fuller explanation is the way in which seeing children as social
actors recognises and values children’s agency. ‘Agency’ is understood differently by differing
disciplines, and indeed by different theorists within the same discipline (for examples see Chapters
29, 32, 33 and 35 in this volume). The relationship between ‘structure’ (institutions and practices

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that organise and constrain social life) and ‘agency’ is arguably not one that is resolvable in any
straightforward way (regardless of the age of the actors). Within sociology, agency tends to be
taken to mean ‘the capacity to act’. Giddens, one of the leading social theorists of the late
twentieth century, for example, suggested that ‘agency refers not to the intentions people have
in doing things, but to their capability of doing those things in the first place’ (Giddens, 1984,
p. 9). He attempted to locate the ‘logical connection between action and power’ by suggesting
that:

[T]o be an agent is to be able to deploy . . . a range of causal powers, including that of

influencing those deployed by others. Action depends upon the capability of the individual
to ‘make a difference’ to a pre-existing state of affairs or course of events.
(Giddens, 1984, p. 14)

While Giddens, in common with most mainstream social theorists, would (presumably) not
have considered children to have agency (see Ennew, 2000), we can use Giddens’s notion to
impute agency to children. It is not difficult to see that at the (micro) level, particularly within
family relationships, neighbourhoods, or schools, children and young people may have agency,
or the ‘capability’ to make a difference (and the world of commerce, marketing and advertising
have explicitly recognised children’s agency in terms of their influence on the purchasing
decisions of adults/parents). However, as noted, mainstream sociology had not paid children’s
agency much attention.
Many childhood sociologists are concerned with the interaction between structure and
agency, and how this plays out in the context of relationships between parents (and others)
and children. They focus on how these relationships are constrained by broader social factors,
such as those embodied by institutions, or affected by social policies, political processes, or
economic and environmental considerations. The sociology of childhood thus accounts for
children as both constrained by structures, and as agents acting in and upon structures (Prout
& James, 1990). It acknowledges that children do not exist in a vacuum, or merely within
families, but in contexts that are affected by societal forces (see James, Jenks & Prout, 1998).
These ideas have been further refined, and there is greater understanding now of how
children’s agency is constrained in situations of poverty. For example, Mizen and Ofosu-Kusi
(2013) in research with street children in Ghana found that while children showed considerable
self-determination and capacity for action, a deeper reading of their testimonies indicated their
understandings of their own needs, vulnerabilities and frailty, and this is crucial in understanding
their agency in leaving their households (see also Crivello et al., 2014, Pells, 2012).
Over the past three decades, then, there has been a flourishing globally of sociological research
with children. The growth in interest in children and childhood from researchers, theorists
and practitioners from a variety of disciplines and locations was reflected in the establishment,
in 1993, of the journal Childhood: A Journal of Global Child Research, which provides a forum
for discussions relating to children and childhood. The International Journal of Children’s Rights
was founded at about the same time. The UK journal Children & Society, established in 1986,
has an increasingly global focus and publishes papers within the new social studies of childhood
paradigm. Further theoretical refinements are continually taking place, including for example
working with Bourdieu’s theories to explain aspects of childhood (Alanen, Brooker & Mayall,
2015). Sociology of childhood is taught across a wide range of post-graduate and undergraduate
courses, especially across Europe and in Latin America where there are strong networks of
Masters-level courses on children’s rights (www.enmcr.net).

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In summary, it is widely accepted that ‘research about children’s lives is . . . essential if policies
and programmes are to become more responsive and relevant to their concerns and needs’
(Boyden & Ennew, 1997, p. 10), and that children themselves are and should be co-constructors
of knowledge, especially when it comes to understanding their daily lives and experiences. A
substantial body of research now explores children’s experiences of, and views about, matters
that had previously only been approached from adult standpoints.

An Example — The Intersections of Childhood Poverty and

Children’s Work in India
Despite the recent advances within sociology to embrace the study of human rights, and the
development of the ‘new’ sociology of childhood described above, children’s rights remain
somewhat marginal in debates about economic development in global social policy circles. It
is increasingly acknowledged within international development that poverty has fundamental
implications for human rights, and vice versa, but the intersections between rights and poverty
debates have not tended to include considerations of childhood (Balakrishnan & Elson, 2008;
Dean, 2007; Lister, 2004; Townsend, 2009, though see Redmond, 2008; Vandenhole et al.,
2010, for Europe). In what follows, we argue that a sociological approach can bridge rights
and child poverty debates.

Children’s Human Rights and the UN Convention on the Rights

of the Child
The CRC has often been criticised for implicitly imposing a global Westernised model of
childhood (Boyden, 1990). This needs to be understood with the context of general
cultural–relativist arguments that suggest that human rights as formulated in UN conventions
are Western constructions, imposed on low-income countries by powerful institutions (Mohan
& Holland, 2001) (see also Chapter 7, this volume). These arguments have become more
nuanced as countries, governments, NGOs, communities, families and children have embraced
the CRC. Cowan et al. (2001, p. 3) suggest that shifting attention ‘from a formulation which
opposes culture and human rights to one in which the pursuit of human rights is approached
as itself a cultural process which impinges on human subjects and subjectivities in multiple and
contradictory ways’ might help to ‘transcend certain impasses and raise new kinds of questions’
(emphasis in original); and in line with Woodiwiss’ (2012, p. 967) suggestion that from a
sociological perspective, ‘rights are nothing special but simply a subset of the much larger set
of social relations that produce and enforce behavioural expectations’. So, rather than rights
being an imposition, ‘children, their parents and their communities continue to craft these
conceptions of rights as they actively engage with the issues that confront them in the contexts
in which they live’ (Hanson & Nieuwenhuys, 2013, p. 3).
Second, the claims that the CRC promotes a Western model of childhood are not without
foundation, as Burman (2008, p. 47) noted, ‘there are certainly residues of the child of the
liberal Western imaginary structured within international child rights policies and legislation.
The common slogans of “stolen childhood” . . . privilege the model of childhood associa-
ted with the Western world.’ However, this rests less on how rights are conceptualised,
but rather on how rights are applied. Burman (2008, p. 54) pointed out that professionals
who draw on children’s rights discourses ‘are not necessarily uncritical subscribers to it, . . .
[and] in their practice may challenge the historical and cultural abstraction of childhood by

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supporting community and community-defined development’. The preamble of the CRC

emphasises ‘taking due account of traditions and cultural values’, as does Article 30 (relating
to ethnic minorities). However, there is a tendency to produce sentimental rhetoric with-
out thought about what it means for ways of working and improving children’s lives
(Cheney, 2007).
It is important to locate the CRC within an understanding of human rights in general, and
UN history and structures (problematic though these may be). As Tobin (2011, p. 62) argued,
‘there is always a risk that human rights and indeed children’s rights can be used to impose
agendas and values that are inappropriate and ineffective in responding to the cultural needs
of children’. This includes the separation of children’s rights from human rights, encapsulated
in the widely used phrase ‘child rights’, and a tendency to generate tautologies, such as ‘the
right to a childhood’ (UNICEF, 2010). Cantwell, who was involved in drafting the CRC,
notes ‘a problem has gradually been surfacing: too often, these rights (in the CRC) are not
looked on as children’s inalienable human rights but simply as . . . children’s rights’ (Cantwell,
2011, p. 42, emphasis in original). He suggests that this separation is ‘exactly the opposite of
what was intended when the CRC was being drawn up’ (Cantwell, 2011: 57). A close reading
of the history and development of the CRC is required, as well as careful attention to the
precise text, and the General Comments of the Committee on the Rights of the Child that
enable the interpretation of the CRC in practice.
The CRC does not contain specific rights relating to poverty and does not define the term.
As others have noted (see Jones, 2008; Redmond, 2008), the CRC outlines rights in relation
to children’s well-being that relate to poverty and deprivation, as well as encompassing the right
to life, survival and development as a core underlying principle. Moreover, taking a sociological
approach, as opposed to a legal approach, offers a means of engaging with poverty debates by
building on the implied principles of ‘human dignity, interdependence and indivisibility of
human rights, cultural sensitivity and the complementary principles of due deference’ (Invernizzi
& Williams, 2011, p. 7). The various articles of the CRC, taken together with these principles,
can form the basis for practical measures and enable flexibility to engage with local contexts.
However, in practice, approaches to tackling child poverty at the international level have rarely
explicitly engaged with rights discourses.

Child Poverty and Children’s Work

The study of (child) poverty has been dominated by neo-classical economists mainly working
within human capital frameworks. Economists dominate definitions and measurement of
poverty, and policymaking. For much of the 2000s, discussions at the global level about child
poverty and children’s rights seldom connected (Alston, 2005). So, for example, during the
run-up to the Millennium Development Goals – MDG1 aimed to halve extreme poverty and
hunger (United Nations, 2000) – human rights frameworks were not invoked (Townsend,
2009, p. 29). When child poverty specialists cite the CRC, they do so in a partial way, selecting
articles to suit their arguments, in contradiction to the spirit of human rights conventions, that
is, rights as indivisible and interdependent. In child poverty debates, children are subsumed
under the umbrella of ‘family’, usually narrowly defined as parents, and measures are based on
parents’ income or expenditure, with consequent recommendations that parental income through
employment is the solution to children escaping persistent poverty. Within this paradigm,
‘children are implicitly treated as “objects” and “products” of the system’ (Alderson, 2008,

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p. 81). World Bank policies typify this view through the globalisation of interventions based
on human capital formation, that assumes that formal qualifications combined with economic
growth will lift children out of poverty (Penn, 2002). The ‘global model of childhood’ – often
attributed to CRC but equally linked with the MDGs (United Nations, 2000), and Education
for All agenda (UNESCO, 2000) – as a period spent in formal schooling, is increasingly invoked
by NGOs and governments globally. Further, parents and children have high expectations and
aspirations for education (see chapters in Bourdillon & Boyden, 2014).
A sociological approach would focus on how economic deprivation affects children directly,
and focus on political and economic processes, and the structures that create, or perpetuate,
poverty. The consequences of poverty are lived, embodied and experienced by children in
subtle or acute ways. Townsend (2009, p. 153) suggested ‘using human rights as a methodology
to pin down major patterns of development and assess policy’, and proposed that social science
‘has a considerable role to play in coordinating the collection and analysis of such . . . evidence
and evaluating policy impact’ (Townsend, 2009, p. 154).

The language of rights . . . changes the analysis of world conditions and the discussion of
responsible policies. It shifts the focus of debate from the personal failures of the ‘poor’
to the failures to resolve poverty of macro-economic structures and policies of nation states
and international bodies. . . . child poverty cannot then be considered as a parental problem
or a local community problem.
(Townsend, 2009, p. 155)

In the case study that follows, we demonstrate how a sociological approach may provide
insights into childhood poverty, and link children’s experiences to their rights.

Understanding Children’s Work in India

Our example draws on Young Lives, a study investigating the changing nature of childhood
poverty in four countries – Ethiopia, Peru, India (the states of Andhra Pradesh and Telangana)
and Vietnam – over 15 years, 2002–2017 (www.younglives.org.uk). Young Lives aims to
improve understanding of the causes and consequences of childhood poverty and the role of
policies in improving children’s life chances. It collects longitudinal data from two cohorts
of children in each country: 2,000 children born in 2000–1 and 1,000 children born in 1994–5.
Young Lives takes a holistic view of children’s lives, engaging with children to explore their
experiences of poverty. Qualitative research complements and extends survey data, enabling
an analysis of processes that help to explain the patterns found in statistical trends.2
Emerging findings from Young Lives relate to questions of social justice and inequality,
and thus implicitly for children’s human rights, such as the effects of parental domestic violence
on children’s well-being (Pells et al., 2016), the effects of corporal punishment in schools on
children (Morrow & Singh, 2015), to patterns of inequality, discrimination, and the failure of
economic growth to ‘trickle down’ to the poorest sections of societies (Bourdillon & Boyden,
2014). A sub-study conducted in 2011 explored the challenges of translating research into prac-
tice in areas related to risks, vulnerability and resilience for children in poverty (Crivello &
Murray, 2012). In Andhra Pradesh, India, this focused on children’s work. Drawing on this
sub-study, we adopt a sociological approach to explore how far policies for children are shaped
by rights principles and how these engage, or fail to engage, with the realities of children’s
daily lives.

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India: Beyond a Legalistic Approach to Children’s Work

Child labour is a contested topic (Bourdillon et al., 2010). The International Labour
Organization3 (ILO) defines child labour by age, hazardous work, and working relationships
such as slavery. However, most work undertaken by children falls outside ILO categories, and
sociological definitions of work include domestic chores and unpaid family labour (Morrow
& Vennam, 2012). In India, large numbers of children work, particularly in agriculture. A
dominant discourse insists that child labour should be eliminated, while a small group of working
children’s movements argue that children have the right to dignity at work (Liebel, 2004).
The Government of India ratified the CRC in 1992, and endorses ‘child rights’. A National
Commission for Protection of Child Rights (NCPCR) was established in 2007 as a statutory
body under the Commission for Protection of Child Rights Act, 2005. The NCPCR aims to
protect, promote and defend ‘child rights’ in India, with an emphasis on child protection. India
has not ratified the two ILO conventions on child labour, Convention 138, and Convention
182, though the Constitution of India contains Articles that relate to child labour.4 National
legislation is not effective in many circumstances. As Akerkar (2005, p. 144) notes, the
Constitution provides a framework of enforcing human rights but in reality ‘vast sections of
the Indian population continue to be discriminated against’, and while progressive legislation
has been introduced, progress is slow.
In relation to children and work, the policy environment has shifted, including the Right
to Education Act (2009) making education compulsory to age 14, campaigns to include
agricultural work as ‘hazardous child labour’, and initiatives to ban child labour. In May 2015,
the Government of India Cabinet approved an amendment to the Child Labour (Prohibition
and Regulation) Act, 1986, banning employment of children below 14 in hazardous occupations
(though children working in family enterprises and on farm lands after school and in the holidays
are exempt). Children’s ‘right to a childhood’ is frequently invoked (UNICEF spokesperson
cited in MVF, 2004; this raises the question of what childhood is in the first place). These
initiatives evoke an unspecified, idealised normative view of ‘childhood’ – that is, that children
should be in school, playing, carefree and sheltered, not at work. In contrast, research
demonstrates that there are powerful norms relating to children’s roles that need to be taken
into account in attempts to ‘eliminate’ harmful work (Morrow & Vennam, 2009).
Analysis of Young Lives survey data suggests a decline in children working for pay at age
8 between 2002 (6 per cent) and 2009 (3 per cent) in Andhra Pradesh. But by the time they
reached secondary school age, children from poorer households worked at home and on farms,
especially during the peak agricultural seasons (Galab et al., 2011). This differed according to
location, but children managed school, home and work in complex ways (Morrow & Vennam,
2009). While children did not use the language of rights, they recognised the difficulties caused
by working, as well as the importance of their work. In research in 2011 with 42 young people
aged 15–16 years in two rural communities we investigated children’s understandings of ‘risks’
at work, as well as their strategies for trying to manage risks (Morrow & Vennam, 2012). They
described numerous risks, and complained about the drudgery of agricultural work, and were
well aware of the difficulties they faced in combining school and work, the risk to their futures
of working, and the physical harms to their bodies.
Children discussed what might happen if they were prohibited from working. Their
responses were grouped into several themes, including survival, earning money, enhancing
marriage prospects, having something to do, a source of pride, having fun, and a way of learning
skills for the future. Fundamentally, however, if they were prevented from working they would

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have no food: as one boy commented: ‘I cannot imagine a life without working. Work means
everything to me. Unless I work, we cannot run our house. . . . We need to buy food to run
our home . . . and I have to work to raise money to buy all these.’
Money earned through work enabled children to support family members, and was
fundamental to relationships with others in the community, and to children’s reputations. Work
was part of being a ‘good’ child. One boy recounted how his mother had been told by other
people in the community:

Look, you are a blessed one. You are being looked after by your son and there is no need
for you to work. He is not only earning but also taking care of you. I felt very happy. I
want to get a good name, still want to work hard and do better things.

Children and parents emphasised that work teaches children useful skills. As one girl said, ‘when
we grow up, we can do the work’, and a boy commented, ‘since we have no education, this
is useful’. On the whole, though, children disliked agricultural work, and hoped to move out
of it altogether (Morrow & Vennam, 2012).
Children’s work needs to be seen in the context of local understandings of childhood,
expectations about children’s activities, and the contributions that children make to their families.
The assumption in policy campaigning is that children are ‘forced’ to work by their parents,
but the picture is more complicated, and a number of factors, including poverty, gender, caste,
ethnicity, parental ill-health, and concerns whether formal school qualifications will give children
the skills they need to earn a living in the future, all intersect to explain why children work
(Morrow & Vennam, 2009).
Although children are not prohibited from working within the CRC, much NGO material
on child labour cites only Article 32 (right to be protected from economic exploitation and
harmful work). Bissell (2005, p. 68) suggested that ‘wrongly interpreted and cited in isolation
of each other, the articles of the CRC run the risk of hurting rather than helping children’.
There are copious examples where interventions that were intended to help children (for
example, banning child labour in factories) have led to worse outcomes for children – a much-
cited example is of Bangladeshi garment factories, where in 1992, tens of thousands of children
were forcibly removed from their jobs as a result of pressure from the US Government, but
this led to children ending up in far worse situations, on the streets (Bourdillon et al., 2010,
pp. 180–190; Ennew et al., 2005). Some economists recognise that banning child labour
perversely leads to an increase in child labour (see Bharadwaj et al., 2013). Bourdillon et al.
(2010, p. 208) suggest that:

damaging effects may be avoided if the application of rights is sensitive to local values and
to local resources, both of which are likely to affect priorities for intervention. The sensitivity
can only come through attention to the views of the people concerned.

A balanced approach attempts to weigh the advantages and disadvantages of work from
children’s and their families’ perspectives (Bourdillon et al., 2010). This view sees children as
social agents who have capabilities and responsibilities, rather than as passive victims, because
it takes into account the effects of labour on children’s well-being and social development,
and also balances these with the advantages of work from children’s and their families’
perspectives. The ‘elimination’ of child labour would require a re-conceptualisation of local
understandings of childhood, as well as a disruption of intergenerational relations. Poverty

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intersects with other factors in making children’s work in agriculture a necessity, and this leads
to a contradiction between the value children place on their work, and the fact that working
is profoundly problematic, because their health and education are compromised (Morrow &
Vennam, 2009). Focusing on the right to education risks ignoring the importance of a holistic
approach, fails to engage with structures and processes of poverty, and disrupts local
conceptualisations of childhood and family relations, all of which the CRC can be interpreted
as opposing.
Our findings illustrate how national strategies often start with conceptions of vulnerability
that do not necessarily reflect the priorities of children’s everyday lives. Rights language risks
being used to prescribe narrow legalistic solutions and does not engage with the structures and
processes of poverty or the complex situations in which children live. Again, this undermines
the spirit and intention of the CRC.
Rights therefore need to be embedded in relationships, both to be realised and to negate
adverse consequences of interventions. Better understanding is needed of children’s realities
and the political, economic and socio-cultural contexts of their daily lives, and this is where
a sociological approach is valuable because it focuses on what Eleanor Roosevelt described as
‘the small places’. Greater attention needs to be paid to how children view their daily lives,
particularly to challenge current constructions of vulnerability and agency (see also Mizen &
Ofosu-Kusi, 2013).

Rights as Rules, Structures, Relationships and Processes

The example above illustrates three things – first, poverty is often the cause of children’s
difficulties; second, there is a need for rights to engage with poverty; and third, a broad
understanding is needed of how rights can and do function. A sociological approach to poverty
and rights can identify intersections between structures and processes, but also requires clarity
about conceptualising rights in diverse settings in the first place.
Galant and Parlevleit (2005) identified four ways in which rights operate – as rules,
structures, relationships and processes –that reflect a sociological understanding of rights. Each
can be discerned in the case mentioned above. Briefly, rights as rules reflect common
understandings as rights formally enshrined in international conventions, regional or domestic
legislation. The case study demonstrated how viewing rights rigidly associated with a specific
solution is at odds with local realities. However, rights are broader than legal rules, the law is
often not the only body of rules that operates in a given society, and there are many locally
generated rules (norms) that can inform rights. These social and cultural norms are not static,
like legal codes, but are dynamic and can be drawn upon to reinterpret rights and to devise
strategies for implementation, a two-way process leading to rights being claimed locally (see
Merry, 2006). Other norms may operate locally, such as the expectation that children will
contribute to the domestic economy, highlighting the interdependence of family members. If
rights do not have meaning in the social, economic and culture contexts in which people are
living, as Eleanor Roosevelt put it, ‘they have little meaning anywhere’.
Rights as structures largely concern provision rights embodied in policies and legislation, such
as education, health and the distribution of resources. This involves tackling the structural causes
of poverty and exploring who has access to services and resources. Child labour campaigns,
for example, often blame parents, and ignore political and economic explanations for children’s
involvement in work. Understanding rights as structures also guards against single rights
approaches, such as ‘the right to education’ or ‘the right to health’, without taking a systemic

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view that identifies how different institutions do or do not work together. Instead, listening
to children demonstrated that they are acutely aware of how their parents/caregivers struggle
to provide for them, view poverty as the underlying cause of their difficulties, and identify the
complex intersections between poverty, education, work, health and agency.
Rights as relationships moves beyond legalistic interpretations to demonstrate how children
and young people are situated in webs of relationships, within their families, friendships,
communities, regions and States at large. As the example shows, children emphasise their
connectedness to others rather than their autonomy and separateness – that is, they see
themselves relationally. This is evident in situations of poverty where children work as part of
the family. These relationships may be complex and contradictory in rights terms. So children
may be working long hours in poor conditions, but the wages children earn may be necessary
for the survival of the household or in order to enable children (or their younger siblings) to
buy school materials and so attend school. A sociological approach that refuses to separate rights
from social life (as Woodiwiss, 2012, suggested) would also refute a narrow focus on particular
categories of children, such as ‘child labourers’.
Finally, understanding rights as processes involves a focus on participation in negotiations to
reach consensus. Interpretations of Article 12 of the CRC are perhaps the most controversial,
and there is now increased awareness of the possibilities and limitations of children’s participation
(see chapters in Percy-Smith & Thomas, 2009), as the case study showed. It is evident that
children are effective, resourceful commentators, and the challenge is for adults to act upon
what they hear. There is recognition that participation takes place within a framework of power
dynamics that not only involve relationships between children, but also requires an
understanding of the context of adults’ participation (or lack of it, particularly in situations of
deprivation). This is not to imply that the opportunities for children to realise their rights depend
on their ‘innate’ strength but rather to suggest that adults need to recognise the constraints
upon children’s agency that relate to their experiences of poverty.
The risk is that participatory approaches place a burden upon children to reflect upon their
situations and propose solutions for what are essentially problems caused by politics and
economics. There are many examples where children’s views of what matters do not fit with
adult-driven agendas (Hart, 2007). Children do not see themselves as ‘child labourers’,
undertaking ‘hazardous work’, or as ‘vulnerable’. However, by focusing on process, attempts
have been made to work alongside local cultures and traditions by involving, not excluding,
adults and the wider community (Theis & O’Kane, 2005). Conceptualising rights as process
may act as a bridge between theory and practice. This is what Hanson and Nieuwenhuys term
‘living rights’, namely how children, ‘while making use of notions of rights, shape what these
rights are – and become – in the social world’ (2013, p. 6). Thus, thinking sociologically about
rights enables rights to both engage with the broader structures, systems and processes that
impact upon and interact with everyday life, while also developing locally relevant responses.
Attention to context, and local understandings of childhood, and children’s roles, is vital.

Conclusion
Globally, low-income countries are modernising rapidly and unevenly, and sociological analysis
has become more pertinent. This chapter has suggested that sociological approaches to the
study of childhood could be utilised, first, to explore children’s experiences of poverty and
deprivation, second, to link these experiences to rights as enshrined in the CRC; third, to try
to help explain why there are barriers to implementing children’s rights in specific instances,

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and finally, to help make links between the two dominant discourses: that of child poverty on
the one hand, and children’s rights on the other. Sociological analysis (whether childhood
sociology, or sociology more generally) has the potential to illuminate some of the processes
that operate to encourage social exclusion and discrimination related to poverty. In relation
to rights, a sociological lens can be a useful analytic tool to explain why it is difficult to realise
rights in practice. Hanson (2014) has argued that ‘childhood studies and children’s rights share
the rejection of policies and interventions that are concerned about children merely as passive
objects; both approaches can be seen as providing an antidote for the harm inflicted on children
by charity approaches that do not consider their agency nor their rights’ (p. 441). However,
the difference between sociology and law lies in epistemology: legal approaches are normative
whereas sociological approaches are critical and reflexive (Alanen, 2010). What a childhood
sociologist can do, therefore, is ask questions about the consequences of policies, programmes,
and legislation, to reveal the processes and practices that lie behind them, and the consequences
for children’s everyday lives; help to understand how differing childhoods are structured (like
adulthood) by social class, gender, ethnicity, dis/ability, age within the broad category of
childhood, and rural/urban location. A structural sociological analysis emphasises processes of
social exclusion, social justice, and the politics and economics of why certain groups of children
fare better or worse or have access to more or less favourable resources.
Yet despite the progress described at the start of this chapter, sociological thinking about
children, childhood and children’s rights remains marginal in the face of the relentless emphasis
on what are ultimately human capital approaches based on ‘outcomes’ and realising children’s
potential as productive adults in an imagined perfect labour market. As our example from India
has shown, a sociological approach illuminates the structural processes that drive poverty, and
emphasises the ways in which rights approaches can be narrowly applied or misapplied and so
do not fit with children’s realities. A sociological approach helps to develop contextually relevant
responses that engage with the complexities of relationships and processes. Finally, a sociological
approach to rights enables a focus on children and childhood in the present, not just the future,
which is essential for attempts to break poverty cycles. It also respects children’s dignity and
worth, not simply as means to ends.

Acknowledgements
This chapter reproduces and updates segments of earlier texts, especially:
Morrow, V. (2012). Sociological theories of childhood: reasons for involving children and
young people in research. In: J. Fleming and T. Boeck (Eds.), Involving children and young people
in health and social care research. London: Routledge; and Morrow, V. and Pells, K. (2012).
Integrating children’s human rights and child poverty debates: examples from Young Lives in
Ethiopia and India. Sociology 46(5), 906–920.

Notes
1 The Eleanor Roosevelt Papers Project, at www.gwu.edu/~erpapers/abouteleanor/er-quotes/(accessed
27/07/11).
2 Fieldwork was conducted by local research teams, fluent in local languages. A range of qualitative
research methods were used, including one-to-one interviews, group discussions and creative activities.
See www.younglives.org.uk.
3 Tripartite UN organisation of governments, trades unions and employers that sets global labour standards,
and campaigns for the abolition of child labour.
4 Government of India Constitution (1949) Articles 21a, Article 24, and Article 39e.

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 9
The Psychology of
Children’s Rights
Charles C. Helwig and Elliot Turiel

The issue of children’s rights has received growing attention in legal, philosophical, and social
scientific discourse. With the ratification of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child
(CRC, United Nations General Assembly, 1989) at the end of the twentieth Century, an array
of children’s rights was officially recognized internationally, and provisions were made to facilitate
the implementation of these rights in national and international law and public policy. Several
aspects of the CRC are noteworthy. First, the Convention includes recognition of a variety of
different types of rights, broadly differentiated within contemporary research on children’s rights
into the two broad categories of nurturance (protection) and self-determination (participation)
rights (Rogers & Wrightsman, 1978; Ruck, Abramovitch, & Keating, 1998). Nurturance rights
pertain to the obligations of others (e.g., parents, society) to provide for or safeguard children’s
emotional, psychological, or physical welfare and include, as examples, children’s right to medical
care, freedom from harsh punishment, and the provision of emotional support and food and
clothing. Self-determination rights pertain to children’s freedoms, choice, and input or say into
matters that affect them, and include (as manifest in the CRC) such issues as the right to freedom
of expression, freedom of religion or belief, the right to privacy and to choose one’s friends or
recreational activities, and children’s right to have their views heard when accused of
wrongdoing or in custody disputes. The Convention also stipulates that the principles of equality
and respect for human dignity should apply to children everywhere, and that children should
be brought up in the spirit of these ideals, in particular, those of “peace, dignity, tolerance,
freedom, equality, and solidarity” (CRC, Preamble). In various ways, the Convention also
recognizes that children’s rights are based on a conception of children as rational agents whose
perspectives should be respected and whose capacities for informed decision making ought to
be cultivated by agents of socialization. For example, children are accorded the freedom to “seek,
receive, and impart information and ideas of all kinds, regardless of frontiers” (CRC, Article
13), and to have their voices heard (either directly or through a representative) in “any judicial
and administrative proceedings affecting the child” (CRC, Article 12). At the same time, the
CRC also regards the child as a special agent who “by reason of his (sic) physical and mental
immaturity, needs special safeguards and care” (CRC, Preamble). Accordingly, adult guardians
should provide “in a manner consistent with the evolving capacities of the child” (CRC,

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Article 5) appropriate direction and guidance in exercising the rights recognized by the
Convention, with the best interests of the child as their overriding concern. The Convention
further recognizes that children’s rights are not themselves absolute, stipulating limitations on
the exercise of children’s rights in the form of the protection of “public safety, order, health or
morals, or the fundamental rights and freedoms of others” (CRC, Article 14).
For many people, these basic ideas and principles may seem self-evident, but it may be
surprising to find that the perspective on the rights of the child held within the CRC has hardly
been the consensus view within the discipline of psychology. Until recently, most prominent
psychological perspectives on children have largely viewed them as the receptacles of parental
socialization, rather than as agents having their own views and perspectives that need to be taken
into account in psychological explanations of moral development (of which children’s rights
are an important part). Current social scientific perspectives such as cultural psychology (e.g.,
Shweder et al., 2006) have questioned whether the basic moral principles of equality and respect
for freedom and autonomy are universally human concerns (as opposed to particular, “Western,”
cultural constructions). A position labeled social intuitionism (see Haidt, 2012) has further
questioned whether assumptions about humans as rational agents (as implied in the Convention)
may really explain people’s moral judgments at all. Instead, social intuitionism views people as
largely motivated by unconscious emotional impulses and intuitions grounded in evolutionary
processes and cultural learning. (For alternative conceptions of intuitions see Bruner, 1960 and
Shweder, Turiel, & Much, 1981.) In this chapter, we briefly review some of these psychological
perspectives before presenting an alternative view that has yielded evidence more congruent
with the spirit of the CRC and the general insights contained therein.

Accommodation to Culture and Psychological Theories

The notion of rights has a prominent place within philosophical and legal moral discourse (e.g.,
Dworkin, 1977; Meldon, 1977; Sen, 2009). By extension, rights may be expected to be relevant
to psychological perspectives on how people, including children, reflect on and reason about
moral considerations. Within academic psychology, traditional approaches such as psychoanalytic
theory (e.g., Freud, 1930) and Behaviorism (e.g., Skinner, 1971), have characterized the
development of children as accommodating to cultural norms and proscriptions. For Freud,
the child is believed to be born with instincts of aggression that become transformed by society,
a process that occurs through several developmental stages during which the child ultimately
internalizes cultural norms and redirects its initially antisocial aggression toward the self in
the form of the emotion of guilt. To the extent that children are rational, Freud saw this as
taking the form of an essentially non-moral means–ends rationality concerned with avoidance
of punishment and the satisfaction of self-interested needs in culturally appropriate ways.
At the same time, Freud attributed to individuals commitment to the moral standards of society
(i.e., ego-ideals). Ethical reasoning, according to Freud, also entails a form of self-deception;
as he put it in Civilization and Its Discontents, “One thing only do I know for certain and that
is that man’s judgments of value follow directly his wishes for happiness—that accordingly,
they are an attempt to support his illusions with arguments” (1930, p. 111). According to
Freud, people engage in ethical reasoning to provide socially acceptable justifications for actions
whose underlying motives are ultimately self-interested, although largely unknown to
individuals themselves.
Skinner (1971) provided a different perspective, but with similar implications for reasoning
and morality. According to Skinner, people’s behavior is conditioned by external contingences

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of reinforcement in the form of rewards or punishments. Socialization agents, such as parents

or other authorities, control the contingencies and ultimately shape the behaviors (verbal or
otherwise) of children toward conformity with societal expectations. Since behavior is ultimately
determined by observable contingencies of reinforcement, internal, unobservable psychological
agencies such as “conscience” were considered to be epiphenomenal (i.e., irrelevant) for
explanations of individuals’ morality. In this regard, Skinner’s position differed from that of
Freud in that emotions and thoughts were not seen as directly causing behavior or as part of
the phenomena requiring explanation. In fact, Skinner explicitly disavowed longstanding and
popular humanistic moral notions such as “freedom” or “human dignity,” as reflected in the
title of his book (Skinner, 1971), “Beyond Freedom and Dignity.” Skinner instead believed
that human freedom and agency was largely an illusion, and that people’s behavior ultimately
always could be explained by environmental contingencies of reinforcement, which as well,
are often unknown to people themselves.
The traditional psychological theories of Freud and Skinner that dominated much of the
field of psychology during the first half of the twentieth century disavowed moral reasoning
and hence did not have much to say about human rights (except as “illusions” or as scientifically
irrelevant “epiphenomena”). In contrast, recent theoretical perspectives (e.g., Shweder et al.,
2006, Haidt, 2012) have explicitly addressed the notion of rights in their theoretical
formulations, and to some extent in their associated empirical research. These perspectives
emphasize the individual’s accommodation to culture in the development of morality.
Shweder has proposed that children acquire morality through communications of cultural
judgments and orientations by parents and other “local guardians of the moral order” (Shweder,
Mahapatra, & Miller, 1987, p. 73). Children are exposed to, and immersed in, the society’s
moral order through participation in cultural practices, especially the routines that make up
daily family life. Morality consists of a set of explicit and implicit societal norms that are conveyed
to children. Hence, the content of morality is potentially variable by culture, insofar as social
organization differs by cultural environment. One distinction postulated to divide the world’s
cultures is that of “duty-based” versus “rights-based” moral codes. According to Shweder et
al. (1987; see also Miller, 1994), in “individualistic” cultures such as the United States (and
much of Europe), morality takes the form of a rights-based moral code that is grounded on a
free-contract ideology and belief in a social order that is built up out of self-interested
individuals in the pursuit of their wants and preferences. People in rights-based societies see
the social order as largely conventional, founded on agreements or social contract, and they
give priority to individual freedom of choice. In contrast, people in duty-based societies, such
as India or those often termed “collectivistic” (Hofstede, 2001; Markus & Kitayama, 1991;
Triandis, 1989) see society in terms of received social roles and duties to which individuals
must accommodate. In later versions of this approach (Shweder et al., 2006), three funda-
mental codes are distinguished: An ethics of autonomy that focuses on personal choice, rights,
and equality, an ethics of community that emphasizes social duties, hierarchy, group goals, and
traditions, and an ethics of divinity that emphasizes one’s place in a religious or supernatural
order. The ethics of autonomy is more frequently used in Western societies and especially by
highly educated, liberal, secular groups within these societies. The ethics of community is
dominant in East Asian societies such as China and Japan and other cultures emphasizing
conformity to the group, and the ethics of divinity characterizes moral reasoning in societies
in which religion structures the social order (e.g., India).
In accordance with the propositions about the role of social communication in forming
moral concepts, Shweder and colleagues (Shweder et al., 1987, 2006) propose that children

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in the U.S. learn about their society’s rights or autonomy-based moral code through
participation in family routines emphasizing values such as individual choice (e.g., “what would
you like for dinner”), privacy (e.g., don’t go into the child’s room or read her mail), and
separation (e.g., children sleeping in separate rooms and beds from their parents). In contrast,
children in duty-based societies such as India learn about the features of their society’s moral
code through participation in routines and rituals emphasizing cultural hierarchies and purity
(e.g., untouchables do the “dirty work”; women are considered “polluted” during menstruation)
and through the strict observance of ritual duties and obligations governing dress, acceptable
foods, and behavior. Although rights-based moral codes and societies emphasize human choice
and autonomy, note that even in such societies these notions are essentially socially
communicated rather than rooted in universal features of human psychology or experience,
and hence their importance or the emphasis they are given may vary across cultures. Earlier
versions of the theory (Miller, 1994; Shweder et al., 1987) described these different moral codes
in largely dichotomous or mutually exclusive terms (e.g., rights vs. duty-based); however, more
recent versions have argued that all of these moral codes are potentially available to all
individuals, and yet different cultures prioritize different codes (Shweder et al., 2006). Hence,
moral development in this approach is characterized in terms of individuals gradually learning
to prioritize the dominant code of their cultural environment, as its conceptual basis is
understood in development (e.g., Jensen, 2008).
The social communication theory of Shweder does provide a role for rationality in the
formation of moral codes and allows space for individuals’ reflection upon their social
experiences. However, people are portrayed as largely internalizing and accepting the moral
orientations of their cultures. As well, in this approach each culture is seen as having its own
dominant moral code, attendant assumptions, and forms of rationality; thus rational dialogue
can be had within moral or cultural perspectives but not across them, since moral codes are
seen as fundamentally incommensurable (Shweder, 1986). A recent perspective both elaborating
on and modifying Shweder’s cultural psychological approach is “social intuitionist theory” (Haidt,
2012). Haidt has expanded Shweder’s moral codes to six different “moral foundations,” each
believed to be based on an innate moral module selected for in human evolution. Haidt has
argued for a severely diminished role of rationality, seeing it as mainly providing post hoc
rationalizations for emotionally based and intuitive moral judgments whose source is in the
functioning of innate, unconscious moral modules operating in conjunction with specific cultural
learning. Despite its reliance on evolutionary speculations and innate modules, however, Haidt
is equally sceptical about the universal relevance of autonomy and rights in moral judgments.
As he puts it, for most of the world’s population, the “Western insistence that people should
design their own lives and pursue their own goals seems selfish and dangerous—a sure way to
weaken the social fabric and destroy the institutions and collective entities upon which
everyone depends” (Haidt, 2012, p. 100).
The research on which these negative conclusions about the universality of rights and
freedoms is based has been the subject of extensive critiques elsewhere (see, e.g., Turiel, 2015).
Briefly, in their research, Haidt and colleagues often present participants with relatively extreme
cases, such as bestiality or consensual incest between a brother and sister using birth control,
or controversial social issues such as homosexuality or the desecration of the country’s flag,
and draw general conclusions about the importance of equality or personal autonomy for different
groups, such as Western versus non-Western peoples (or, similarly, for those who are politically
conservative versus liberals, see Haidt and Graham, 2007) if personal freedoms or equality rights

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are not upheld in these instances. However, it is invalid to generalize from these cases, as research
has consistently shown that individuals from diverse cultures and backgrounds do make
judgments about fairness, freedoms, and rights that apply in many contexts and to many groups
(more below, see also Turiel, 2015). The task is to adequately explain the processes by which
fairness and rights are not applied to certain groups (for homosexuality and other issues, see
Turiel, Hildebrandt, and Wainryb, 1991). It is also necessary to examine social interactions
and the dynamics of social relationships in the context of groups that deny or limit rights to
certain other groups, and the reactions of groups denied rights.

Rights as Products of Moral Reasoning: Global Stage Approaches

There exists psychological research and theory that treats the topic of rights seriously and,
therefore, attempts to account for harm, fairness, and rights from the perspective of different
persons in social interactions, social and cultural practices, and the role of those denied rights.
Such research directly studies people’s reasoning and its development. The first systematic studies
on the development of moral reasoning were reported by Piaget (1932). In those studies, children
of different ages were questioned about rules in children’s games, as well as situations in which
children committed transgressions of various types (e.g., stealing, lying, property damage, physical
harm). From his investigations, Piaget concluded that the morality of young children is based
on heteronomy or a one-sided and unquestioning respect for authority and existing social rules
and norms. This in part derives from young children’s failure to take the perspective of others
into account and to appreciate the role of subjectivity (e.g., intentions, agency, and rationality)
in moral matters. As children’s ability to take the perspective of others develops and they become
capable of reciprocal interactions with peers, they develop a morality of autonomy or
reciprocity, embodied in maxims such as the Golden Rule. Accordingly, their moral orientation
shifts from a focus on rules as fixed and strict obedience in early childhood to one in
adolescence in which the subjective or psychological features of acts, such as intentions, are
taken into account, along with a consideration of the underlying purpose of social rules—
usually thought of in terms of justice or fairness.
Kohlberg (1981) built upon Piaget’s work in a program of research that examined people’s
thinking about dilemmas that pitted issues of harm or justice into conflict with societal laws,
authority, or punishment (such as in the famous Heinz dilemma, where the question is posed
whether a man should steal a cancer drug in order to save his ill wife’s life). Based on his
findings, Kohlberg proposed that moral development follows a six-stage sequence (grouped
into three broad levels) in which moral reasoning becomes increasingly abstract and oriented
to moral principles of rights and justice. At the preconventional level, morality is based on avoidance
of punishment or obedience to authority (stage 1), or on simple reciprocity or exchange in
dyadic relations (stage 2). At the conventional level (stages 3 and 4), usually reached in adolescence
or young adulthood, moral reasoning is based on upholding the social or legal order for its
own sake, and shared social norms or laws are typically given priority as a basis for making
decisions in moral dilemmas. The term “conventional” at this level comes from the assumption
that these social norms are mainly formulated in terms of the norms or values of the group
with whom the individual identifies, rather than as general obligations (such as a universalizable
principle to respect human life or dignity). Finally, at the principled level (stages 5 and 6), reached
only by a minority of adults, reasoning is based on abstract moral principles that anyone in any
society could legitimately endorse, such as upholding the social contract or the common good,
or universal human rights or dignity.

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Kohlberg’s framework (and Piaget’s) is in many respects an improvement upon that of the
other approaches discussed earlier in that people are conceptualized as psychological agents
who interpret, construe, and reason about moral matters. As well, Kohlberg recognized the
universal importance of issues such as human rights and dignity in formulating his stage sequence.
At the same time, however, Kohlberg did not view concerns with rights or justice as dominant
in the moral reasoning of children, or indeed most individuals, given their relegation to the
higher stages in his developmental model. Thus, most individuals are portrayed by Kohlberg
as reasoning on the basis of society’s system of concrete social norms, duties, and values, and
often giving priority to these concerns over justice, rights, and equality.
Although Kohlberg’s formulation draws conclusions about the concept of rights held at each
of the levels from individuals’ responses to general moral dilemmas, concepts of rights
themselves—especially those of children—were not systematically investigated in this approach.
However, other researchers have drawn on Kohlberg’s theory to directly investigate children’s
conceptions of their rights. Melton (1980) investigated children’s conceptions of their own
rights, both through probes asking children to define rights, and by examining their judgments
and reasoning in a series of dilemmas in which children’s rights (including the rights to freedom
of expression, privacy, work, and due process) conflicted with the demands of school authorities,
parents, or older peers. Melton (1980) found three broad levels in children’s understanding of
rights, paralleling Kohlberg’s stage sequence. At younger ages (6 to 8 years), rights were
conceptualized as simply equivalent to powers or privileges granted to children and revocable
by authority figures. Older children (8 to 13 years) increasingly viewed rights as based on fairness
and serving to uphold the social order; only a minority of adolescents (and even older adults;
see Melton & Limber, 1992) reached the third level, in which rights were based on universal,
abstract ethical principles and conceptualized as natural rights that cannot be legitimately revoked
by authority figures.
The global stage approach to studying rights (and by extension, children’s rights) has been
critiqued on a number of theoretical and methodological grounds (for extensive discussions,
see Helwig, 2006a; Smetana, 2011; Turiel, 2006). Theoretically, the model of social reasoning
on which this perspective is based may be prone to underestimating the extent to which people
understand and hold conceptions of rights, as it requires that people subordinate rights to other
social concerns in order to be scored as truly “principled.” As many moral philosophers have
noted, however, genuinely held concepts of rights may be legitimately overridden by other
concerns in some circumstances (e.g., Dworkin, 1977; Meldon, 1977). Methodologically, the
reliance in the global stage approach on complex dilemmas in which rights are pitted against
other concerns (such as law or punishment) may underestimate the understandings of rights—
which might be evident in their judgments about rights in situations that do not involve such
conflicts. As well, the requirement that children define a right (e.g., Melton, 1980) may better
assess metacognitive understandings (or explicit knowledge or theories about rights) rather than
how rights are applied and reasoned about in actual circumstances. Research in other areas has
shown that people can possess considerable knowledge of concepts such as social causality,
logic, and the structural principles of language, even though they are not able to define such
concepts.

The Social Domain Perspective and Children’s Rights

More recently, other researchers have drawn distinctions in judgments about different social
domains, proposing that children construct moral understandings out of their social experiences,

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in much the manner proposed in earlier constructivist theories, such as those of Piaget and
Kohlberg. However, rather than viewing rights and concepts of justice as emerging later in
development, only after the child has passed through a more concrete conventional or
heteronomous level, social domain researchers found that moral concepts of welfare and fairness
coexist with and develop alongside concepts of authority, cultural norms, and social
organizational systems. In this approach, morality is distinguished from social convention and
is viewed as pertaining to issues of harm, rights, and justice. In a large body of studies (see
Turiel, 2006, for a review) children have been shown to judge moral prescriptions as distinct
from authority, law, or existing social conventions in that they are seen as applying universally
across social contexts and societies and not contingent on the existence of social rules,
punishment, or authority prescriptions. In contrast, social conventions are defined by existing
social arrangements and receive their legitimacy either through standards agreed upon by a
community or through its established systems of rules, customs, or authority. Social conventions
thus are seen as contingent on existing rules or authority dictates and potentially variable by
consensus or authority. Development in this approach is seen as entailing transformations within
different types of concepts (e.g., rights, social conventions) as well as in how these different
types of concerns are applied and coordinated in multifaceted situations.
Research within this perspective has examined children’s reasoning about concrete moral
issues encountered within children’s own life experiences, such as instances in which they are
harmed by others or commit moral transgressions themselves (Wainryb, Brehl, & Matwin, 2005)
or in acts of discrimination or exclusion (e.g., Crystal, Killen, & Ruck, 2008). This research
has shown that children formulate concepts of harm, fairness, and rights and apply these ideas
to evaluate their social interactions. In research within this perspective, children explicitly
appealed either to rights in their reasoning, or to aspects of moral situations on which rights
concepts are generally based (e.g., generalizable notions of avoidance of harm or unfairness,
or to personal freedoms and choice). Children also attempt to coordinate moral concepts of
rights (such as avoidance of discrimination) with social conventional considerations, such as
maintenance of a group’s social organization and functioning. For example, research on gender
discrimination (e.g., Theimer, Killen, & Stangor, 2001) has shown that although children apply
moral notions of fairness and rights from an early age (in preschool) to reject straightforward
instances of gender discrimination (e.g., a group of boys who appeal to gender stereotypes to
exclude a girl from playing trucks with them), in other situations they may give priority to
group functioning and appeal to gender stereotypes (e.g., by preferring a child who fits the
gender stereotype when there is only space for one more child to play). Older children’s and
adolescents’ reasoning about racial and gender exclusion has sometimes been found to reflect
coordination of concepts of equality and rights and group functioning and stereotypes (e.g.,
Killen & Stangor, 2001). For example, when faced with two candidates of equal ability who
are being considered for membership in a group (e.g., a girl or boy for a ballet or baseball
club, or a white or black child for a basketball team or a math club), older children tended to
believe that the child who does not fit the stereotype should be chosen, for reasons of equal
opportunity and access (i.e., to give the nonstereotypical child a chance). However, when the
nonstereotypical child was portrayed as having less ability than the stereotypical child (placing
equal opportunity into conflict with group functioning), older children and adolescents were
more likely than younger children to advocate choosing the stereotypical child over the
nonstereotypical child. These findings illustrate how children attempt to balance and coordinate
concepts of fairness and rights and social organization in their thinking, sometimes giving priority
to one over the other at different ages.

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Research has also examined children’s reasoning about “self-determination rights,” such as
civil liberties, for example freedom of speech and religion. One study (Helwig, 1995) examined
the reasoning of adolescents and young adults about a variety of situations that included
straightforward applications of these rights (e.g., an individual giving a public speech critical
of the government’s economic policy), as well as situations involving conflicts between civil
liberties and other social and moral issues (e.g., a speech containing racial slurs or advocating
violence, or religious rituals in which psychological or physical harm was inflicted on consenting
adult participants). Both adolescents and adults applied concepts of freedom of speech and religion
to the straightforward situations and judged as wrong government laws restricting these
freedoms, and they also supported individuals’ freedoms in some, but not all, of the conflicts
(overall, they were most likely not to support freedoms when they conflicted with issues of
physical harm). Age differences were also found in reasoning about some situations; younger
adolescents were more likely than older adolescents or adults to support restrictions on civil
liberties when they conflicted with issues of equality, such as speech advocating exclusion of
low-income people from political parties, or a religion prohibiting low income individuals
from holding important positions in the church.
Participants in that study were also questioned directly about their understanding of the
basis of freedom of speech and religion, such as whether these rights were seen as contingent
on authority or law or relative across cultures. At all ages, participants conceptualized freedom
of speech and religion as rights that should hold across nations and societies, and they held that
it would be wrong everywhere for governments to enact general prohibitions of these rights.
These findings highlight the importance of separating general conceptions of moral concepts
such as rights from their applications in context. Rights were not conceptualized as social
conventional concepts at any age but were seen as moral rights applicable to people everywhere.
At the same time, they were not universally applied when in conflict with other moral
considerations (e.g., equality or harm). Moreover, younger adolescents especially were more
likely to subordinate freedoms to following the law (i.e., they stated that people should follow
the law when it restricted freedoms even though these laws were judged to be wrong). The
latter finding may explain the tendency for global stage approaches (Kohlberg, 1981) to
characterize the reasoning of children and adolescents as “social conventional,” since those studies
typically focused on understandings of rights only in multifaceted situations involving conflicts,
such as when upholding rights is pitted against violating laws (e.g., the Heinz dilemma).
However, by focusing in such instances only on reasoning in situations involving violations
of laws (e.g., the Heinz dilemma), global stage approaches miss the complex and truly moral
understandings of rights evidenced when children are directly asked about the basis of rights
or how they are applied in a variety of situations.
Subsequent research on reasoning about freedom of speech and religion has shown that
basic understandings of these rights are held by much younger children (beginning in the early
elementary school years) and applied to children themselves. For example, it was found (Helwig,
1997) that children support their own right to talk about topics of interest to children (e.g.,
rock music) even when their parents or society disapproves, or to belong to a different religion
from their parents, although they are much more likely than adolescents also to advocate
obedience to unjust rules or laws. As well, children’s reasoning about these freedoms undergoes
development throughout childhood and adolescence (Helwig, 1997, 1998). For instance, 6-
year-olds are more likely to justify freedom of speech by reference to psychological justifications,
such as individuals’ need to express themselves and the negative psychological consequences
that could result from being prohibited to do so. By around middle childhood, children perceive

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new social functions served by this right, such as social communication and the discovery of
innovations that can help society. In late childhood and adolescence, children connect freedom
of speech to moral and democratic functions of social justice; freedom of speech is seen as an
important way for injustices to be exposed and addressed within a democratic political order,
such as through protests or petitions (Helwig, 1995, 1998). Thus, as children develop a broader
understanding of the political sphere and the possibilities for different forms of political action,
their understanding of the value and importance of freedom of expression is enhanced.
The findings from the research on reasoning about civil liberties are consistent with a body
of research on the domain of personal jurisdiction conducted with much younger children
(e.g., Nucci, 1981). The latter research investigated children’s understandings of actions that
are judged to be under children’s own personal discretion and control. These include actions
such as children’s choice of recreational activities, friends, and requirements for privacy.
Children judge these actions to be part of their own business and not subject to legitimate
control by authorities. In justifying these actions as under personal jurisdiction, children
explicitly appeal to notions of personal choice, freedom, and autonomy (e.g., “It is my right”;
“it’s no one else’s business”). The personal domain is proposed to be necessary for the
experience of psychological agency and autonomy and the development of a sense of self
(Nucci, 2001). The development of explicit awareness of a personal domain has been traced
to the preschool years (although precursors may be identified in infancy, see Helwig, 2006b,
for a discussion).
Observational studies have explored the processes involved in the construction of a personal
domain in preschool children, which has implications for understandings of rights. Nucci and
Weber (1995) examined, among middle-class Americans, naturally occurring conflicts and
negotiations between mothers and their children in the home concerning moral, social
conventional, and personal issues. They found that children asserted their own personal choice
and prerogatives mainly around personal issues or those that involved both strong elements of
personal choice in conflict with other aspects of situations such as social conventions or prudence
(e.g., a child who wants to wear his favorite shirt rather than the preschool sweatshirt on a
designated day when the latter is required). However, children rarely asserted their personal
choice or autonomy around moral issues (involving harm or fairness) or straightforward issues
that are under conventional regulation. Moreover, a closer look at the specific features of
parent–child interactions around personal issues showed that the personal domain is constructed
out of reciprocal interactions characterized by both agreement and disagreement on the part
of children and adults as well as negotiation of the boundaries of personal autonomy. In general,
it was observed that adults would provide children with opportunities to exercise personal choice,
but children would also assert their autonomy and need for choice even in the face of adult
opposition, sometimes leading to negotiation or compromise on the part of both parties. The
development of the personal domain thus is a product of reciprocal interactions between parents
and children; personal freedoms do not only comprise areas of freedom or privilege simply
granted to children by adults in a unilateral fashion.
These processes of conflict and negotiation are continuous throughout development,
although the types of issues considered to be a part of the child’s personal domain expand with
the development of autonomy in adolescence (Smetana, 2011). Studies of parent and adolescent
interactions (e.g., Smetana, 1989) have shown that adolescents and parents sometimes differ
over the types of issues attributed to the adolescents’ personal domain or under the social
conventional jurisdiction of parents. Smetana has identified a set of issues involving consid-
erations from different domains that often generate differences of interpretation over their domain

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status, such as: the level of cleanliness of the child’s room, curfew, dating, media use, or spending
unsupervised time with friends. When conflicts over these issues occurred, it was because
adolescents were more likely to see them as personal whereas parents saw these issues to be
within the bounds of their legitimate authority. The findings of the research on adolescent
conflict are consistent with those of preschool research in that conflicts or “rebellion” tended
to be confined largely to those issues implicating age-salient personal concerns (often in
combination with other issues).

Culture and Children’s Understandings of Their Own Rights

Children’s conceptions of rights, including their understanding of areas of personal discretion
and autonomy as well as more abstract rights such as freedom of speech and religion, have
recently been the subject of research in different cultures. As noted earlier, several psychological
perspectives (Haidt, 2012; Shweder et al., 2006) have maintained that rights and autonomy
are mainly Western psychological notions that are dominant in the thinking of individuals in
supposedly highly individualistic societies such as those in North America and Europe, as opposed
to non-Western or collectivistic societies that instead emphasize conformity to the group,
authority, or a religious natural order. In contrast to these claims, however, research has found
that, beginning in the preschool years, children from a broad array of cultures construct a personal
domain of issues believed to be up to individuals’ own business and over which authorities or
groups do not have legitimate jurisdiction. The cultures that have been studied in this research
include both Western and non-Western cultures in diverse parts of the world such as Japan
(Yamada, 2009), Brazil (Nucci, Camino, & Sapiro, 1996), Columbia (Ardila-Rey & Killen,
2001), and China (Yau & Smetana, 2003a). As well, considerable similarity was found in the
types of issues judged to fall within children’s personal jurisdiction around the globe, such as
children’s choice of recreational activities, friendships, food preferences, and the protection of
children’s basic privacy. These findings lend support to the notion that areas of personal
jurisdiction are formed early in age and are necessary for the realization of psychological agency
and the formation of a unique self in diverse cultural settings (Nucci, 2001).
Subsequent research examining adolescent–parent conflicts in non-Western societies such
as urban and rural China (Chen-Gaddini, 2012; Yau & Smetana, 2003b) and Chile and the
Philippines (Darling, Cumsille, & Pena-Alampay, 2005) has found similar processes as the research
in the United States described earlier, with adolescents engaging in conflict with parents mainly
over issues in which they perceive legitimate personal jurisdiction (e.g., conflicts over
recreational activities, dating, when to do homework, etc.). Research has also documented
similarities in adolescents’ responses to situations in which parents try to regulate activities that
children regard as personal. In these instances, children are more likely to believe that lying
to parents or deception of various types is acceptable (e.g., Perkins & Turiel, 2007). Other
research has shown that adolescents from cultural backgrounds in which parental authority is
emphasized and where parents place strong restrictions on peer activities and socializing engage
in more deception and disclose less personal information to their parents in an attempt to maintain
their personal autonomy and avoid parental disapproval (e.g., Bakken & Brown, 2010; Yau,
Tasopoulos-Chan, & Smetana, 2009).
The salience of concepts of personal jurisdiction, individual entitlements, and autonomy in
non-Western cultures has clearly emerged through research that examined the judgments of
males and females regarding social inequalities and power differences in patriarchal cultures
(Conry-Murray, 2009; Neff, 2001; Wainryb & Turiel, 1994). Those studies assessed the

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judgments of adolescents and adults regarding decision making within families and the
restrictions placed on females on their educational and work opportunities, as well as on their
recreational activities. Males and females clearly understood the realm of personal choice and
entitlements. Both males and females thought that in their system of social organization males
were granted autonomy and freedoms to make their own personal choices and decisions in
many aspects of social relationships. Females were cognizant of male autonomy, but they also
expressed desires for greater autonomy and judged many of the restrictions and social inequalities
to be unfair. Although the studies did not directly address the question of rights, the findings
indicate that females were concerned with issues of autonomy and freedom within the context
of cultural practices that restrict the freedoms of one group in favour of another group.
Research, conducted in non-Western cultures such as China (Lahat, Helwig, Yang, Tan,
& Liu, 2009), Africa (Day, 2014), and the Middle-East (Wainryb & Turiel, 1998) has explored
reasoning about more complex or abstract rights, such as civil liberties (freedom of speech or
religion) or children’s rights to literacy or education. China is a particularly good example to
illustrate the insufficiency of cultural-deterministic perspectives on the acquisition of rights
understandings. China has been characterized as a society in which the moral upbringing of
children emphasizes strict obedience to authority and conformity to group traditions, in
keeping with its characterization as a collectivistic society dominated by the philosophy of
Confucianism (Pye, 1992). If Chinese adolescents’ reasoning about children’s rights merely
followed these traditions, it might be expected that they would advocate conformity to
authority when an authority’s desires or dictates conflicted with children’s rights. Indeed, from
such a perspective, to the extent that children’s rights are acknowledged at all, children’s rights
to welfare or safety (i.e., nurturance rights) might be expected to be given priority (but not
self-determination rights as these are based on personal autonomy, held to be the dominant
perspective in “individualistic” cultures).
Lahat et al. (2009) examined rural and urban Chinese adolescents’ judgments and reasoning
about a variety of children’s self-determination and nurturance rights, presented in situations
that entailed a conflict with authorities such as school officials or parents. The study also examined
reasoning in situations that pitted children’s self-determination against nurturance rights (as in
a scenario in which an adolescent wants to choose a less effective treatment for cancer because
of concern over cosmetic side effects). It was found that Chinese adolescents affirmed children’s
right to freedom of speech (i.e., that a high school student should be able to publish an article
critical of the school’s rules in the school newspaper even when the principal objected), religion
(i.e., a child should be able to belong to a religion even when her parents were atheists and
disapproved), and privacy (i.e., that a child should be able to keep a diary private from her
parents). They also affirmed children’s nurturance rights to education, medical care, and
psychological support from parents. Chinese adolescents appealed to concepts of autonomy
and personal choice in reasoning about self-determination rights and psychological and physical
welfare in reasoning about the nurturance rights, showing that the conceptual basis of each of
these types of right was understood. Moreover, in the conflicts between self-determination
and nurturance, Chinese adolescents did not generally give priority to nurturance over self-
determination, but instead balanced and coordinated these concerns in ways that showed
variations across situations, much like the research with U.S. adolescents (Helwig, 1995). Support
for self-determination rights in this study also showed clear age-related patterns, with older
adolescents exhibiting greater support for these rights than younger adolescents, similar to what
has been found in studies with North American samples (Ruck et al., 1998), and reflective of
Chinese adolescents’ growing appreciation of their own autonomy in development.

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Children’s Rights, Socialization Practices, and Psychological

Well-Being
Chinese adolescents’ strong affirmation of rights to freedom of expression and religion (rights
that certainly are not emphasized in their society and are infrequently contested there, see
Peerenboom, 2002) suggests that Chinese children reflect on their moral experiences and do
not always judge situations simply in accordance with received cultural traditions or practices.
Civil liberties such as freedom of speech (as well as many other rights) are based on the notion
that children are reflective agents who are capable of forming their own opinions and whose
rationality should be taken into account in socialization, an explicit premise of the UN
Convention discussed earlier. However, by emphasizing children’s obedience and accom-
modation to cultural norms (and even the explicit denial of moral rationality, e.g., Haidt, 2012),
the cultural psychological perspectives discussed earlier do not provide much room for
children’s critical reflection on cultural practices, including the types of socialization practices
that children directly experience in the context of learning about morality.
Cultural psychologists who have studied children’s moral socialization in Chinese cultural
settings have documented different types of shaming practices commonly used by Chinese parents
with the goal of teaching children to be moral. In a series of ethnographic studies (e.g., Fung,
1999; Fung & Chen, 2001), Chinese parents have been found to socialize children to be sensitive
to violation of moral norms through the use of explicit forms of shame directed at the effect
of the child’s behavior on the family reputation (e.g., “You made your mother lose face!”) or
through social comparisons that compare the child to better behaved siblings or friends (“Even
your baby brother knows what to do!”). Chinese parents also have been found to be more
likely to use explicit love withdrawal (e.g., “The louder you cry, the less I’m going to love
you”). The examples in parentheses come from actual communications by Chinese (Taiwanese)
caregivers to children in the context of transgressions (see Fung, 1999; Fung & Chen, 2001).
Cultural psychologists have argued that these types of practices are not meant to be harmful
to children and need to be understood in the context of larger theories of parenting that differ
in their basic assumptions from ideal parenting approaches in the West (Fung & Chen, 2001;
Shweder et al., 1987). According to Fung, parental shaming in China is meant to teach the
child to pay attention to social norms and cultural requirements and to internalize these
perspectives to regulate their behavior. Children, it is believed, come to understand these
requirements as necessary and to recognize and share the parental goals behind their usage
(Fung, 1999; Fung & Chen, 2001).
However, much of the existing research from the cultural psychological perspective has
focused exclusively on observations of parenting (what is done) or only tapped the under-
standings of adults; children’s own judgments and reasoning about these practices has been
largely ignored in this literature. One study (Helwig, To, Wang, Liu, & Yang, 2014), using
hypothetical situations, examined Chinese (both rural and urban) and Canadian children’s and
adolescents’ judgments and reasoning about a variety of parental shaming practices described
in the prior ethnographic work, along with parental use of reasoning (commonly called
“induction,” Hoffman, 2000) in response to a moral transgression in which a child pushes another
child down on the playground and takes the other child’s toy. Participants were asked to evaluate
each practice as good or bad, to consider why parents (mothers in the study) would use each
practice, to rate each practice as common or not in their cultural context, and to judge how
effective each practice would be in producing an internalized morality (defined as compliance
when the mother is not present). Chinese children’s judgments and reasoning showed a complex

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pattern in which they clearly recognized the cultural norms surrounding usage of these
practices by parents but at the same time evaluated them as psychologically harmful, with
increasing age. For example, Chinese children were more likely than Canadian children to
indicate that these practices were commonly used by parents and to recognize that parents
used them in order to achieve the goal of children’s compliance, but at the same time they
regarded these practices as being emotionally harmful and as having negative effects on
children’s self-esteem. Instead, older children and adolescents in all three cultural settings (urban
and rural China and Canada) tended to prefer that parents use reasoning rather than shaming
or love withdrawal in responding to a moral transgression. Parental reasoning (in the form of
drawing the child’s attention to the consequences for the victim and encouraging perspective
taking) was seen as more likely than shaming to lead to moral internalization and future
compliance, as it helps the child to self-regulate by understanding the reasons behind moral
norms (rather than motivation purely through instilling guilt or internalized shame).
Another study (To, Helwig, & Yang, in press) examined the connection between various
dimensions of parenting (as perceived by adolescents) and support for self-determination and
nurturance rights in adolescents from urban and rural China. In line with the findings of research
examining these relations in North American cultural settings (e.g., Peterson-Badali, Morine,
Ruck, & Slomin, 2004), it was found that support for self-determination rights was associated
with autonomy supportive parenting (i.e., parenting that is supportive of children’s choices)
as well as family environments that were tolerant of children’s expressions of disagreement and
dissent. Support for nurturance rights was associated with both autonomy supportive parenting
as well as parental responsiveness (defined as parental warmth and involvement). Together,
autonomy support and responsiveness (along with provision of structure) are conceptualized
as aspects of authoritative parenting (Baumrind, 1978), which has been associated with positive
child outcomes in a large body of research conducted (mostly) in Western cultural settings.
To et al. (in press) additionally found that autonomy support and responsiveness were both
associated with psychological well-being (i.e., less depression and greater life satisfaction) in
their sample of urban and rural Chinese adolescents, indicating that these dimensions of
socialization not only predicted more positive attitudes toward children’s rights but also better
psychological health.
To et al. (in press) further examined the unique role of democratic family environments in
facilitating Chinese adolescents’ psychological well-being. Democratic family environment was
conceptualized in that study as a home environment that provided children with opportunities
to contribute to decision making, that respected children’s freedom of expression, and where
moral principles of due process were followed (e.g., a child’s perspective was heard when accused
of wrongdoing). It was found that a democratic environment significantly predicted both urban
and rural Chinese adolescents’ psychological health and well-being, even when parental
autonomy support and responsiveness were controlled. These findings reveal that children,
even in a highly traditional setting (i.e., rural China), psychologically benefit from democratically
structured home environments that support their basic rights of self-expression and that provide
opportunities for their involvement in family decision making.
This does not mean, however, that all types of freedom from adult control are beneficial
for children. Prior research has examined adolescent perceptions of parental control over a
variety of issues (personal, moral, and social-conventional) in different types of cultural contexts.
In a study conducted in Japan and the U.S. (Hasebe, Nucci, & Nucci, 2004), it was found
that the negative effects of parental control were limited to personal issues (or those multifaceted

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issues that adolescents perceived as entailing a strong element of personal choice). Japanese and
American adolescents who perceive their parents as illegitimately controlling personal or
multifaceted issues (termed “overlapping issues” in Hasebe et al., 2004) were more likely to
report psychological symptoms of depression or anxiety. At the same time, these adolescents
accepted parental control over straightforward social conventional issues and did not similarly
report psychological symptoms as a result of parental control in the social conventional domain.
Taken together, the results of these studies show that children’s healthy psychological
functioning in a variety of cultures is associated with family environments that respect children’s
basic freedoms and developing autonomy, as well as those that are just and democratically
structured and that provide children with opportunities to contribute to family decisions over
matters that involve them.

Conclusions
Several psychological approaches we have discussed leave little room for a serious consideration
of children’s rights in their theories of moral development. Within those perspectives,
fundamental psychological needs and requirements for autonomy, as well as people’s striving
for equality in accordance with notions of justice, are largely seen as culturally constructed
processes and thus potentially and actually variable across societies or groups. Accordingly, the
notion that children everywhere have rights (beyond, perhaps, basic protection rights) would
not be seen as having a rationally defensible basis across varying cultural traditions and moral
codes (Shweder, 1982). Despite its ratification by most governments of the world, from this
point of view, the CRC, and the principles on which it is based, might be seen as an ideological
fiction propagated by highly educated (and presumably highly Westernized) elites whose views
and values are not reflective of most of the world’s population.
In this chapter, we have focused on a body of research, conducted in a variety of cultural
contexts (Western and non-Western), that takes into account children’s own perspectives on
their rights and associated issues. We have argued for a contrasting perspective on the
psychology of children’s rights that is, in many fundamental ways, consonant with the
assumptions and principles endorsed in the CRC. In our survey, we have seen that children
are aware of their rights and respond to violations of rights (both their own and those of others)
in their everyday lives. Children have needs for autonomy and critically evaluate socialization
practices (such as shaming or love withdrawal) that are perceived as violating these needs,
regardless of how common these practices are in their cultural milieu. Children experience
conflicts with parents and agents of socialization over their own rights and engage in negoti-
ation or protest with these authorities when they perceive these rights are violated. They also
engage in deception when direct confrontation is not perceived as an acceptable alternative
to fulfil their needs for personal choice and autonomy. Children in different cultures endorse
forms of discipline that are based on reasoning and that respect children as rational agents who
play an active role in their own moral socialization. Children distinguish between different
types of rights (e.g., nurturance and self-determination rights) and comprehend the different
moral concepts that underpin these rights. Moreover, children’s rights are not merely intellectual
concepts (i.e., understood but not important) but have real functional significance in
contributing to children’s psychological health and happiness. As the research on psychological
well-being shows, when children’s basic needs for autonomy, justice, and security are not
sufficiently met, children’s psychological health suffers, even in traditional cultural contexts

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that have not historically emphasized children’s rights. We believe that the drafters of the CRC
have been remarkably prescient in explicating the concept of children’s rights and identifying
the issues facing children across the globe. Psychological perspectives on children’s rights,
however, have only recently begun to pay sufficient heed to these insights.

Acknowledgment
Research reported in this chapter was supported by a grant to Charles C. Helwig from the
Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (410050353).

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 10
Philosophical Perspectives on
Children’s Rights
Rosalind Ekman Ladd

To claim rights for someone or some group is to make a very strong moral claim. In recent
history, claims of moral rights have been instrumental in achieving significant social reform in
many places in the world. The topic of children’s rights caught the interest of philosophers as
part of the changing social consciousness in the 1960s that contributed to rapid growth in the
field of applied ethics. Using their skills in conceptual analysis and critical evaluation,
philosophers have engaged with professionals in public policy, education, medicine, law, and
others who work directly with children and families.

What Are Rights? What Kinds of Rights Do Children Have?

The central controversy about children’s rights pits Protectionists against Liberationists. Both
claim that children have rights, but they are talking about different kinds of rights. Rights are
often defined as justified claims. Welfare rights or positive rights are claims to be given something,
e.g. food and shelter. Liberty rights, rights of self-determination, or negative rights, by contrast,
make the claim not to be interfered with. This is the kind of claim that citizens in a free country
can make, for example, freedom of association or freedom of religion. According to liberal
tradition, interference with a person’s activities is justified only when those activities pose harm
to others.
Protectionists hold that children’s rights are welfare rights, rights to care and protection.
They argue that because children lack the abilities and experience that come with adulthood,
they are vulnerable and need to be protected. Liberationists argue that children, or at least
older children, should have liberty rights, the right to make decisions for themselves.
Protectionists emphasize rights exercised on behalf of children; liberationists emphasize rights
exercised by children themselves.
Rights and duties are correlative. What this means is that if children have rights, then there
must be duties or obligations on the part of someone else. If children have welfare rights, then
some adults have duties and responsibilities to supply the things to which children have a right,
such as food and shelter. It is meaningless to assert rights unless there is someone who should
fulfill them. Liberty rights also entail obligations on the part of others, namely to refrain from

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interfering and to allow the person to exercise his or her rights. If a child has a right to play,
then others have a duty to allow it. Rights need not be claimed by the person whose right it
is: rights may be waived or claimed on behalf of another person.
Distinguishing between protectionist rights and libertarian rights clarifies an ambiguity in
the concept of children’s rights. The dilemma of how best to advocate for children develops
because there is an inverse relationship between the two kinds of rights: the more protection
given children, the less liberty they have; the more liberty, the less protection. As an illustration
of this: Protectionists advocate for tighter laws against child labor, while Liberationists may
argue for allowing children to choose to work at an earlier age and earn money for themselves
and their families. Both, however, frame their arguments in the language of rights.
The U.S. inherited the idea that children do not have rights from the English common
law, which in turn was based on Roman law, which attributed to fathers a natural right to
their children (see Stearns chapter this volume for a history of children’s rights). This gave
fathers complete control over their children, especially their labor. Some historians say the law
treated children as property or chattel (Mason, 1994). Also, religious tradition taught that children
were born in sin and parents needed to “break their will.” Even in the earliest days, however,
children did have some rights in that fathers had responsibility to support and educate them
and there were laws against abuse (Mason, 1994). When children’s labor became of less economic
value and when mothers’ role was given greater respect, then children were treated with more
respect, according to Mason.
The argument that children should have protections and be denied liberty rights has a long
history in philosophy. John Locke argues there are good reasons for making children subject
to their parents’ authority. It would put children at great risk, he thinks, if they could make
decisions for themselves.

The Freedom then of Man and Liberty of acting according to his own Will, is grounded
on his having Reason . . .To turn him loose to an unrestrain’d Liberty, before he has Reason
to guide him is . . . to thrust him out amongst Brutes, and abandon him to a state as
wretched, and as much beneath that of a Man, as theirs. This is that which puts the Authority
into the Parents hands to govern the Minority of their children.
(Locke, 1979, p. 242)

Jeremy Bentham also is concerned to point out the limitations of children that justify the
restrictions we put on them:

[T]he feebleness of infancy demands a continual protection. The complete development

of [the infant’s] physical power takes many years, that of its intellectual faculties is still
lower . . . Too sensitive to present impulses, too negligent of the future, such a being
must be kept under an authority more immediate than that of the laws.
(Bentham, 1840, p. 248)

According to the liberal tradition as outlined by John Stuart Mill, no one should interfere
with another person’s decision for that person’s own sake because, he holds, each person knows
best what is in his own interest. In other words, adults are allowed to make their own mistakes.
The only time others are justified in interfering with competent adults is if they pose harm
to others.

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Mill makes it explicit that children should be treated differently from adults:

It is perhaps hardly necessary to say that this doctrine [that one should never interfere with
another person’s freedom simply for his own good] is meant to apply only to human beings
in the maturity of their faculties. We are not speaking of children, or of young persons
below the age which the law may fix as that of manhood or womanhood. Those who
are still in a state to require being taken care of by others, must be protected against their
own actions as well as against external injury.
(Mill, 1956, p. 13)

Political theorists distinguish Will Theories, developed by the legal scholar H.L.A. Hart
(Hart, 1982), which justify rights because they protect autonomy but require competence of
rights-holders to enforce or waive rights, and Interest Theories, derived from Bentham’s
utilitarianism, and see rights as based on interests and not requiring competence (Bentham,
1840). It is considered a serious weakness of Will Theories that they cannot attribute rights to
young children, the mentally incompetent, etc.
In the contemporary literature, philosophers continue to ground the justification for
protection rights and the limits on liberty rights for children on their physical, cognitive, and
psychological limitations. Arguments from incompetence take several forms. The American
philosopher, Laura Purdy, argues on practical grounds: children need to be taught self-control
and morality and thus need to be under the guidance of adults (Purdy, 1992). The bioethicist
Lainie Ross argues that children’s decisions are based on limited experience and are not yet
part of a life plan; therefore they need a “protected period” in which to develop the habits
that will facilitate their long-term autonomy (Ross, 1998, p. 61). The British philosopher Judith
Hughes, argues on different grounds: exercising liberty rights is a burden and a protectionist
stance is justified to save them from the heavy burden of taking responsibility for their decisions
(Hughes, 1988).
The earliest and most extreme Liberationist views were taken by John Holt and Daniel
Farson. They would grant children the right to vote, choose where to live, have financial
independence—in short, to do whatever adults legally can do. Their general argument is that
children are “oppressed” and the need to liberate them was part of the general movement in
the 1960s and 1970s to end the social and legal institutions that support oppression of various
groups (Hawes, 1991, p. 133ff ).
Holt and other extreme Liberationists have not attracted many followers, and it remains a
matter of debate what the proper balance should be between welfare rights and liberty rights
for children and adolescents. There seems to be a growing consensus that children should
have more liberty rights and more of a voice than, say, Locke would have admitted. It seems
reasonable to take a developmental approach, giving children more of a voice in making
decisions for themselves as they develop competencies and experience. The concept of the
evolving capacities of the child was introduced as an important principle in Article 5 of
the Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC, United Nations General assembly, 1989)
(Lansdown, 2005). It is evoked, for example, in this statement of the American Academy
of Pediatrics, “Pediatricians should not necessarily treat children as rational, autonomous
decision makers, but they should give serious consideration to each patient’s developing
capacities for participating in decision making, including rationality and autonomy” (AAP, 1995,
p. 315).

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Who is a Child? When are Children Mature Enough to Decide

for Themselves?
It is clear that the chronological line typically drawn between minors and adults that serves as
the ground for denying rights to children is arbitrary. Legal rights, certainly, and the moral
rights that justify them as well, vary from country to country and time to time. For example,
the age for voting, for buying and drinking alcohol, or for marrying varies, sometimes even
within a single country.
It is also true that chronological age alone does not distinguish well between individuals
who have the competencies required for reasonable, responsible decision making and those
who do not. Some minors, especially older children, seem to possess the same competencies
and to the same degree as adults and some adults lack competence.
If it is true that some children are as competent as adults and if the specific chronological
dividing line is arbitrary, then it is a case of injustice to use such a criterion to deny rights
to all children. So, what is the evidence about children’s competency? Philosophers who
challenge the protectionist incompetence argument turn to empirical evidence to help decide
the issue.
One often-quoted study was conducted by Weithorn and Campbell (1982), social
psychologists who tested the actual decision-making competencies of children. They presented
a hypothetical choice between different medical treatments for a particular condition in age-
appropriate language to four different age groups. The results were surprising: all the children,
even the youngest, made the same choices that a group of doctors chose as most appropriate.
The only exception was the group of young adolescents who avoided a treatment that would
have changed body image, a particular concern of that age group. It is true that the children
could not articulate their reasoning as well as the adults did, but their choices made it clear
that they did understand the costs and benefits of the different treatment options, an important
competence in medical and other decision making (Weithorn & Campbell, 1982). Children’s
right to consent to medical treatment and research are considered in the chapter by Alderson
in this volume.
It should be noted that competencies are task-specific. A child may be quite competent in
one area but incompetent in another. For example, a child brought up in the country may
not be able to take care of himself if left in the middle of a big city and a city child will not
know how to behave if he finds himself in a field full of cows. Similarly, children who have
had the experience of serious illness or cancer treatment may be quite sophisticated in their
understanding of their situation. There is growing consensus that the voice of children should
be heard in medical situations. Some U.S. courts, but not all, have even allowed a minor to
make the decision not to accept treatment, with death resulting (Blake, 2012; Will, 2006).
An alternative to the arbitrary chronological division between children and adults would
be to use a competency-based criterion. In traditional societies, such as the Abenaki Native
American culture, adolescent boys were awarded adult status and allowed to marry only when
they proved they were successful hunters and could provide food for a family (R. Ladd,
unpublished manuscript). It is argued that such a system of individualized skills testing would
be expensive and cumbersome to implement in a complex industrialized society, but it is the
system used to grant people the privilege of driving and could be extended to other contexts
as well.
Laurence Houlgate has written a very detailed examination of the U.S. juvenile justice system
and the children’s moral rights that underlie it (see the chapter by Buss in this volume for an

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examination of children’s criminal procedural rights in the US). He concludes that a moral
right is violated whenever a person who is capable of making a rational choice is not allowed
to make decisions for himself (Houlgate,1980, p. 103). The implication is that chronological
age is not relevant.
One innovative suggestion for recognizing the incompetencies of children and yet allowing
them self-determination has been made by Howard Cohen. Children could exercise their rights
through the “borrowed capacities” of adults. Just as adults borrow the capacities of lawyers
and doctors, children could borrow the capacities of competent adults. The role of the child’s
agent would be to provide information in age-appropriate language, explain the various options
and consequences, and then carry out the child’s decisions (Cohen, 1980).
Joel Feinberg’s article, “A Child’s Right to an Open Future” has had a profound influence
on many discussions of children’s rights. It does not fit neatly into either a Protectionist or
Liberationist category, but develops a broad principle that Feinberg thinks should underlie all
decisions about children. Feinberg describes “C-rights” that are characteristic of children: some
derive from the child’s basic dependency on others and some he calls “rights-in-trust” that
look like adult rights but that the child cannot exercise until he has developed capacities. In
Feinberg’s (1980) words, “His right while he is still a child is to have these future options kept
open until he is a fully formed self-determining adult capable of deciding among them.”
There are problems with Feinberg’s view in that it is impossible to keep all options open
in practice: some highly specialized skills, such as becoming a professional violinist, must be
chosen and acted upon from an early age, which closes off other options. Yet, as a general
guiding principle, many writers have found it very attractive and useful in making decisions
for children.
Adolescents present a special case for two reasons. The first is that they are close to the
chronological cut-off point used to distinguish adults from children. What difference does one
year or one month or one day make? The second reason is that, perhaps more than in other
age groups, there are great differences between individuals in maturity, judgment, and
experience. American law has made some exceptions to allow decision making in some areas
for adolescents. In most states, they may give consent themselves for alcohol and drug treatment
and treatment for sexually transmitted diseases. However, these exceptions are not based on
ideas about the rights of adolescents, but on purely practical, utilitarian reasons: it is of
importance to society that teens receive these treatments and requiring parental permission
would be a barrier for many. Strong disagreements still surround the questions of birth control
and abortion without parental notification or permission (Blake, 2012; Ford, English & Sigma,
2004).
In many places, adolescents may go to court to be granted status as emancipated minors
which gives them the rights of adults. Conditions for emancipation include living separately
from parents and having an independent income. Emancipation is automatic if the adolescent
becomes a member of the armed forces or marries. An informal status as mature minor that
allows consent for one’s own treatment may be recognized in some medical situations,
dependent on a physician’s judgment.

Who Should Decide for Children? What Standards Should

be Used?
Since young children cannot decide for themselves and older children up to the age of adulthood
may not legally decide for themselves, then who should decide for them? Most societies have

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abandoned the idea that children are the property of their fathers who have absolute authority
over them, yet there is a strong presumption that parents (or legal guardians) have the right
and authority to decide for their children. The strongest challenge to the presumed rights of
parents is based on the state’s interest in children. Thus one of the central controversies about
children’s rights is about who should decide.
The argument for parents’ rights to decide rests on a number of assumptions that need to
be examined. One assumption is that parents have a special bond with their children and this
gives them authority over them. However, the bonds between parents and children are not
always healthy bonds and there are too many cases of alienated children or abandoned children
where the bonds have been broken (Blustein et al., 1999). Related to this is another assumption,
that parents by nature have their children’s best interest at heart and will make decisions for
them in their best interest. However, abundant evidence of child exploitation and abuse by
parents argues against this.
Some assume that parents know their children best and thus can make the best decisions
for them. While this may be true in well-functioning families, it is surely not always true.
Adolescents especially are sometimes very good at hiding their true feelings and activities from
their parents.
Still another assumption is that parents bear the consequences of treatment decisions for
their children and therefore they should have control of the decisions. Again, this may be true
in general, but certainly it is the child who bears the greatest consequences (Brock, 1989) and
often it is society that bears the consequences, financial and other.
Ferdinand Schoeman (1985) has developed an argument in favor of parental rights that many
philosophers have found convincing. One of the important values in life, he argues, is family
intimacy and this is possible only if the family has privacy and freedom from state intervention.
He goes even farther and defends the strong view that parents need not always make decisions
for the benefit or welfare of the child. He also defends the position that parents may impose
some risk on a healthy child to provide bone marrow to save the life of a sibling (Schoeman,
1985).
Despite the strong presumption in favor of parents as decision makers for their children,
the state is recognized as the ultimate guardian of all children. Under the doctrine of parens
patriae, the state has the legitimate power and authority to protect children. In effect, this allows
the state to place limits on parental authority. Under this power, the state may enact laws such
as compulsory education and vaccination, may intervene in cases of abuse and neglect, set age
limits for the use of alcohol, conditions of child labor, etc. However, in the political sphere,
there are those who argue for less government in all aspects of citizens’ lives. They would see
state interference in the family as always objectionable except, perhaps, in the most egregious
cases of abuse.
One of the most compelling arguments to justify the state’s active involvement in the lives
of children and intervention in families rests on the intuitive idea that all children should
have fair equality of opportunity. However, children are born into particular families accord-
ing to what philosophers call the vagaries of the “natural lottery” (Rawls, 1971) and families
vary greatly in what emotional, intellectual, and other resources they have to give to chil-
dren. As a result, the privileges and opportunities open to individual children vary greatly,
contributing to an overall injustice and inequality. Some claim it is the role of the state to
compensate for the injustices of the natural lottery. In Plato’s ideal society children would be
raised by the state in a communal setting, thus eliminating the inequities of nuclear families
(Plato Chap. V). Some contemporary societies retain families, but empower the state to assume

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a good deal of the responsibility of raising children, offering financial support, affordable or
free child care, generous maternal and paternal leaves from employment, etc., thus helping to
even out the opportunities for children. For example: the United Kingdom guarantees 39 weeks
of paid maternity leave (Popovitch, 2014), Sweden provides free pre-school and subsidizes
child care (Europa, 2014), and other developed countries offer flexible work hours for parents
(Schulte, 2014). A similar argument is developed by Peter Vallentyne and Morry Lipson,
following the work of James Fishkin. They argue that the liberal tradition professes that chil-
dren have the right to equal opportunity to develop the skills that will allow them to pursue
their conception of the good. Since families do not and cannot offer equal opportunity, then
autonomy of the family is incompatible with one of the basic ideals of liberal society. They
conclude that liberals must thus reject the strong form of family autonomy (Vallentyne & Lipson,
1989). A more radical idea is proposed by Hillel Steiner: that parents who endow their own
children with superior genetic traits owe support to children who are born not so well endowed
(Steiner, 2002).
An interesting and original proposal that has prompted a great deal of discussion was made
by Hugh LaFollette: that the state should require parents to be licensed. He argues that licensing
is required for activities that pose harm to others, such as driving, and since parenting can pose
harm to children, then licensing should be required (LaFollete, 1980).
In a dramatic way, this proposal calls attention to the fact that under current systems,
individuals are allowed not only to bear children but to raise them without interference until
and unless there is evidence that their children are being harmed. Certainly there would be
practical difficulties in establishing criteria to demonstrate competence, but licensing procedures
could at least reduce the greatest risks of harm to children by not granting licenses to e.g., drug
addicts, individuals with demonstrated violent tendencies, etc. Making parenting classes readily
available could help people meet the criteria.
Laurence Houlgate has also given careful attention to the important question of what criterion
can be used to determine when state intervention is justified. He suggests that when intervention
will produce more overall good than nonintervention, it is justified and that occurs only when
the family has ceased to function as a community and the parent has failed to function as a
psychological parent to the child (Houlgate, 1988, p. 144). In a similar vein, Michael Wald
has suggested that coercive intervention is justified when it would be the least detrimental way
of protecting the child (Wald, 1975).
The arguments about parents’ rights vs. the state are not simply theoretical exercises for
professional philosophers, but are reflected in the public discussion on a number of issues of
current concern. In the United States, there is ongoing debate about parents’ rights to opt out
of vaccinations for young children, the refusal of blood transfusions for religious reasons, and
certain forms of male infant circumcision. In the global picture, there is debate about the practice
of ritual circumcision of young girls (Public Policy Advisory Network, 2012), denying girls a
basic education (UNESCO, 2013), the use of child labor (Strickland, 2014), and forced marriage
at an early age (Crouch, n.d.), to name just a few.
Although the CRC suggests that there is agreement about what rights, protections, and
liberties children should have, continuing criticisms of some cultural practices raise questions
about ethical relativism. Are there some rights that are universal to all children? Are some practices
wrong, even though they are considered acceptable in some cultures? Full discussion of these
issues is beyond the scope of this essay, but basic questions about relativism lurk behind the
topic of children’s, parents’, and states’ rights.

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Turning now to the question of what standards should be used in deciding for children:
Joseph Goldstein, lawyer, Anna Freud, psychoanalyst, and Albert J. Solnit introduced the best
interest standard in 1979 (Goldstein et al., 1979). Concerned primarily with child custody,
they argued, against the prevailing practice, that cases should be decided with the children’s
interest foremost, not the parents’. They emphasized the importance of continuity in a child’s
life and introduced the idea that children should be placed with their “psychological parents”
whether biological or not. These ideas have been enormously influential in legal and social
work practice and adopted internationally in the CRC.
The best interest standard sounds like a good and simple principle to use, but it is not. What
is in the child’s best interest often becomes a matter of contention. How should it be
determined? Who should determine it? In societies with cultural and religious diversity, there
will be fundamental differences in judgments about a child’s best interest. Appeal to the best
interest standard does not settle these issues.
A specific challenge to the best interest standard has been posed by John Hardwig, who
asks: what about the family? There may be interests of the family as a whole that should be
weighed against what would be in the individual child’s best interest. For example, if fulfilling
one child’s best interest becomes such a drain on family resources that other children are harmed,
then it appears justified that the best interest standard be compromised (Hardwig, 1990). Loretta
Kopleman asks whether the principle is too demanding and notes that it does not consider the
interests of others (Kopleman, 1997).
An alternative to the best interest standard is described as substituted judgment: decide as
the child would decide if he or she were adult. This has the advantage of representing the
child’s point of view and allowing for subjective preferences, but it is difficult to use in the
case of very young children who have not yet formed preferences or stable personalities. Another
possibility is called an objective standard: decide as a rational adult would decide. This leaves
open the possibility of recognizing that in some circumstances there may be more than one
reasonable decision.
Deciding for adolescents presents some special questions. Forman and Ladd (1995) state that
adolescent choices are often based on what may be called age-specific values, that is, values
that are held only during the adolescent years or given high priority only during those years.
Typically, teens are concerned with body image and peer approval. These concerns help develop
personal identity, one of the important psychological tasks of the teen years. Yet, age-specific
values are temporary; most people outgrow them, either giving them less importance or adopting
other values as adults. So the question is: in deciding for adolescents, should one respect their
age-specific values, i.e., use substituted judgment and decide as they would decide, or should
one ignore their current values and use a rational person standard, choosing as they would if
they were adult (Forman & Ladd, 1995)?

Critique of the Language of Rights

Despite a general acknowledgment in public discourse and in law that children have rights,
there are prominent critics who argue that the language of rights is not appropriate in talking
about children. These arguments cannot be ignored and consideration of them leads to a deeper
understanding of the concept of children’s rights.
In any theory of rights there is what may be called an internal problem, no way to resolve
the issue (Waldron, 1989). The rights of different parties can come into conflict with one another
and the theory of rights in itself offers no way to resolve the issue. Conflict may arise between

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the rights of siblings, especially when there are not enough resources to fulfill all, the rights
of parents can conflict with the rights of their children, rights of parents can conflict with rights
of the state. It is possible to establish clear rules about whose rights take precedence, e.g., the
oldest son inherits the family property, or parents’ decisions cannot ever be challenged by the
state—but in many situations there are no such rules and the conflicts can be long and bitter.
Philosophers try to deal with this problem on the theoretical level by distinguishing between
prima facie rights and actual rights. Prima facie rights are conditional or presumptive: one has a
right unless or until it is superseded by another stronger right. Some claim that all rights are
prima facie, i.e., have the possibility of being overridden. Others claim that there are some absolute
rights, i.e., rights that cannot/should not ever be overridden, e.g., the right not to be tortured.
On the practical level, it can be useful to consider most rights as provisional and determine
which rights should be fulfilled depending on the circumstances. Advocates of children’s rights
rarely qualify rights in this way, resulting in difficulties when some rights are impossible to
fulfill in the real world either because of conflicts of rights or because there are no resources
or responsible adults to protect or fulfill the child’s rights. For example, many of the rights
listed in the CRC cannot be fulfilled in many parts of the world right now, although the
document is useful as an ideal to strive for.
The question of overriding rights plays itself out in the controversy between utilitarians or
consequentialists vs. deontologists, one of the most basic debates in moral theory. Utilitarians
such as Bentham (1840) hold the principle that one ought to always do what will promote
the greatest good for the greatest number of people. The attraction of this kind of theory is
very strong in political theory and in everyday life. It is common practice to calculate costs
and benefits, i.e. positive and negative consequences, in deciding how to spend one’s money
or time, how to allocate municipal or national resources, and even in such momentous decisions
as dropping the atomic bomb. In family life, questions about paying for a child to go to private
school, spending time on tennis lessons vs. piano lessons typically are decided by utilitarian
principles.
However, utilitarianism has difficulty accounting for and respecting rights. Unfortunately,
sometimes the greatest good can be obtained only by violating someone’s rights. If utility,
especially social utility, is the highest value, then rights may be overridden. Classic examples
include sacrificing one life to save several others. Bentham, the staunch utilitarian, famously
referred to natural rights as “nonsense on stilts.”
Deontologists reject the idea that the value of human lives can be calculated in terms of
utility; some actions are never justified, however good the consequences, they say. Following
Kant, they hold that human rights must always be respected. Two contemporary American
philosophers who have been influential in defending rights theories: Robert Nozick says that
the existence of rights is simply self-evident (Nozick, 1974) and Ronald Dworkin defends the
view that people’s rights “trump” all other considerations (Dworkin, 1984).
A different kind of criticism specifically addresses the use of the language of rights in relation
to parents and children. The language of rights is adversarial, it is claimed, appropriate for
adjudication of disputes between strangers, e.g., in court, but inappropriate for intimate
relationships such as family. In friendly or loving relationships, one does not usually talk in
terms of rights; one resorts to invoking rights only when things are not going well.
This kind of criticism was anticipated in a 1979 article by John Ladd. Although addressed
to the doctor–patient relationship, it makes some important points about the appropriate use
of rights language. It argues against legalism, the ethical attitude that moral relationships consist
of duties and rights determined by rules. The problem is that if a request for help from family

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and friends is based on a right, it implies the absence of trust and thus is likely to destroy the
relationship. To quote Aristotle: “[W]hen men are friends they have no need of justice” (Ladd,
1979, p. 75). In a similar vein, Mary Midgley argues that rights-language is of particularly limited
use because it is so competitive and litigious; it is a win–lose formula (Midgley, 1991).
The key here is not to eliminate the possibility of ever using the language of rights in familial
relationships, but to acknowledge that it is not generally used or needed in everyday situations.
Yet, one does not want to make an ethical theory rely on an ideal and romanticized view of
family life. Things do not always go well in families, and statistics about child abuse and neglect,
forced prostitution, etc. are good reasons for advocating for rights for children. To deny children
the possibility of invoking rights would be to deny them a powerful moral and legal protection.
David Archard sums it up well: “[R]elying on love alone to secure the well-being of children
shows a misguided and perilous optimism” (Archard, 1993, p. 9).
A powerful critique of Goldstein et al. was developed by Martin Guggenheim in his book,
What’s Wrong with Children’s Rights? (Guggenheim, 2007). The rights rhetoric is inappropriately
applied to children, he says, because it separates their interests from their parents’ on whom
they are dependent. The focus should be on needs not rights.
A further criticism comes from philosophers who criticize the language of rights because it
treats people, including children, as individuals living in isolation from others. Rights talk, they
say, emphasizes individualism and downplays community. Joseph Raz claims that rights-based
moralities are impoverished moral theories because they do not account for the fact that there
are things we ought to do but that are not duties, and they do not account for supererogation,
actions or virtues that go beyond the call of duty (Raz, 1984).
There are alternatives to using the language of rights. Onora O’Neill (1988) does not deny
that children have rights, but proposes focusing on the obligations adults have to children. She
argues that this includes not only perfect obligations that specify what is owed to whom and
by whom, but also imperfect duties, i.e., general duties all adults owe to children, that may
be fulfilled in various ways. A particular adult has a perfect duty toward a particular child because
she stands in a certain relationship to her. For example, she is her teacher and thus must do
the things that role requires. A child has a legitimate claim against adults who do not fulfill
their perfect duties.
By contrast, O’Neill continues, all adults have general obligations toward all children, but
there are many ways to fulfill these imperfect duties. For example, it is an imperfect duty to
be kind to children and this can be fulfilled by giving them compliments or verbal
encouragement or giving them small presents. Imperfect duties are real duties: the means of
fulfilling them are optional, but doing something by way of fulfilling them is not optional.
However, children have no moral claim against parents or teachers who show kindness in other
ways but do not offer presents. They are not owed presents from them. Yet, O’Neill claims,
if parents or teachers fulfill only their perfect duties, they fail morally as parents or teachers
(O’Neill, 1988).
Some feminist philosophers propose substituting an ethics of care for rights language. Nel
Noddings is an early proponent of this view, drawing on the kind of caring seen between
mother and child (Noddings, 1984). While this approach offers a welcome focus on caring
relationships, it does not offer much guidance in particular situations and is based on an idealized
view of human nature.
Barbara Arneil, a political scientist, develops an ethics of care that expands the role of the
state in supporting parents by providing daycare systems, parent resource centers, in-home care,

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and so on. Such a society might go a long way toward alleviating the problems about child
abuse and neglect that have led to the acceptance of the concept of children’s rights (Arneil,
2002). But, until all societies are transformed into the caring communities Arneil envisions—
and the world is far from that—a strong case can be made for retaining the language of rights.
The language of rights has become enshrined in law and morality and, although it is not
perfect, as these critiques make clear, it remains the standard way of making claims about how
people should be treated. Without rights, people can be treated like property. Acknowledging
rights confers respect; in Kantian terms, it says one is a person not a thing. Importantly for
children, it imposes duties on others for protection and welfare or for non-interference. It does
not leave the welfare of children up to the charitable feelings of adults. In short, the language
of rights is a powerful moral and legal tool in any society and should not be denied to children.

Other Issues and Developments

The specific topic of children’s rights became of practical concern and a subject for philosophical
analysis in mid-twentieth century. But philosophers throughout the history of philosophy have
written about the status of children, the nature of childhood, and the place of the child in the
moral and political realm. The Philosopher’s Child is a collection of essays that presents the views
of Socrates, Aristotle, the Stoics, Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau, Kant, Mill, Wittgenstein, Firestone,
and Rawls (Turner & Matthews, 1998). These studies add to our understanding of these
philosophers, as well as filling out possible beliefs about children and provide good background
for discussions of the rights of children.
One question that has generated a good deal of lively debate in the recent philosophical
literature is the topic of intergenerational justice. Prompted by concerns about environmental
ethics, some writers have asked whether the present generation has duties to save or conserve
the environment now in order to preserve it for the next generations. While conservationists
insist that there are such duties, others argue that future persons cannot have rights because
there is no one to whom the duties are owed (Gosseries & Myers, 2009).
Another application of the question involves allocation of resources between present
generations. Anna Gotlib develops a feminist approach, defending an interdependent rather
than an oppositional model of human relationships (Gotlib, 2014).
On a different note, not involving the question of rights per se but as a recognition of the
dignity and capability of children that do underlie rights, is the program of Philosophy for
Children. The founder of the movement was Matthew Lipman, who published the first of a
number of philosophical books and stories for children in 1969. He was very successful in
changing the perception that philosophy is a subject only for college courses. His books and
curricula have been adopted internationally (Lipman, 1993, p. 373ff ).
Gareth Matthews’s Philosophy and the Young Child, published in 1980, records conversations
he had with young children and documents his belief that they think in ways that are genuinely
philosophical (Matthews, 1980). If one discounts the need for technical terms and academic
jargon, his examples are very convincing. In a later book, Matthews reviews the case of Gregory
Kingsley, whose legal petition to divorce his parents became a national focus on the question
of children’s rights (Matthews, 1994).
Other philosophers who have been active in engaging children in philosophical thinking
and introducing philosophy as a subject in pre-college classrooms are Martin Benjamin
(Benjamin & Echeverria, 1992) and Jana Mohr Lone, who started Questions, a journal by and

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for children’s philosophy (Lone, 2012). Michael Pritchard has written on children’s ability to
think critically and develop morally (Pritchard, 1991). There are now a number of universities
that train graduate students and teachers to teach philosophy in schools.
To end this discussion on a futuristic note: a question not yet taken up by philosophers is
this: Would it be a violation of children’s rights to be cared for by robots? This is not just
fanciful speculation; robots have already been developed and tested that can be used for child
care and can assist in communication with autistic children (Kozima, Nakagawa & Yasuda,
2007). Who knows what the future will bring?

Acknowledgment
For the formulation of the questions and some examples in this chapter, I have relied on two
earlier, shorter essays: Rosalind Ekman Ladd, Rights of the child: a philosophical approach,
in Kathleen Alaimo and Brian Klug (2002). Children as Equals: Exploring the Rights of the Child,
Lanham, MD; and the section introductions in Rosalind Ekman Ladd (Ed.) (1996). Children’s
Rights Re-Visioned: Philosophical Readings, Belmont, CA: Wadsworth.

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 11
Realising Children’s Economic
and Social Rights
Towards Rights-Based Global
Action Strategies

Michael Nyongesa Wabwile

Introduction
Children’s interests to fulfil basic social and economic needs have been recognised as legitimate
concerns and are entrenched in the regimes of international and domestic law on the rights of
the child. For example, economic and social rights of children are at the core of the United
Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC, United Nations General Assembly,
1989), whose ratification by the vast majority of States suggests that these rights can be enjoyed
by all the world’s children. Yet, in the developing countries where over 80 per cent of the
world’s children live, the realisation of economic and social rights remains an unfulfilled aspiration
due to capacity constraints and other challenges (UNICEF, 2004). This raises the question as
to who should be responsible for securing realisation of children’s economic and social rights,
and how the respective obligations of duty-bearers should be approached in an age of universal
rights of the child.
This chapter explores the prospects of applying the principles of international law on the
rights of the child to re-energise the campaign for universal realisation of the rights of the
child. We proceed from the premise that the obligation to secure adequate resources for children’s
economic and social needs and the burdens of child support can be best appreciated as
incorporating concentric layers of moral obligations that signify solidarity with children and
their basic needs. This affirms the view that the obligations correlative to economic and social
rights come not singly but in interconnected layers that can be mediated by a variety of sub-
State, non-State and inter-State actors (Waldron, 1989). The first layer, parents and families
are expected to establish conditions of a family fit for a child’s care, upbringing and development.
This is affirmed by the provisions of Article 27(2) of the UN Convention on the Rights of
the Child 1989 (hereafter ‘Convention’ or ‘CRC’), that ‘parents and families have the primary
obligations to secure the enjoyment of economic and social rights of children’. In the second
layer, the CRC assigns to States neo-domestic and extraterritorial obligations in Articles 27(3)
and (4) aimed at promoting the universal realisation of children’s rights. Applying the principles

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of these legal regimes, the challenges facing parents and families in meeting children’s economic
and social needs can be addressed through appropriate national programmes for providing
children’s services and extending appropriate assistance to families. In turn, the issues of
inappropriate policies and inadequate resources that inhibit effective State action can be tackled
through international engagement mechanisms. Under current treaties, the international
community has the mandate to initiate interventions to secure review of retrogressive State
policies and practices in the contexts of periodical reporting by States parties to international
child rights conventions, treaty-based communication procedures and other forms of human
rights diplomacy (Buck & Wabwile, 2013).
Moreover, the problem of inadequate resources can be resolved through systems for
coordinating international and global resource mobilisation. It is the central argument of this
chapter that universal realisation of children’s economic and social rights is feasible, and can
be accelerated through transnational action strategies aimed at coordinating global efforts to
address capacity gaps in less developed States. In other words, the current system of international
child rights law can be applied to review retrogressive State practices; and can be deployed to
create new frameworks for global mobilisation of resources to support universal realisation
of children’s economic and social rights.
The chapter is arranged in four sections. Theoretical aspects of the content of economic
and social rights and legal basis of children’s economic and social rights are discussed in the
first part, while the second part examines the scope of legal obligations of various actors in the
realisation of these rights. In the third section, we identify the main challenges facing
implementation of children’s economic and social rights in the developing world. The fourth
section concludes with illustrations of how the principles of international child rights law can
be deployed in global action strategies for the universal realisation of children’s economic and
social rights.

Theoretical and Legal Premises

What are Economic and Social Rights?

Economic and social rights are best understood as claims to the fulfilment of basic social and
economic needs that have been accepted as legitimate interests deserving the protection of
human rights law. In the context of the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural
Rights 1966 (ICESCR) we can tentatively distinguish economic rights as essentially workplace
and employment related rights (Articles 6, 7 and 8), while social rights refer to claims to secured
access to goods, services and facilities required to meet basic human needs, which should be
universally available to all (Articles 11–14) (Steiner, 1984). Social rights can also be appreciated
as rights to basic subsistence, to at least a minimum essential level necessary to sustain life.
It should be stressed, however, that economic and social rights are so closely interdependent
that the realisation of one category of rights is reinforced and complemented by the other. For
example, by the time individuals arrive at the workplace for duty, they would have enjoyed
a certain minimum level of social rights, essential for their survival and development, including
nutrition, preventive health care such as mandatory immunisation and basic education in early
childhood etc.
In a broader sense, economic and social rights can be seen as claims to secured access to
the basic decencies of life, without which human life would be imperilled. Applied to the
context of this study, children’s economic and social rights signify the claims to the realisation

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of irreducible minimum levels of enjoyment of these rights, which can be asserted for all children
as a class. They can be seen as the interests of every child to have legally protected access to
basic subsistence, clothing, health care, nutrition, housing, education, and more generally a
standard of life adequate for the child’s development (Hodgson, 1994).
Advocacy for children’s economic and social rights is concerned with promoting access to
the basic decencies of life for all children, with more emphasis on the most economically
vulnerable and marginalised sections of society. Whereas legal standards declare child rights in
universal terms, for every child, the realisation of children’s economic and social rights is
determined in the first instance by the economic capacities of the child’s family (Eide, 2000).
This implies that there are variations in the level of enjoyment of rights by children depending
on the capacities of parents, families and others responsible for the child. Therefore, the focus
is on securing access for all children to a minimum irreducible level of enjoyment of these
rights, below which no one should be allowed to drop (Shue, 1996). In certain cases, whenever
individuals’ enjoyment of social and economic rights drops below this minimum level, it
precipitates extreme human suffering, pain and avoidable loss of lives, such as deaths resulting
from hunger and preventable or treatable diseases. This is manifested in lack of access to these
basic social goods, and the absence or inadequate State-supported response systems for assisting
affected sections of society to re-establish an adequate standard of living. Such economic
deprivation, social exclusion and the inadequacy or absence of government mechanisms to
assist the deprived are violations of economic and social rights since they can be attributed to
acts and omissions of the State and non-State actors (Leckie, 1998). It is in this context that
both the conceptualisation and advocacy of children’s economic and social rights have their
focus on achieving a minimum floor of access for all, leaving the maximum or ceilings to be
determined by the differentiated capacities of the children’s families.

Legal Recognition of Children’s Economic and Social Rights

As already indicated, economic and social rights are entrenched in the substantive provisions
of the ICESCR 1966. Children’s economic and social rights are also elaborated in the CRC
and the Optional Protocol to the Convention on the Rights of the Child on the Sale of Children
2000. The United Nations Convention on Rights of Persons with Disabilities (2009) secures
additional protections for children with disabilities. At regional level, economic and social rights
are recognised in the American Convention of Human Rights (1969), the Revised European
Social Charter (1996) and the African Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child 1990.
Evidently, global and regional human rights conventions recognise and legalise economic and
social rights of children. Moreover, in view of the universal consensus signified by the rapid
ratification of the CRC, and the emerging practice of States parties to the Convention, it can
be asserted the children’s economic and social rights have crossed the confines of treaties, into
the general principles of customary international law.

Scope of Responsibilities for Realising Children’s Economic

and Social Rights

Emerging Networks of Obligations

Who is responsible for ensuring the realisation of children’s economic and social rights? This
is a complex question with competing perspectives. One perspective posits that the function

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of developing a healthy and productive next generation of human resources and taxpayers for
the nation, which is normally achieved through investments in child survival and development,
is a public duty that families perform on behalf of the society and State (Krause, 1990; Morgan,
1999). An alternative perspective argues that the duty of meeting the subsistence and
developmental needs of children is a private burden of parents and families who should be
expected to competently manage the responsibilities arising from individual decisions and the
consequences of intimate associations (Garrison, 1998). Yet, the burdens of raising children
can be onerous, and may require the combined efforts of many interested parties, such as the
child’s family, local and national society and the global society. In this section we examine the
allocation of responsibility for children’s economic and social rights and illustrate the emerging
network of obligations for securing the universal fulfilment of children’s rights. This network
integrates the child’s parents/family, national society and the international community.
Figure 11.1 presents a simplified illustration of the scheme of obligations in realising chil-
dren’s economic and social rights, indicating the applicable provisions of the CRC (Wabwile,
2010). The scheme is organised on the principles of solidarity (Silver, 1994) and subsidiarity
(Donati, 2009; Spicker, 1991; Zimmerman, 2015). Applying the principle of subsidiarity, we
begin with the proposition that the primary responsibility of securing the realisation of the
social and economic needs of children rests with the most basic social unit, which is the child’s
family. In the performance of their child rearing obligations, families are accountable to the
wider society represented by the local and national governments (Arrow B). In the event that
the family capacity is not adequate to fully address these needs, the wider society through the
apparatus of the State has an obligation to provide appropriate assistance to enable parents and
family to fulfil their duties towards children (Arrow C). The State should refrain from interfering
with the arrangements that families are able to make for their children, and should not supplant
or displace them from performing duties that properly belong to them. In modern human

Capacity of the international community to guarantee global implementation

of children’s economic and social rights (CRC, Articles - 4, 24, 27, 28)

National capacity to guarentee realization of children’s

econimic and social rights (CRC, Articles - 4, 6, 24, 27, 28) D
A

Family capacity to secure arrangements

for the enjoyment of children’s econimic and
B
social rights (CRC, Articles - 24, 27, 28)
C

Figure 11.1 Network of Obligations for Universal Realisation of Children’s Economic and Social
Rights.

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rights law, States are also accountable to the international community in the discharge of their
obligations to ensure realisation of children’s rights (Arrow A).
The international community represented by Third States provides a further level of
subsidiarity, with responsibility to provide international cooperation and assistance to States to
enable them to perform their national obligations to families and children (Arrow D). The
institutional spaces of national society and international community are infiltrated by the activities
of non-State actors such as the civil society organisations and the transnational business sector.
The remainder of this section discusses the dimensions of the obligations of these actors.

Family Solidarity and Responsibility

Realisation of economic and social rights requires the use of and access to private and public
resources. Private resources of the child’s family are the first line of support for the child’s
survival and development and fulfilment of the child’s needs. This implies that the level of
enjoyment of social and economic rights of children is determined by the income, assets and
other capabilities made possible by the amount of private resources available to the child’s family
(Eide, 2000). Accordingly, ‘the parent(s) or others responsible for the child have the primary
responsibility to secure, within their abilities and financial capacities, the conditions of living
necessary for the child’s development’ (CRC, 1989). Spicker (1991) argues that children are
born not just into a remote world, but into a family and a nation; people are not simply
individuals, but their lives are shaped by the circumstances in which they live and are members
of a complex differentiated society. He writes:

Subsidiarity is justified as an expression of the responsibilities that people have for each
other’s welfare, and that these depend on the closeness of their relationship. Because the
closest relationships exist within families, it is the family which bears the primary
responsibility for social support. The role of others who are more remote is correspondingly
reduced; they are subsidiary to the primary responsibilities. The role of public services is
subsidiary to that of the family, the local community and the private sector.
(Spicker, 1991, p. 3)

The child’s family is also the first line of identity and solidarity for the child (Spicker, 1991).
It is important to recognise that the emphasis on primary responsibility of the parent(s) and
family of the child to secure the realisation of the economic and social rights of children is
borne from the fact that the birth of a child is a culmination of a series of private family decisions.
One of such decisions should be to ensure that before the baby arrives there are adequate
arrangements for a family environment fit for a child, as part of the basics of planned and
responsible parenthood.
Therefore, the child’s parents are required to ensure that they make arrangements for meeting
the costs of the child’s social and economic needs and holistic development. Elaborating the
aspects of the rights of the child to health, Article 24(2) (f ) of the CRC recognises the duty
of the State to establish systems for providing guidance for parents, family planning education
and services to promote responsible and sustainable parenthood. In this way, the family as an
intimate association whose members have obligations towards each other, should function
efficiently so that these obligations are performed to meet the needs of its members. Therefore,
society is justified in expecting parents and families to make sufficient provisions for their children
so that they do not burden the public (Garrison, 1998).

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Advocates of State support for poor families acknowledge that society must insist on
enforcement of parental financial responsibility (Krause, 1990). Society and the State should
not assume the obligations that primarily fall to parents and families. In some contexts, effective
enforcement of parental responsibility can help send out a message to society about the gravity
of the burdens of parenthood. It can also contribute to slowing down the procreative behaviour
of prospective parents especially the unemployed and often unemployable teenage fathers who
do not have the intention or means to support their children (Chambers, 1979; Cutright, 1986).
Most authors accept the principle of subsidiarity and recognise that before seeking assistance
from public funds, all steps must be taken to ensure that the financial responsibility of the child’s
parents has been addressed.
In States that provide child support grants, the principle of subsidiarity is frequently applied
through the mechanism of ‘means testing’ for claimants. For example, Section 5(2) of South
Africa’s Social Assistance Act (2004) stipulates that registration to receive the child support
grant is subject to certain conditions such as minimum income thresholds and means-testing.
Means testing is justifiable on the premise that before parents and families may seek support
from public resources, they should have exhausted their private resources in accordance with
the principle of subsidiarity. In some countries, concerns about pressures on private and public
resources and the need to promote economic and social well-being of families and children
have resulted in the enactment of legislation that mandates the State and individuals to
implement family planning policies (Attane, 2003).

State’s Neo-domestic Obligations

States have respect-bound obligations to refrain from depriving individuals and families of the
use of their private resources to meet their social and economic needs. In conditions of full
employment and high incomes per capita, the economic and social rights of children are
adequately addressed by the application of the child’s parents and family (Eide, 2000). Among
the middle income sections of the society, access to the decencies of life can be secured through
private resources and arrangements with private sector service providers in matters such as food,
health care, housing, education, etc. (Eide, 2000). In such contexts, the State has obligations
to refrain from depriving rights holders from pursuing the realisation of their rights through
their own initiatives and private resources.
Second, the State has obligations to protect rights holders by enforcing standards for the
quality of goods and services provided by the private sector (Shue, 1996). Such protect-bound
obligations also extend to ensuring that the private actors such as the business sector, employers,
landlords etc. do not deprive rights holders. Moreover, protect-bound obligations require the
State to enforce appropriate financial controls such that individuals’ private resources such as
funds, savings and pensions are not suddenly rendered worthless through inflation, currency
collapse and other failures in the management of the State’s economic affairs. Similar duties
also extend to protecting domestic industries from external risks and loss of employment arising
from unfair terms of international trade such as dumping and unfair competition (Staiger &
Wolak, 1994).
Third, States have fulfil-bound obligations to provide material assistance to enable individuals
and families who are deprived of their livelihoods or access to basic social goods to re-establish
an adequate standard of life. Article 27(3) of the Convention affirms this family–State partnership
in child addressing rearing obligations. When families’ resources and investment fall short of
what is reasonably required for child development, the society through the agency of the State

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should provide the shortfall (Morgan, 1999). International law does not prescribe any specific
models for public programmes for fulfilling children’s economic and social rights. States may
discharge this obligation through providing programmes, systems and arrangements for ensuring
the most vulnerable sections of society can access basic social goods (Shue, 1996). Such
programmes can be financed by national public resources and additional external resources
available to the State through arrangements for international cooperation.
These legal principles are based on various premises. The express provisions of international
conventions on the rights of the child require States to secure the realisation of children’s rights.
To the extent that child-rights consistent conduct is required of States by international law,
such obligations are not merely domestic duties, but neo-domestic obligations. In addition,
there is a public interest in the well-being of children. The wider society stands to benefit
from investments made towards developing healthy, educated, trained, productive and well
adjusted individuals. For example, systems of income tax require that a significant sum in tax
dues should be taken from employees’ earnings and remitted to the State before the employee,
his family and parents can receive their share of the net pay. Therefore, the State as the principal
agent of society has a duty to coordinate the society’s efforts to contribute to developing the
next generation of tax payers (Shue, 1988).
Conversely, there are many social risks and problems that would result if parents and families
fail to make adequate investments in child development. As Harry Krause argued, adequate
financial support will turn a child from a social liability to a social asset, and society must assume
a fair share of the burden of decently raising the next generation (Krause, 1990). However,
the role of the State is not to replace and take over parental obligations if the parents and
families are able to perform these obligations. Society and State should assist and enable parents
and families to meet the needs of children by providing means for filling the gaps in parental
and family capacity to fulfil the developmental and subsistence rights of children (Spicker, 1991).

States’ Extraterritorial and International Obligations

The third layer of solidarity and subsidiarity for children’s economic and social rights integrates
the global international community. Where the capacities of the State fall short of what is required
to guarantee economic and social rights in the territory of the State, the international
community has moral obligations to provide assistance to that State through international
cooperation. This principle of external obligations of States is embedded in Article 4 of the
Convention. It has been explained by the UN Committee on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC)
to mean that when States ratify the Convention, they agree to obligations not only to
implement children’s economic and social rights within their jurisdiction, but also to contribute
through international cooperation to global implementation (UNCRC, 2003). A study of States
parties’ reports to the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child shows that several donor
States have began taking measures to contribute to universal realisation of children’s economic
and social rights through international aid and development assistance (Wabwile, 2009).
Emerging consensus among scholars in this field affirms that States have both domestic and
global/extraterritorial responsibility to contribute to the universal realisation of economic and
social rights (Salomon, 2007; Schutter et al., 2012; Skogly, 2006). Therefore, there is such a
concept as international solidarity obligations whereby rights holders can look to the
international community to establish systems for coordinating global efforts to secure universal
realisation of basic rights, especially the social and economic rights of the world’s children
(Waldron, 2014).

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Failure by both the family and society/State to mobilise resources to support fulfilment of
children’s economic and social rights has negative implications for the stability and security
of that State (Lochner, 2004). For example, a low level of education resulting from primary
school drop-out cases drastically limits access to employment, constrains earning capacity and
is a major driving factor for street crime among affected youth (Lochner, 2004). There is
also evidence linking parental child abuse, violations of the developmental rights of children
and State neglect to the escalating problems of insecurity in northern Nigeria and the
neighbouring countries affected by the Boko Haram insurgency (Aghedo & Eke, 2013). These
domestic social problems can become major transnational security risks, implying that the
international community should have legitimate interests in the well-being of the children of
the world and their economic and social rights (Aghedo & Eke, 2013). Therefore, if families
and the domestic State fail to secure the realisation of children’s economic and social rights,
the international community of States should provide appropriate assistance and support. This
is the legitimate scope of international and extraterritorial legal responsibility of States in an
age of universal human rights.

Problems with Implementation

Implementation of children’s economic and social rights is hampered by low levels of household
income, inappropriate State policies and inadequate national systems for facilitating universal
fulfilment of these rights (UNICEF, 2000). This section illustrates these problems and lays a
basis for advancing the case for global action strategies.

Challenges at the Family Level

For a majority of families in the developing world, the financial obligations of child raising
present daily struggles for survival (Barientos & DeJong, 2006). Conditions of family poverty
and economic deprivation are the main causes of vulnerability of children to sale, trafficking
and the worst forms of child labour. The UNCRC has expressed concern over the rising number
of children internally trafficked and engaged in prostitution as part of sex tourism particularly
in Kenya’s coastal region, despite the legislative provisions in the Children Act 2001 for protecting
children against sale, trafficking and abduction (UNCRC, 2007).
In such circumstances, there is need for a State-supported system to assist affected sections
of society in re-establishing an adequate standard of life, i.e., activating the second level of
support for children. State responsibility can be approached through the provision of programmes,
systems and arrangements to support families and enable families to meet their obligations towards
children (Barientos & DeJong, 2006). In some developed countries, the State provides cash-
transfers and other direct cash benefits systems to eligible families (Barientos & DeJong, 2006).
In the less developed countries, low-cost benefits-in-kind programmes with wide coverage
such as universal child health care services, free basic education, school meals and food
vouchers can be implemented with considerable impact for the vast majority of affected families
(Leonesio, 1988).

State Level Failures

One of the requirements for the realisation of economic and social rights is the existence of
efficient State machinery to provide systems for guaranteeing access to public goods and the

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basic decencies of life (Shue, 1996). This is often achieved through mechanisms for resource
redistribution such as taxation and provision of state funded programmes for access to health
care, education, school feeding etc. (Shue, 1996). In this way, the State can work in partnership
with families to enable families meet their obligations towards children and supplement any
shortfall in the capacities of families to meet the social and economic needs of children. In
some ways the State’s own priorities for human resource development converge with the interests
of children and families to access basic education and health care for all children.
Many developing States do not have well established systems and programmes for social
and economic rights and face many challenges (UNICEF, 2004). However, the biggest
obstacle to the realisation of children’s economic and social rights in the developing world is
not resource constraints, but the pursuit of retrogressive and inappropriate policies and practices
(Tomaševski, 2003, 2004). This section highlights some of the policies that are responsible for
the denial of children’s economic and social rights.

Under-mobilisation of Domestic Resources

A major problem that impairs State capacity to realise economic and social rights is the application
of revenue mobilisation policies that do not adequately bring all available domestic resources
into the national treasury (Tomaševski, 2003, 2004). For example, multinational companies
have been granted licences to exploit the mineral wealth of African countries and repatriate
all profits without paying any or any sustainable taxes or royalties to the host State. This is the
disturbing story of natural resource-rich countries such as Tanzania, Mozambique and the
Democratic Republic of Congo, which despite having huge mineral deposits have failed to
align the development of these resources to enhance the capacity of the State towards fulfilling
economic and social rights of their people (O’Higgins, 2006; McFerson, 2009).
Failure to implement a system for optimum revenue mobilisation is a serious policy failure
in aid dependent developing States. These failures are now being questioned by UN monitoring
agencies (UNCRC, 2009, 2015). Although many developing countries had achieved significant
economic growth in recent decades, the benefits of growth have been concentrated in the
hands of a few individuals, and there has not been a proportionate reduction in poverty and
inequality. As the UN Special Rapporteur on Extreme Poverty observes, this is attributed to
policies and practices that fail to adequately tax and redistribute the proceeds of economic growth,
resulting in concentration of wealth, with negative implications for human rights, social
cohesion and prospects for future economic growth (UNCRC, 2014).
The UNCRC has questioned inappropriate State policies and practices whereby States fail
to mobilise and allocate adequate domestic resources for programmes for promoting and securing
the fulfilment of children’s economic and social rights. In one of its concluding observations
the UNCRC asked why the economic growth resulting from Tanzania’s booming extractive
industries has not led to increased investment in children and the State party continues to over-
rely on donor funding (UNCRC, 2015). Examining the report submitted by Mozambique,
the Committee observed that despite the commendable economic growth sustained over the
last decade, the State party continues to be heavily dependent on international cooperation:
53 per cent of the national budget was drawn from development cooperation and donor funding
(UNCRC, 2009). This implied that the State had failed to subject the benefits of economic
growth to adequate taxation, redistribution and sustainable management.
Unsustainably low tax levels on the extractive sector intended to attract investment make
it difficult for the host country to benefit from the extraction of the natural resources, and to

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invest these benefits in order to ensure broad-based development achievements for the country.
Where such unsustainable arrangements or incentives are in place, they should be renegotiated.
As a result of under-mobilisation of domestic resources, many developing countries experi-
ence resource constraints and have to rely on external donor support. This reduces the amount
of funds available for redistribution to provide for programmes for children’s economic and
social rights.
When governments fail to mobilise the available domestic revenues, and have to rely on
donor funding, they are left with very limited options in resource redistribution (Culpeper &
Bhushan, 2010). As a result, allocations to child rights programmes are inadequate and too
low to make a real impact on children’s lives. In this context, non-fulfilment of children’s
economic and social rights in some developing countries is not due to lack of resources, but
the failure to mobilise available resources (Tomaševski, 2003, 2004). This results in diminished
capacity of the State to address itself to the legal obligations correlative to the fulfilment of
children’s rights.

Systemic Corruption
Another challenge facing the realisation of children’s economic and social rights is widespread
corruption in many developing countries which mainly results from minimal accountability
and a culture of impunity. For example, external donor funds intended for supporting the Free
Primary Education under the Kenya Education Sector Support Programme (KESSP) were found
to have been misappropriated and diverted to private use by corrupt public officials. This shows
that the universal fulfilment of children’s economic and social rights is undermined to a great
extent by the lack of political will of national governments to invest domestic and international
resources in programmes for securing the enjoyment of children’s rights and the diversion of
resources through corrupt practices (Cifuentes, 2012).

Towards Global Action Strategies

Despite the recognition of children’s developmental and subsistence rights in international and
domestic law, the realisation of these rights remains an unfulfilled aspiration in many States
(UNICEF, 2004). In our assessment, there are two main problems that stand in the way of
universal realisation of children’s economic and social rights in most States around the world.
These are inappropriate State policies (not lack of capacity) and inadequate resource mobilisation
(not availability). In this section, we demonstrate that these problems can be overcome, and
universal realisation of children’s economic and social rights is a feasible project.

Supporting Neo-domestic Obligations and Policy Review

In order to establish and maintain the necessary conditions for the enjoyment of economic
and social rights, State officers mandated to direct the functions of overall management of the
national economy must determine and implement macroeconomic policies that promote the
enjoyment of these rights (Dowell-Jones, 2004). Therefore the enjoyment of rights depends
on the quality of the ideas and policies adopted by the State. Unfortunately, this is the missing
crucial link in many developing countries. For example, studies on the root causes of non-
fulfilment of children’s right to education have established that the greatest obstacle to the
universal fulfilment of this right is not really the lack of resources, but inappropriate policies
adopted by States such as the introduction of user fees and cuts in government allocations to

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the basic education sector (Tomaševski, 2003, 2004). As Agbakwa (2001) has correctly argued,
even as they seek external aid, some developing countries misallocate and misappropriate public
resources intended for programmes for infrastructure development, poverty reduction and basic
social services. It is the duty of the human rights community to identify government policies
and practices that distort, deny and violate children’s economic and social rights (Tomaševski,
2005) and develop strategies for addressing these retrogressive practices.
One of the most persistent contraventions of the obligations of the State to fulfil children’s
economic and social rights is the policy of not allocating adequate resources for the relevant
sectors and programmes. This is inconsistent with the provisions of Article 4 of the CRC,
which requires States parties to undertake measures to implement children’s economic and
social rights to the maximum extent of their available resources. The CRC’s committee has
pointed this out in many of its concluding observations on State Party Reports (UNCRC,
2009, 2015). Unfortunately, the reporting mechanisms under the international treaties on
children promise much but so far they have not been applied to the expected impact.
The international community should pay closer attention to the contraventions and violations
of children’s rights in other States through the acts of commission and omission by State organs
(Granville, 2012). There are two reasons for this proposition. First, the performance of human
rights obligations by States is no longer a domestic duty: States’ domestic human rights obligations
are part of their responsibility under international human rights law (Wabwile, 2014). Both
under the emerging body of customary international human rights law and express provisions
of human rights conventions, all States are obligated to ensure compliance with certain
irreducible standards of respect for and protection of human rights within their respective
jurisdictions. UN Charter-based supervisory mechanisms of the Human Rights Council and
obligations to submit reports to monitoring bodies under various treaties affirm the international
nature of human rights obligations. Therefore the international community of States has a
legitimate interest in the performance of neo-domestic obligations by States.
Second, the denial of economic and social rights of a significant number of the population
especially children and youth is a high risk practice that threatens the peace and security of the
failing State and its neighbours. In other words, ill-adjusted and economically marginalised youth,
especially males, constitute serious security risks, such that their rights and welfare should be
the urgent concern of all States (Lochner, 2004). Following the collapse of the State of Somalia
in 1991, neighbouring States such as Kenya, Uganda, Tanzania and Ethiopia have been targets
of many terrorist attacks by Somalia-based extremist militia groups (Shinn, 2003). These facts
indicate that States should develop processes and initiatives for monitoring and supporting the
realisation of economic and social rights in other States, both for the welfare and benefit of
rights-holders in those States and in their own proactive self-interest. Such initiatives may include
engaging in processes of policy review in the failing State, providing economic and technical
assistance and so on. Two of the options for Third States to engage in this agenda are to politicise
the process of reporting by the failing State and, to commence formal communications
procedures under international human rights law.

Tactical Politicising of the Treaty Reporting Processes

The first strategy entails accrediting and integrating official opposition political party coalitions
in the processes of examining State party reports, including permitting them to present parallel
reports. This sets a context where there is a set of competing policies for discussion by the
UN Committee on the Rights of the Child.

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In line with other UN human rights treaties, the Convention creates a standing Committee
of experts with the mandate of monitoring progress made by States in implementing the rights
set out in the CRC. The CRC’s Committee does this by examining initial and periodic reports
submitted by States parties (CRC, Article 43). States parties have undertaken to submit initial
reports within two years of the entry of the CRC into force and thereafter, every five years.
Reporting obligations are at the core of the CRC: reservations to the obligations to submit
initial or periodic reports are not permitted.
Whereas working methods of the UN Committees provide for accreditation and
participation of non-governmental organisations, the emerging practice has not included
political parties in the processes of examination of States parties’ reports. It is generally accepted
that the examination of States Parties’ reports should be ‘non-adversarial’ and all necessary
diplomatic protocols should apply. There is no reason why national political parties both in
the government and in the opposition should not be involved in auditing the human rights
performance record of the government of the day. Since political parties formulate the policies,
manifestos and agendas of the government, they should be required and facilitated to play a
key role in the review of government policies, especially during the examination of the periodic
reports by treaty monitoring bodies.
One way of involving opposition political parties is to prompt them to evaluate the reports
submitted by the State parties before the reports are set down for consideration and discussion
with the representatives of the State party. As soon as the report of the State party is made
accessible to the general public/human rights community, the opposition political coalition
should (a) submit their comments on the merits or defects of the policies adopted by the
government, contained in the reports submitted by the State party, (b) present any alternative
policies and approaches that would enhance the realisation of rights in the State party concerned,
and (c) generate any alternative or parallel report they believe more accurately depicts the actual
situation in the State party. Political actors should be identified, vetted, accredited and prepared
adequately to enable them to perform these tasks. This requires educating the leadership of
political parties on their responsibility to contribute to the formulation, monitoring and review
of government policies and programmes for managing the State’s economic affairs and realising
economic and social rights.
If political parties are enlisted in the examination of State party reports, it may result in
‘politicising’ the process of State party reporting. Yet, politicising the reporting process is not
necessarily excluded by the treaties or the working methods of the treaty bodies. Indeed one
of the main objectives of the reporting process is ‘to facilitate public scrutiny of government
policies with respect to economic, social and cultural rights and to encourage the involvement
of the various economic, social and cultural sectors of society in the formulation, implementation and
review of the relevant policies’ (UNCESCR, 1989, emphasis added). Securing the enjoyment of
economic and social rights requires that we engage with the actors whose decisions shape the
choice of policies that determine the realisation of rights (Burnstein & Linton, 2002). These
sectors may include the political coalitions that compete for the opportunity to run the affairs
of the State.

Scenarios for Political Parties’ Participation in the Examination of States’

Parties Reports
We can conceptualise three scenarios when political opposition coalitions are brought on board
in the processes of examining reports of States parties by UN human rights monitoring bodies.

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First, the target State can embrace the reporting process as a useful learning process and concede
that the opposition and the international community are promoting more progressive ideas
than the State policies under scrutiny. This would be followed by the decision of the State to
abandon the impugned policies and practices, and adopt the more rights-consistent ideas advanced
by both the domestic opposition groups and the international community. It would be in
recognition of the fact that the government does not have a monopoly of ideas, and that it is
in the best interests of the nation for the State to switch to norm-consistent policies and practices.
Opposition coalitions play the role of a shadow government often professing supposedly more
progressive ideas than the perceived failing policies of the government. Using the mechanism
of State party reporting under international human rights law, the opposition political coalitions
can project a more positive vision on both domestic and global human rights arenas. Ultimately,
there would be enhanced pressure on the government to make tactical concessions to appear
to be on the right side of the policy contest. Governments can still claim that all their policies
had always been under continuing review and the policies advanced by the opposition have
always been under consideration by the various strategy committees of the ruling party etc.
This is a unique role for political parties and would deliver more effective impact in the context
of State party reporting than existing arrangements with non-governmental organisations.
The second scenario is where the government remains recalcitrant, disregards the merits of
alternative policies, and insists on pursuing its failing practices. Commitment to retrogressive
failing policies even when presented more feasible alternatives may arise because the ruling
elites have entrenched political and private business interests that are in conflict with those of
the people. For example, where the ruling elites have shareholding in food processing and
marketing companies, they stand to gain supernormal profits from high food prices (Lankester,
2007). As such they would be reluctant to implement pro-poor policies for enhancing access
to affordable food. However, in democratic political systems, the electorate would have the
opportunity to choose between failed policies for the enjoyment of rights and the progressive
vision offered by the coalition of opposition parties. In such a scenario, the ruling elites would
reject the option to reinvent themselves and risk defeat at the next elections. Writing on the
Kenyan case study, Cifuentes (2012) correctly observes that Kenya’s General Elections in
December 2002 presented the electorate with a choice between the incumbent ruling party
KANU, which had declared that the State could not afford free primary education, and the
alternative vision of the opposition coalition the National Rainbow Coalition (NARC). The
NARC took advantage of KANU’s equivocation and announced Free Primary Education as
one of its key manifesto promises, which was a decisive factor in its electoral victory over the
ruling party.
The third scenario is where the opposition has been elected into power following a
successful political campaign. The victorious political coalition would be held accountable to
their own high standards which were superior to the failed policies of the defeated parties.
They would not be heard to turn around and deny that they promised to implement more
progressive human rights policies and programmes. The fervour with which they championed
children’s rights while in opposition should continue to inspire their policies and programmes
to implement and fulfil rights, when they come to power.
In this way, the international law mechanism of reporting by States can be applied more
innovatively to influence the outcomes of economic and social rights policy choices in the
domestic political processes. By taking a key role in evaluating State policies in economic and
social rights, domestic opposition party coalitions can be trained, equipped and deployed to
push children’s economic and social rights into the mainstream of domestic political discourse.

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It helps to shift attention from failing government practices to the alternative options offered
by the shadow government.

International Human Rights Communication Procedures

There are now many opportunities for domestic civil society as well as Third States to complain
about the non-fulfilment and violations of children’s economic and social rights. The UN charter-
based procedures authorise the Human Rights Council to conduct investigations and make recom-
mendations to States and the General Assembly. States can support civil society to document
evidence of violations of rights and bring group complaints to the Human Rights Council under
these procedures. In 2008, the UN General Assembly adopted an optional protocol to enable
Third States and civil society organisations to bring communications and complaints about
violations of economic and social rights to the UN Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural
Rights (Vandenbogaerde & Vandenhole, 2010). Another Optional Protocol has also been recently
adopted to permit complaints and communications to be brought to the UN Committee on the
Rights of the Child (Buck & Wabwile, 2013). These mechanisms establish formal avenues to a
wider international forum for Third States and civil society groups to raise awareness about
retrogressive State practices and policies that violate children’s rights. Such domestic and
international contestations against non-compliant State policies can exert pressure on the target
state rulers to reconsider their retrogressive practices.

Exploring Alternative Strategies for Global Resource Mobilisation

International law of children’s economic and social rights requires that States should undertake
implementation measures to the maximum extent of their available resources and, where needed,
within the framework of international cooperation (UNCRC, 1989). There is growing
consensus that the Convention and other provisions of the international bill of human rights
actually assign to States a measure of extraterritorial obligations to contribute to the universal
realisation of economic and social rights. It is generally accepted that States should not
participate in the conspiracies to deprive the livelihoods of persons in other States. There is
also growing support for the proposition that States should apply their domestic jurisdiction
to restrain their transnational corporations from committing violations of human rights of victims
abroad (Seck, 2008). These are extraterritorial obligations to respect and exterritorial obligations
to protect respectively.
What has not been widely accepted is the rather complex issue of extraterritorial obligations
to fulfil children’s economic and social rights and the system of applicable international law
and State practice in this area are still developing. In the simplest terms, this obligation requires
States to participate in arrangements and systems for international mobilisation of resources to
support universal realisation of economic and social rights. State practice indicates that there
are three options for addressing States’ extraterritorial obligations to support universal fulfilment
of children’s economic and social rights.

Current Systems of International Cooperation

Recent State practice shows that States have created departments and agencies for international
economic cooperation and assistance to other countries to support the realisation of rights,
promote development and contribute to eradicating global poverty (Burali & Maxwell, 2006).

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In countries such as Canada and the USA federal legislation has been applied to entrench the
aid agencies in national law, with prospects of long-term funding commitments and
accountability to democratic processes. In the reports to the CRC’s Committee, State parties
have indicated that the provision of international aid through these unilateral and bilateral
initiatives is in pursuance of their international obligations under the provisions of Article 4
of the Convention.
The mechanism of unilateral and bilateral aid serves many political as well as economic and
social agendas. In several Sub-Saharan African States donor funding through such State agencies
has enabled States to finance programmes for free basic education (Riddell, 2003). This has
had positive outcomes in the aspects of children’s rights to education. This system promotes
the mutual interests of both the aid giving and aid receiving States and their respective peoples,
and should be enhanced through improving the quality of aid and measures to track and account
for aid funds. Moreover, developing States should provide for resource allocations in their
national budgets to address the needs of cross-border communities. International aid
arrangements can help to nurture transnational solidarity and should be part of the scheme of
international cooperation for children’s economic and social rights (May, 2007).
However, the existing mechanisms for international cooperation are inadequate to address
the serious resource constraints that hinder universal realisation of children’s economic and
social rights (Alonso, 2012; Burali & Maxwell, 2006). First, current inter-State aid transfers are
not universally inclusive and many developing States are left out due to the discretionary
preferences of donor States. Second, the amount of resources available for aid is unpredictable
and limited to what can be provided by a few donor countries. Therefore, there is a need to
explore alternative strategies for resource mobilisation to provide new sources of money to
address the financial constraints that hinder realisation of children’s economic and social rights
in the developing world. The remainder of this section attempts to plot steps to this route.

Towards an International Revenue System

This is an attempt to construct an alternative to the current systems of international financial
assistance and cooperation which seeks to generate new streams of revenue for States. Under
this system, all States shall introduce a special tax to be applied to selected transactions. This
entails generating new revenues that can be used to guarantee UN multilateral funds that can
be applied to finance programmes for realising economic and social rights. All States would
apply their national tax legislation to raise special revenue that would be pooled and administered
by the UN Charter bodies responsible for economic and social rights and development such
as the UN ECOSOC, UN HRC, and UNDP. Such a tax can be as little as a 0.8 per cent
levy on all international trade and another 0.8 per cent on all international currency changes.
The system would not require any major changes in international or domestic law, but only
minor amendments to tax legislation already in force in most State parties to the CRC and
member States of the UN.

Illustration
In the 2013 trading year, the value of all exports was USD 18,301 billion (World Trade
Organization, 2015). An International Child Development Levy of 0.8 per cent of this global
sum would be 0.008 ⫻ 18,301= USD 146.4 billion per year. By 2005, several international
expert studies had estimated that the cost of fulfilling the social and economic elements of the

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Michael Nyongesa Wabwile

Millennium Development Goals would be approximately USD 130 billion annually (Sachs,
2005; UNDP, 2003; Zedillo, 2001). This would be made up of the combined annual Official
Development Assistance of the OECD countries of USD 80 billion and a further USD 50
billion additional funding per year. Using this simple International Child Development Levy
system, the annual estimated revenue yield of USD 146 billion exceeds the combined annual
donor OECD funding (USD 80 billion) and the total annual sum required to finance the MDGs
(USD 130 billion). When this global strategy is implemented, the end of global poverty can
be seen clearly on the horizon.1

Non-State Actor Coordinated Global Solidarity Contribution for

Child Rights
In the modern global community, States have to coexist with non-State actors especially the
global business sector and international non-governmental organisations that wield considerable
economic and political power (Strange, 1996). Despite the dominance of States on the global
scene, a handful of large multinational corporations process annual sales turnovers running into
hundreds of billions of dollars and control resources and funds that exceed the Gross National
Product of middle income countries. Moral action by civil society can influence global public
opinion which can affect the fortunes of political leaders and trading firms. The world’s
multinational corporations (MNCs) are now recognised as major economic actors with
formidable capacity to function as drivers of development, job creation and eradication of global
poverty (Lodge & Wilson, 2006; Wettstein, 2009). Therefore, to decisively deal with the problem
of global poverty that hinders universal realisation of children’s economic and social rights, the
human rights community should engage the duties of sub-State and non-State actors in assigning
and enforcing the obligations correlative to the universal realisation of economic and social
rights (Waldron, 2014).
In recognition of these global developments, attempts have been made by the international
community to assign obligations relating to children’s rights to non-State actors. This has been
approached in the context of non-binding international resolutions. One good example is the
UN General Assembly Resolution on a World Fit for Children (United Nations General
Assembly, 2002) in which States declared that universal fulfilment of children’s rights requires
strengthening partnerships with non-governmental organisations and the private sector. Whereas
the resolution is not binding upon States, it carries sufficient normative authority for the purposes
of mobilising and realigning the capacities of global non-State actors. The resolution assigns
specific roles for non-State actors. In Article 32(6) it states as follows:

The private sector and corporate entities have a special contribution to make, from adopting
and adhering to practices that demonstrate social responsibility to providing resources,
including innovative sources of financing [emphasis added] and community improvement
schemes that benefit children such as micro-credits.

The gist of this provision is that the private sector should as a matter of legal obligation
support the cause of child development by mobilising financial resources for the universal
realisation of these rights. The global business sector has legitimate interests in promoting universal
realisation of children’s economic and social rights (Kolk, Tulder, & Westdijk, 2006). First,
businesses depend on skilled workforces to man operations. They greatly benefit from and
exploit the fruits of investments made by families and governments in child development.

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 Children’s Economic and Social Rights

Availability of locally trained and skilled manpower enables investors to open new frontiers in
the global market. Therefore contributing to international efforts to secure universal realisation
of children’s economic and social rights can be an important component of multinational
corporations’ global business strategies (Kolk et al., 2006).
Second, investing in child development can contribute to ending global poverty and social
exclusion (UNICEF, 2000). This has good prospects for growing middle-high income societies
whose enhanced marginal propensity for consumption can provide a larger market base for
the manufacturing sector and high end services. Therefore, it makes sense that businesses should
contribute to the long term activities of developing future markets that are the targets of global
multinational corporations.
There are two models for engaging the private sector in fundraising activities for children
– the donor model and the coordinator model (Wabwile, 2010). Under the donor model, the
private sector may voluntarily make donations through foundations, funds and charities for
supporting programmes for children’s welfare and rights, as part of social responsibility and
strategies for corporate branding. One of the recent donor model projects is the Global Alliance
for Vaccines Initiative that combines major donations by large corporations such as Microsoft’s
Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation and Anglo American Plc (GAVI, 2015). The private sector
donors contribute 23 per cent while governments contribute 77 per cent of the GAVI budget.
This model simply applies the moral duties of philanthropy, humanitarianism and solidarity,
which oblige people to contribute to alleviating the suffering of fellow human beings, if it is
not at a huge economic cost to those asked to contribute. These humanistic principles and
values are important because they shape the attitudes of those charged with performing the
obligations correlative to children’s rights. Children need many friends. Many donors are required
to support child rights and welfare projects worldwide. Yet, the donor model has many
weaknesses. The private sector may choose only those projects that are considered significant
to improving visibility and market share etc. Many large corporations do not adequately
participate in the donor model. This is why we need to explore prospects of the coordinator
model.
In the coordinator model, the multinational corporations shall not only be asked to donate
their funds, but also to deploy their trading platforms to collect a global solidarity contribution
from and on behalf of the world consumer community (United Nations General Assembly,
2002). Under this model, the participating companies shall charge and collect a small levy of
0.8 per cent on all sales and remit this to the Global Solidarity Contribution Fund. To ease
the tasks of administration, by 31 January every year, the participating corporations shall calculate
and remit 0.8 per cent of all their gross sales of the previous trading year to the Global Solidarity
Contribution Fund, and proceed to recover this sum by adjusting the prices of goods and services
in the current year accordingly. In this way, the international child rights movement can harness
the position of the corporate sector as a significant economic actor with the de facto capacity
to facilitate the collection of this sum from the global cosmopolitan consumer community.

Illustration
In 2013, the world’s largest 500 corporations generated combined gross annual sales turnover/
revenues of USD 31.2 trillion (i.e., USD 31,200 billion) (Fortune 500, 2015). This figure
represents the volume of wealth that passed through the trading platforms of these global
business actors. According to our coordinator model, they shall be assessed to remit 0.8 per
cent of the gross revenue to the Global Solidarity Contribution. This amounts to USD 249.6

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Michael Nyongesa Wabwile

billion, which should be remitted to the UNDP administered World Solidarity Fund (United
Nations General Assembly, 2005). The participating firms may recover these sums by adjusting
prices and tariffs in the current year. The profits should normally be subject to corporate
social responsibility obligations and may be allocated to children’s programmes at the
companies’ discretion according to the donor model. With such new sources of funds, it is
feasible that universal fulfilment of the economic and social rights of the world’s children can
be realised in the short term, within a decade. Global funds generated through these
mechanisms can be applied to address perennial resource constraints in some of the world’s
least developed regions.

Conclusion
As this chapter has illustrated, there is opportunity to apply the existing regimes of international
law on the rights of the child to re-engage domestic and global actors. Parents, families, States,
the business sector and the domestic and global society have legitimate interests in the care,
survival and development of the world’s children (Leibowitz, 1996). The ending of global
poverty should begin with investment in child development, so that the cycle of deprivation
can be tackled now, and stopped from transmission to the next generation. Since families operate
within the national context of State policies, programmes and practices, the leadership and
quality of initiatives by States in this area of human rights are of critical significance. For example,
treaty-based communications procedures and periodical reporting mechanisms can be applied
in proactive ways by the international community to contribute to the review of inappropriate
policies in target states. If target States are realigned to progressive child rights-consistent policies,
national efforts and priorities are likely to be applied more effectively for the realisation of
children’s rights.
Second, the scheme of States’ international obligations can be applied as a basis for mobilising
States to establish an international revenue system that can be used to finance child rights
programmes around the world. Our estimates and projections suggest that this scheme of
international revenue mobilisation can generate adequate resources to address the financing
gaps for children’s economic and social rights programmes in the developing countries. Third,
the trading platform of the global corporate sector can be harnessed to implement a cosmopolitan
resource mobilisation strategy. As users of human resources and recipients of custom in the
world markets, the global Multinational Corporations are direct beneficiaries of investments
made by families, society and States in developing the economic potential and human capital
of children (Matsuoka, 2002).
Both State and non-State actors can be repositioned to coordinate the efforts of the global
community to contribute to the realisation of children’s economic and social rights. In such
innovative ways, the problems associated with poverty, underdevelopment and inadequate
resources for implementing children’s economic and social rights can be addressed. Through
these and various other bold initiatives, the global child rights community can re-energise and
open new fronts in the struggle for the equal rights to life, survival and development for the
world’s children (United Nations General Assembly, 2002). With the entrenchment of child
rights in domestic and international law, the focus of international child rights conversations
in the twenty-first century should shift to the practical context of realising legally recognised
rights. Existing regimes of international child law should be activated to re-engage domestic
and global actors to address their respective moral and legal obligations towards children. Treaty-
based communications procedures and periodical reporting mechanisms can be applied to

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demand review of inappropriate policies in target States. States’ international obligations and
responsibility of the global corporate sector can be used to establish transnational resource
mobilisation systems with capacity to realise a formidable pool of new funds for child rights
programmes. Deploying these strategies, we should overcome hindrances to universal realisation
of children’s economic and social rights, and restore hope, solidarity and dignity for children
in this age of universal human rights.

Note
1 This vision is strengthened by the proposal for a Global solidarity contribution explained in the next
section.

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 12
The Evolving Capacities
of the Child
Neurodevelopment and Children’s Rights
Daniel P. Keating

In recent years, developmental scientists have increasingly focused their attention on the ways
in which all levels of social context can be considered from a perspective on children’s rights
(Ruck, Keating, Saewyc, Earls & Ben-Arieh, 2016; and multiple contributions to this Handbook
of Children’s Rights). This interface between a focus on children’s rights and a developmental
science perspective has been and is likely to continue to be mutually beneficial, in that it not
only sharpens our understanding of children’s capacities with respect to specific domains of
understanding (Ruck, Abramovitch & Keating, 1998; Ruck, Keating, Abramovitch & Koegl,
2016; Sherrod, 2008), but also provides an approach to implementation of children’s rights
that is well informed by developmental science. Both of these—more developmental science
research on the relevant areas and greater attention to how this can shape an agenda for children’s
rights—serve to promote support for greater attention to those rights.
The principal goal of this chapter is to explore multiple aspects of this interaction between
developmental science and our understanding of and action on children’s rights, and to shine
new light on some inherent tensions in our understanding of children’s rights (Melton, 2008).
Before describing these tensions and how developmental science can help to illuminate them,
it is important to address a general concern that is sometimes raised regarding developmental
science approaches to children’s rights.

Securing Children’s Rights: The Contribution of Developmental

Science
The core of this concern is that focusing on developmental mechanisms, processes, and
outcomes may lead our thinking toward the utilitarian value of advancing children’s rights,
rather than on universal moral and justice claims for doing so. In a recent overview of popula-
tion developmental health from a perspective on equity and justice (Keating, 2016a), I argued
that these two perspectives—utilitarian, focusing on measurable outcomes in health and
development, versus a focus on the inherent primacy of equity and justice concerns—should

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be viewed as complementary rather than competing. The specific lens in that review was on
the negative effects of social inequality on population developmental health, and the core
argument was that understanding the population patterns and the developmental mechanisms
that explain social inequality make an effective and supportive link to central concerns on equity,
justice, and rights.
Why, though, should we view population developmental health as an issue of equity and
justice? The utilitarian preference for lower social inequality is clear, because it lowers the
population and societal costs, as well as the burden on individuals—especially but not exclusively
for those most at risk from the negative effects of such inequality. One argument that these
empirical findings go beyond a merely utilitarian case for redressing social inequality is an appeal
to natural justice or fairness. Inequality of opportunity, as indexed by disparities in developmental
circumstances, can be viewed as an abrogation of the obligation to provide equitable pathways
to health and development. In addition, arguments for leveling the playing field are often more
persuasive than attempting to make outcomes more equal at a later point, for example by income
redistribution or economic transfers by government programs, both domestically and
internationally (McCall, 2013).
An even more fundamental concept is captured by the thought experiment designed by
Rawls and Kelly (2001) termed the “veil of ignorance.” If you were able to enact decisions
reducing the negative impacts of social inequality, would you make social choices that reduced
those impacts, even at the cost of some economic transfers from the well-off to those more
disadvantaged? The veil of ignorance constraint in this thought experiment is that you cannot
know in advance whether you will be near the top or the bottom of the gradient of social
inequality. The point, of course, is that we can never be unaware of our current social status,
so our choices are always influenced by that knowledge. But if one were able to be ignorant
of that, as in the thought experiment, it is likely that a choice for policies leading to lower
social inequality within and between nations would generally prevail.
A third approach is to look at this question from a perspective of rights directly. Although
views of the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC; United Nations
General Assembly, 1989) have often focused more heavily on self-determination rights (or
participation rights), there is an equal charge in the Convention regarding the right to
nurturance (or protection rights) (Ruck et al., 2016; Sherrod, 2008). Although a charge to
state actors to create reasonable opportunities for successful health and development may be
honored far too rarely, the gradual expansion of what is expected of states in support of the
developmental health of all minors provides further impetus for addressing social disparities,
and in doing so, focusing attention on actual rather than theoretical claims to rights.
From a standpoint that emphasizes the complementarity rather than conflict between
utilitarian and fundamental justice approaches to children’s rights, we can return to the
question of inherent tensions in our understanding of those rights. Sen (2000) developed a
taxonomy of arguments that have been made against a perspective focusing on inherent rights,
later applied by Melton (2008) to the domain of children’s rights. This taxonomy focused on
three issues: rights as inherent versus acquired; the question of who is responsible for assuring
rights and, if that cannot be specified, whether they are meaningfully actionable rights; and
universality versus cultural specificity of rights.
As Melton (2008) noted, following Sen (2000), there are sound conceptual reasons to reject
each of these claims against the concept of children’s rights. The first rebuttal addresses the
question of whether rights should be viewed as inherent versus acquired. It begins with the
proposition that there is a fundamental moral claim to the idea that individual persons have

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inalienable rights. If we accept this claim as axiomatic, as the CRC does, then the inability to
make an actionable claim to secure those rights does not undermine the existence of such a
right. It is a moral claim that we should strive to make actual.
The second question—who is the guarantor that children’s rights will be honored—is
sometimes seen as a competition between the right to nurturance and protection, on the one
hand, and the right to self-determination, on the other—or even as a zero-sum game for parents
with respect to their children, or schools with respect to their students, or legal systems with
respect to citizens below the age of majority, in that greater self-determination is necessarily
a trade-off at the expense of continued claims to protection. The conceptual rebuttal is that
the absence of a guarantor, or potential conflicts from guarantors’ perspectives, does not invalidate
the existence of a right. Granting the force of this counter-argument, though, does not fully
resolve this issue, because there are multiple ways to interpret these obligations as we take note
of the “evolving capacities of the child,” another requirement of the CRC.
The third question—cultural specificity versus universal rights—is sometimes expressed as
the imposition of “Westernized values” exported from the WEIRD countries (Western,
educated, industrialized, rich, and democratic) to the rest of the world. Even if we acknowledge
the obvious counterargument that the CRC has effectively been universally endorsed, the tension
of how these rights are actually enacted in different cultural contexts remains. Compounding
the enactment question is that, in addition to different understanding of the evolving capacities
of the child, it is clear that the understanding of children’s rights within and between different
societies and cultures is continually adapting to new knowledge and circumstances. In the U.S.
Supreme Court decision requiring retroactive review of mandatory sentences of life without
parole when applied to juveniles (Montgomery v. Louisiana, 2016), for example, there was an
explicit acknowledgement of “evolving standards” in its recognition of special rights as applied
to minors, beginning with and then expanding beyond the abolition of the death penalty for
juveniles in Roper v. Simmons (2005).
Even if we accept that none of these fundamental objections to the concept of children’s
rights are meritorious, we are still left with the question of how to resolve the inherent tensions
they identify. In other words, moving from acknowledgement and approval of the fundamental
reality of children’s rights as specified in the CRC toward actual enactment of those rights
invokes core tensions in interpretation and application.
The primary argument of this chapter is that understanding central mechanisms of child
development, as illuminated by contemporary research, can advance our understanding of what
those rights mean in practice and simultaneously enhance the prospects of securing those rights.
This argument is organized into three interdependent questions: how can we best understand
the interplay between nurturance rights and self-determination rights?; what is our current
knowledge about the evolving capacities of the child?; and how can we make best use of the
evidence from contemporary developmental science with respect to enacting those rights, while
recognizing that cultures and societies are themselves continually adapting with respect to their
understanding of such rights?.

Nurturance and Self-Determination: A Neurodevelopmental

Perspective on Evolving Capacities
The CRC seeks to guarantee children’s rights, including importantly through age 18 years
(Ruck et al., 2016). As already noted, there are two key caveats to keep in mind regarding

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implementation of an effective children’s rights regime. The first is that the CRC speaks to
both nurturance and self-determination rights, a distinction grasped as early as adolescence (Ruck,
Abramovitch et al., 1998; Ruck, Keating et al., 1998), but one that can be overlooked in
discussions about implementation, resulting in a focus on one to the exclusion of the other.
The second caveat, with implications for this distinction, is that rights are to be understood in
terms of the evolving capacities of the child. Across the age range from infancy to age 18 years,
there are monumental differences in capacities with respect to both nurturance and self-
determination. As these are not defined in detail in the CRC, interpretation is required.
Although it may seem that common sense can supply the needed interpretive frame, a firmer
stance would situate the discussion in an empirical context of developmental science. Our
understanding of evolving capacities has increased sharply in the past few decades, and this has
implications for how to view evolving capacities in both self-determination and nurturance,
along with the interaction between these two clarifying elements of the CRC.
To further clarify these multiple features of children’s rights as articulated in the CRC, Ruck
and colleagues (2016) summarized the key provisions in terms of four core principles that provide
the foundation for the CRC. These core principles include freedom from discrimination (Article
2), which prohibits “discrimination of any kind, irrespective of the child or his parent’s or legal
guardian’s race, color, sex, language, religion, political or other opinion, national, ethnic, social
origin, property, disability, birth or other status.” The implications of this principle are
profound for the persistence of social and developmental disparities at the individual and
population level (Keating, 2011b; Keating, Siddiqi, & Nguyen, 2013). The principle of the
best interests of the child (Article 3) states “in all actions concerning children, whether undertaken
by public or private social welfare institutions, courts of law, administrative authorities or
legislative bodies, the best interests of the child shall be a primary consideration.” The right to
life, survival and development (Article 6) acknowledges that “every child has the inherent right
to life” and that “States Parties shall ensure to the maximum extent possible the survival and
development of the child.” A key argument in this chapter is that this mandate should be broadly
interpreted to include social equality in developmental health outcomes. Finally, the right to
participate and respect for the views of the child (Article 12) indicates that:

States Parties shall assure to the child who is capable of forming his or her own views the
right to express those views in all matters affecting the child, the views of the child being
given due weight in accordance with the age and maturity of the child.

These four core principles represent the underlying requirements for any and all other human
rights to be realized (Diers, 2013), and can be grouped into three broad categories of rights
(Diers, 2013; Ruck et al., 2016). Survival and development rights include rights to basic health
and health services (Article 24), formal education (Article 28), leisure and cultural activities
(Article 31), parental guidance (Article 5), and information and knowledge about rights (Article
42). This also includes the rights and well-being of specific groups of children, such as refugee
children (Article 22), disabled children (Article 23), and children of minority and indigenous
groups (Article 30). This category speaks to the multiple dimensions that require attention to
ensure equal access and opportunity to the conditions that facilitate the broad domains of
developmental health (Keating, 2011b; Keating & Hertzman, 1999). Protection or nurturance
rights include rights protecting children and adolescents from all forms of violence (Article 19)
and sexual exploitation and abuse (Article 34). This also includes the right to special protection

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in times of war and armed conflict (Article 38) and protection from abuse in the criminal justice
system (Article 40). Participation or self-determination rights include rights entitling children
and adolescents to have a say in matters and decisions affecting them (Article 12). This also
includes freedom of expression (Article 13), freedom of thought, conscience and religion (Article
14), and freedom of association and assembly (Article 15). Engaging participation rights helps
young people, as they mature, to the realization of all their rights, and empowers them for an
active role in civil society (Torney-Purta & Barber, 2011).
Finally, as neither protection nor participation is pre-eminent, the CRC attempts to achieve
a workable integration (see Melton, 2008) or balance between these two broad categories of
rights (see Ruck & Horn, 2008). In addition, it has been suggested that States Parties approach
this balance developmentally, as reflected in a formulation that appears a number of times in
the CRC, “the evolving capacities of the child.” The integration advocated by Melton (2008) and
Ruck and Horn (2008) among others can be achieved better if we have a clearer understanding
of those evolving capacities. Moreover, all of these are amenable to empirical assessment of
progress, a recent and welcome goal of a number of international organizations (such as the
UN Human Development Reports: hdr.undp.org).
In aiming to achieve a balance or integration between nurturance and self-determination
rights, it may be tempting to see this as a mere substitution: nurturance applies to infants and
young children, whereas self-determination becomes more prominent in later childhood and
in adolescence. But this would be an over-simplification inconsistent with evidence from
contemporary developmental science. Two examples at the age extremes illustrate the point,
before turning to a closer look at the core developmental and neurodevelopmental evidence.
At a superficial level, it is indisputable that infants and young children have a very clear
claim to nurturance, but the relevance of self-determination or self-expression rights is less
immediately obvious. Looking first at the developmental experiences in this age group, there
is sound evidence that opportunities to explore their world is an important part of fostering
healthy development, and circumstances that restrict or eliminate such opportunities have long-
term negative consequences (Christian, Zubrick, Foster, Giles-Corti, et al., 2015; Finkelhor,
Shattuck, Turner & Hamby, 2015; Keen, 2011). Given that the places and contexts in which
such exploration can occur—safe neighborhoods, open play areas, and community facilities—
fall within the clear jurisdiction of state parties, this obligation to promote the health and well-
being of children begins quite early.
By the same token, we might at first glance assume that most rights issues for adolescents
would focus on self-determination, but this too would miss important claims that adolescents
retain with respect to nurturance (Ruck et al., 2016). As one example, there is strong evidence
that morbidity and mortality in adolescence is highly elevated owing to behavioral misadventure.
Although the risks of childhood disease and vulnerability have passed, and the gradual but
inevitable physiological declines of adulthood are yet to come, population health patterns for
both morbidity and mortality show significantly higher rates than we would anticipate
(Catalano, Fagan, Gavin, Greenberg et al., 2012; Eaton, Kann, Kinchen, Shanklin, et al., 2010).
A large majority of the contributors to mortality and morbidity during adolescence and early
adulthood arise from this broad class of health risks that can be characterized as behavioral
misadventure (Catalano et al., 2012). State actors have a major role to play in scaffolding the
numerous contexts in which these health risks proliferate for adolescents, including limits on
the availability of substances with major health risks, access to educational and practical means
to avoid sexually transmitted diseases and infections, guidance and restrictions to reduce
automobile accidents and fatalities, and so on.

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Neurodevelopment and the Evolving Capacities of the Child

Understanding the evolving capacities of the child from a developmental science perspec-
tive not only identifies the ways in which the full range of children’s rights—both nurturance
and self-determination—pertain across the full period of childhood—from birth to age 18 years
in the CRC—but also illuminates possible resolutions of inherent conflicts that arise in the
creation of policies to secure these rights. Some conflicts arise with respect to competing
interpretations of nurturance and self-determination, as in the added protections in juvenile
justice systems compared with self-determination in the area of reproductive choice (Steinberg,
Cauffman, Woolard, Graham, & Banich, 2009; Steinberg & Scott, 2003). Other potential
conflicts arise with respect to who—parents, educators, the medical community—should advise
or control decision making in controversial circumstances, like HPV-vaccination as a prevention
against cervical cancer in sexually active individuals (Forster, Wardle, Stephenson & Waller,
2010).
As noted above, a key impetus for our expanding understanding the basis of the evolving
capacities of the child comes from contemporary developmental science, both the long-standing
research on cognitive and behavioral development, and the many recent advances in
developmental neuroscience. The latter will be an important focus in this chapter because it
is information that may be of considerable value to researchers and exert substantial influence
on policy designers, many of whom may be unfamiliar with this rapidly emerging research
topic. As also noted above, though, the most useful and reliable evidence arises when there is
convergence between neuroscience findings and those from the study of cognitive, behavioral,
and social science. In addition to a focus on converging evidence, a second important criterion
for selecting which evolving capacities to focus on—because the developmental changes are
manifested in multiple domains too numerous to review—is their relevance for understanding
and enhancing the realization of children’s rights.

“Getting Under the Skin”: Early Life Adversity and Children’s Rights
For a variety of understandable reasons, advocates and researchers focused on children’s
rights cast something of a jaundiced eye on claims arising from biology. History is replete with
examples to justify skepticism, not least among them the discredited ideology that some
individuals have stronger claims to protection and participation than others based on innate
genetic endowment. The unspeakable tragedies arising from such (false) biological beliefs warrant
extreme caution.
The new science of biological embedding, however, is in many ways the antithesis of this
pseudo-scientific perspective (Keating, 2011b; Keating & Hertzman, 1999). The core idea is
that the way in which we structure the social environment through policy and practice has a
direct impact on the experiences of individuals during developmentally formative periods.
In turn, those experiences, largely but not exclusively through social interaction, are capable
of “getting under the skin,” affecting health and development throughout the rest of an
individual’s lifetime. These are not trivial effects. They include a wide range of health and
competence outcomes in childhood and adolescence, many disorders and diseases in adulthood,
as well as impacts on longevity. If we assign state actors a responsibility for providing the means
for assuring health, given this new knowledge we need to expand the definition of those means
that extends well beyond access to health care when ill to encompass the social and physical
living conditions that will become biologically embedded in childhood and adolescence.

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There are two primary mechanisms of biological embedding, both of which are relatively
new perspectives for developmental science. The first is perhaps more widely known. A
fundamental concept of developmental neuroscience is the construct of neuroplasticity (Nelson,
2011). Infants are born with a substantial surplus of neural cells, most likely as a form of
redundancy that evolved over many eons. As the infant begins to explore the world, a process
of “synaptic pruning” begins to operate. This pruning supports healthy growth of neural circuits
that are the most frequently used, but leads to a dying off of those cells that do not become
part of active circuits. This follows in simplified terms the rule of “fire together, wire together”
(FTWT): cells in active circuits that have fired together, wire together and survive; those that
do not activate in this way die off. More important for our topic, the shaping or sculpting of
those neural circuits is highly responsive to the nature of the environment in which the individual
is developing (Cynader & Frost, 1999; Webb, Monk, & Nelson, 2001)—hostile versus safe,
stimulating versus dull, and so on. In other words, the “brain listens to the environment” as
it builds core neural circuits that are the foundation for lifelong health and development.
To the extent that opportunities for nurturance and for self-expression and exploration are
impacted by state policies and practices—which have a major impact—we need to understand
that there are lifelong consequences for how those policies and practices function. More
pointedly, the failure to ensure adequate developmental opportunities, or to protect the
developing child from harsh or hostile environments imposes a lifelong physical, psychological,
and social burden for that individual.
More recently, the closely related field of epigenetics has shown that social environments
impact not only the neural circuitry through the FTWT principle, but also impact the way
that genes function through modification of how genes go about their business (Keating, 2016b;
Kundakovic & Champagne, 2015; Lester et al., 2016; Monk, Spicer, & Champagne, 2012).
In other words, it is not only the brain but also the genes that “listen to the environment,”
making fundamental alterations to underlying physiology, also lasting a lifetime in many cases.
Among the most important epigenetic modifications are those that impact on a variety of systems
that have important links to brain activity, so the connection to developmental neuroscience
is a fairly close one.
An important initial observation is that the burgeoning work on epigenetics in general, on
social epigenetics (Szyf, 2013; Szyf, McGowan, & Meaney, 2008), and on epigenetics and child
development, strongly reinforces the recognition that genes and the environment, nature and
nurture, are engaged in complex interactions and transactions rather than acting as opposing
forces (Keating, 2011b). Along with the long-standing work on synaptic pruning (Nelson, 2011;
Webb, Monk, & Nelson, 2001), epigenetics comprises an additional central mechanism for
this nature–nurture transaction. The nature of this epigenetic mechanism can be seen in the
most frequently researched area, DNA-methylation (Lester et al., 2016). Experiences—and
physical exposures as well—can cause a specific portion of the gene (known as the promoter
region) to become methylated. This region operates as an “on–off” switch for the gene, and
methylation locks it in a fixed position—although it does not change the DNA-profile of that
gene. It does, however, alter greatly what that gene can now do, that is, how the gene expresses
itself through its biological products.
If we see synaptic pruning as identifying a mechanism by which the “brain listens to the
environment,” then we can also see that epigenetics identifies a mechanism by which “genes
listen to the environment.” In both cases, developmental experiences—especially in early life
and during adolescence—and the social context in which they occur, have the capability to
become biologically embedded with lifelong impacts on developmental health.

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Executive Function and Childhood Growth in the Prefrontal Cortex

As children move beyond the early developmental periods, they begin to acquire important
new capacities that should be taken into consideration with respect to how their rights should
be viewed. This is not to say that there is a transition away from nurturance rights toward an
emerging primary focus on self-determination. Nurturance needs continue and require sub-
stantial investments by state actors, especially in education, an expectation expressed clearly
from the first UN Human Development Report in 1990 (http://hdr.undp.org/en/reports/
global/hdr1990). As numerous subsequent reports have documented, there are striking benefits
both to individuals and to societies from increased attention to basic education as a right,
including attention to gender imbalance in education (UNDP, 1995), to its role in promoting
the wealth of populations (UNDP, 2010), and to inequality in educational outcomes (UNDP,
2014).
Perhaps the most significant growth during the middle childhood years that has impli-
cations for children’s rights is the growth of executive function capabilities (Best & Miller,
2010; Friedman, Scholnick, Bender, Vandergrift et al., 2014). The primary categories of
executive function include working memory, the ability to inhibit impulsive or automatic
responses, and the ability to both maintain and shift attention while focusing on task per-
formance. Numerous studies have shown converging cognitive, behavioral and neuroscience
evidence indicating substantial gains in all these areas through the middle childhood period
(Best & Miller, 2010).
These skills are all important components in the evolving capacity for decision making.
Although mature decision making remains some years off, it is clear that even in middle
childhood there is an emerging capacity for appropriate contributions to decisions that affect
the child directly. This has received substantial attention in situations where alternative care
arrangements need to be made for children ( James, Haugen, Rantalaiho & Marples, 2010).
The age at which the child’s views should become determinative is a matter of controversy,
with debates among child development professionals working in different traditions (Vis &
Fossum, 2015). But it is also clear from the developmental evidence that even by middle
childhood, children have the capacity to make informed contributions about their own
circumstances and preferences, which deserve to be heard and considered.

Adolescence: Toward Cognitive Maturity—With Caveats

Much of the focus on adolescents with respect to CRC rights has traditionally and appro-
priately been on their growing capacity for self-determination and for decision making on issues
that affect them directly, from personal choices to active participation in society (Ruck et al.,
2016; Torney-Purta & Barber, 2011). A brief overview of the developmental and neuro-
developmental evidence lends support to the view that adolescents’ capacities to undertake
informed decision making grows substantially (Keating, 2012, 2011a), but the evidence also
raises some caveats. In particular, the recent attention to a developmental maturity mismatch
in adolescent development between a fast-growing limbic system and a slower, later prefrontal
cortex system (Casey & Jones, 2010), and to the role of dual process models of cognition more
generally, indicates a continuing need for careful nurturance as adolescents transition into
adulthood.
From its origins in the 1970s, there have been several approaches to understanding the devel-
opment of the cognitive processing system in adolescence, focusing on different hypothesized

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features of the system: speed of processing (Kail & Miller, 2006), core processing capacity (Keating
& Bobbitt, 1978), and the central conceptual structures within which processing is organized
(Case, 1978). In each case, there were a range of experimental paradigms whose goal was to
isolate one or another of these hypothesized features of the processing system.
Evidence rapidly accumulated showing that the speed of processing, even for extremely
simple reaction time tasks that looked at information processing while controlling for motor
reaction time increased over the course of childhood and adolescence, with an apparent positive
growth inflection point in early adolescence (Kail & Miller, 2006). The evidence also indicated
a plateau in basic speed of processing by late adolescence or early adulthood.
There is a strong parallel between the findings on increases in speed of processing (Kail &
Miller, 2006) and myelination of brain circuits (Giedd, 2004; Giedd, Blumenthal, Jeffries,
Castellanos et al., 1999; Lebel & Beaulieu, 2011). Increased myelination of neural pathways—
the accretion of insulating material on nerve fibers—substantially enhances the speed of
processing, and shows a marked increase during adolescence (Giedd, 2004; Thomason &
Thompson, 2011). A similar pattern emerged in research on processing capacity, most often
measured as working memory span, with growth through childhood and into adolescence,
with a similar plateau by later adolescence or soon afterward (Kail & Miller, 2006).
Harder to resolve was the question of which aspect of the system was the principal driver
of cognitive change: do changes in speed make it possible to handle more items in working
memory, or does expanded capacity enhance processing speed? A different perspective, often
referred to as neo-Piagetian approaches, argued that both speed and capacity were substrates
for changes in central conceptual (that is, not actual brain) structures, where the most significant
changes were occurring (Case, 1978). In this view, reorganization of the conceptual apparatus
enabled more information to be handled, and with greater efficiency and speed. Assessments
of central conceptual structures also showed a growth pattern similar to what had been observed
for speed and capacity of processing, expanding the competition among theories for what should
be viewed as the central driver of developmental changes in processing: speed, capacity, or
conceptual structures.
More recent research has yielded evidence that these aspects of the system are highly
interdependent and it may prove impossible to identify a specific leading cause (Barrouillet,
Gavens, Vergauwe, Gaillard, & Camos, 2009; Demetriou, Christou, Spanoudis, & Platsidou,
2002). Research examining relationships between changes in speed, capacity, or conceptual
structures as explanations of performance differences in complex cognitive tasks found in general
that, while there appear to be fundamental shifts in each of these processing features, it is their
coordination across the course of development that most likely generates observed changes in
cognitive activity at the higher order level of problem solving and reasoning (Keating, List, &
Merriman, 1985). This is reflected in current research on the development of executive function,
which focuses on how the core processes of working memory, attentional control, and
planning become coordinated in support of complex cognitive activity in adolescence (Albert
& Steinberg, 2011a; Keating et al., 2010, 2011; Prencipe et al., 2011).
Increases in internal connectivity among differing brain systems observed using neuro-
imaging techniques resonates with the view that interdependency among core processing features
is more likely than not. Among the specific developments in the prefrontal cortex system is
a greater and more coordinated set of connections to other brain regions (Thomason &
Thompson, 2011), findings that line up well with the cognitive evidence.
This converging evidence also helps to allay the concern that neuroscience evidence on its
own grants too much weight to that methodology—especially when based on or illustrated

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by the rapidly emerging tools of neuroimaging that offer seemingly compelling pictures of the
brain in action. Excessive claims in this respect lead unsurprisingly to skepticism about how
informative this approach really is. We remain on firmer ground when we draw more heavily
on converging evidence from developmental neuroscience, on the one hand, and established
developmental science findings from behavioral, cognitive, and social methodologies (Keating,
2012, 2011a).
A separate research tradition on cognitive development proposed a theoretical model
focused on the acquisition of knowledge and the development of expertise (Chi, Glaser, &
Farr, 1988). There emerged a stronger and a weaker version of this approach. The strong version
was that changes in reasoning or processing are effectively secondary to the acquisition of
knowledge and expertise. In this view, as one acquires knowledge and expertise in any given
domain, enhanced automaticity increases the efficiency of the processing system and enables
more advanced reasoning skills. Thus, changes in reasoning and processing are subsidiary skills
that are enabled by growth in knowledge and expertise. The weaker version of this approach
did not relegate changes in processing or reasoning to a secondary level, but did argue that
cognitive models that did not take the growth of knowledge and expertise as fundamental to
how cognition functions and develops were missing a key element.
Another feature of the research on expertise is worth noting, in that it also has implications
for understanding how neural developments impact on cognitive functioning during adoles-
cence. The widely cited “10,000-hours rule,” arising from a research program on expertise
(Ericsson & Charness, 1999) states that approximately that amount of time is required to achieve
proficient to expert performance in virtually any domain, but only when the time is devoted
to efforts to enhance performance. Although the exactitude of this rule is debatable, there are
fundamentally parallel findings from developmental neuroscience of an early-adolescent
proliferation of synapses followed by a period of synaptic pruning in which those neural
subsystems most heavily activated and engaged are selectively retained compared with subsystems
not activated (Giedd et al., 1999; Thomason & Thompson, 2011). There is a strong implication
that the advances in a wide range of more adult-like skills, including expertise, in adolescence
may arise in part from the impact of experience on synaptic pruning akin to that observed in
infancy and early childhood.
In summary, there is strong converging evidence on several features of adolescent cognitive
development and developmental neuroscience that supports a rapidly increasing capacity for
adult-level cognitive function: speed of processing, enhanced by myelination of neural circuits;
maturing executive function, shown in enhanced size and activity of the prefrontal cortex;
greater coordination and integration of cognitive activity, shown in increased projections from
the prefrontal cortex to the rest of the brain, and increasing myelination of those projections;
and finally, increasing expertise through learning and education, based in all these increased
neural capacities.
From this evidence, we may be inclined to view adolescents as fully capable as adults in all
respects, entitled to self-determination in all domains and without further need of the protection
aspects of a children’s rights regime. But this would miss another area of contemporary research
that encourages a deeper look into how these capacities are deployed in everyday life. Dual
process models suggest that there are two interdependent cognitive systems, one that is less
effortful, relying on “instinctive” judgments without analysis, and a more rational, analytic,
effortful, prefrontal cortex-based system. Everyone, not just adolescents, relies heavily on the
default, less effortful system most of the time. But the added complication for adolescents is a

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developmental maturity mismatch that leads them toward ill-considered choices because the
limbic, arousal/reward system is overactive during this developmental period (Casey & Jones,
2010).

Dual Process Models and the Developmental Maturity Mismatch

The seminal research of Kahneman and Tversky (1996) generated a lengthy list of ways in
which rational analysis can go awry, leading to a line of research on a range of “dual process
models” of cognitive activity. In this model, there are two sets of cognitive processes, one that
is associated with analytic reasoning and another that relies on more heuristic or instinctual
processes. Evans (1984) characterized analytic reasoning as slow, sequential, requiring substantial
central cognitive resources, and responsive to instructions; in each case the opposite is true of
heuristic processing. Dual process models have subsequently been applied to a wide range
of adolescent cognitive functioning (Albert & Steinberg, 2011b; Gibbons, Houlihan, &
Gerrard, 2009; Klaczynski, 2005; Reyna & Brainerd, 2011; Shaw, Amsel, & Schillo, 2011;
Stanovich, 2006). Common to these models is the recognition that the context of cognitive
activity makes a substantial difference. Because analytic reasoning is effortful and heuristic
processing appears to be the default, the former is less readily activated and requires specific
circumstances to evoke it.
Most prominently, research on adolescent decision making has drawn on the heuristic–
analytic distinction. Because analytic reasoning is both effortful and time-consuming, and many
decisions in everyday contexts do not require new analytic approaches on each repeated occasion,
invoking de novo analytic processing could be debilitating. The difficulty lies in distinguishing
between situations in which heuristic processes suffice from those in which a more conscious
analytic effort would be beneficial. The ability to automatize component skills may be a key
support for enabling the deployment of metacognitive strategies, and thus balancing the
advantages of fast but error-prone heuristic processing against slower but more reliable analytic
processing presents a significant challenge.
There is evidence that this may be particularly challenging for adolescents because the analytic
skills are relatively recently acquired and thus even more effortful than they are for adults, and
because the executive functions of inhibitory control and planning are not yet fully developed,
making it difficult for them to identify situations in which decisions might be better if
subjected to more careful cognitive processing. Even in relatively simple laboratory tasks of
attentional focus, adolescent performance approaches adult levels, but at the cost of ongoing
effortful monitoring. Observed in functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging (fMRI) as extended
activity in the prefrontal cortex, such monitoring absorbs cognitive resources at a much higher
rate than it does in adults (Luna, Thulborn, Munoz, Merriam, et al., 2001).
The difficulties that adolescents face in identifying situations in which more careful analytic
processing might be more beneficial, and deploying such processing in those contexts, are
exacerbated in socio-emotionally challenging contexts associated with emotional arousal or peer
pressures, or both (Albert & Steinberg, 2011b). This distinction is also described as “hot versus
cool” executive function (Prencipe, et al., 2011). In addition, there is independent evidence
suggesting that emotion and reward systems, affiliated with the limbic system of the brain,
mature much more rapidly toward adult levels compared with the slower growth of the prefrontal
cortex-supported executive functions, including self-regulation (Casey, Jones, & Somerville,
2011). There is increasing evidence for the maturational mismatch of prefrontal and

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limbic systems, which places particularly acute pressures on the adolescent’s cognitive system.
Enhanced reliance on heuristic processing and reduced invocation of analytic processing
has been hypothesized to play a major role in the elevated levels of risky decisions observed
among adolescents, a line of inquiry that is receiving substantial research attention (Casey
et al., 2011).
Complicating the picture is the seemingly paradoxical observation that directing adolescents’
attention to deeper, analytic processing and away from heuristic processing may in some cases
exacerbate risk taking. Characterized by Reyna and Farley (2006) as a distinction between
verbatim and gist processing, the findings are that enhanced attention to verbatim processing
may call additional attention to the desirable benefits of risk taking. A focus on benefits may
increase the likelihood of risky behavior, especially for planful risk behavior (Maslowsky, Keating,
Monk, & Schulenberg, 2011) and as a mediator from sensation-seeking to risk behavior
(Maslowsky, Buvinger, Keating, Cauffman & Steinberg, 2011).
These patterns of strengths and weaknesses in adolescent decision making are important
beyond their ability to contribute to choices that affect them. As noted earlier, population
health patterns for both morbidity and mortality show significantly higher rates than we would
anticipate, given the physiological health advantages of the adolescent period (Catalano et al.,
2012; Eaton et al., 2010). Reducing the harmful consequences of multiple health risk behaviors
during adolescence and early adulthood has proved to be a challenge. One major challenge is
that increased risk behavior is a normative feature of adolescent development, particularly with
respect to the development of autonomy (Zimmer-Gembeck, Ducat, & Collins, 2011). Despite
these challenges, state actors do have a responsibility as also noted earlier to consider policies
and practices that can mitigate these risks to the health of adolescents.
Developmental neuroscience, through both neurocognitive and neuroimaging research, has
similarly identified two relatively distinct neural systems that are believed to play a major role
in adolescent decision making and risk behavior. The first is characterized as an “accelerating”
system that links arousal and reward circuitry based in the “bottom-up,” limbic system (Casey
& Jones, 2010; Somerville, et al., 2010; Van Leijenhorst, Zanolie, Van Meel, et al., 2010),
versus a second “braking” system in the prefrontal cortex. A crucial, related finding is that
connections among neural circuits also show a substantial increase during adolescent
development (Thomason & Thompson, 2011). As noted above, projections from the prefrontal
cortex show substantial growth during the adolescent to early adult period, implying that during
adolescence prefrontal cortex projections are not yet sufficiently developed to fully exercise
their executive functions. Thus, structural imaging corroborates the idea that prefrontal cortex
control is growing but remains immature in adolescence.
Taking account of both the substantial growth to adult-equivalent cognitive functioning
by about mid adolescence, along with the implications of dual-processing and developmental
maturity mismatch findings, presents what might seem to be a central contradiction. On the
one hand, there is considerable support for the view that adolescents should enjoy full self-
determination (or participation) in areas that concern them directly. On the other hand, there
is also considerable support for the view that they are not yet fully mature and have a right to
rely on continuing nurturance (or protection), especially in areas where there are substantial
risks leading to increased morbidity and mortality, and on continuing protection, such as in
mitigation of sentencing for criminal activity (Steinberg & Scott, 2003).
This is more accurately viewed as a paradox than a contradiction. Adolescents should be
recognized as decisive agents on matters that affect them directly, but should also benefit from

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continuing societal protection and support. The resolution of the paradox invokes our
understanding of the underlying neural development, especially regarding dual processing and
the developmental maturity mismatch. In circumstances where effortful, analytic, “cool”
processing is enabled through consultation and adequate provision of information—such as
medical decision making, reproductive choice, care arrangements for oneself, and so on—
adolescents are equally good as adults at making decisions, and are the appropriate judges of
what is in their best interests. In other circumstances, where default, heuristic, automatic, aroused,
“hot” decision making is prevalent—substance use, reckless driving or other behavior, peer
pressured antisocial behavior, and so on—there is an ongoing need for protection and
scaffolding so that the most serious of consequences from behavioral misadventure are mitigated
or prevented. This is not to suggest that resolving the paradox in practice is easy or always
clear (Steinberg, et al., 2009), but rather that we need to recognize that the paradox exists and
base our societal choices on a recognition of the underlying dimensions of adolescent
development.
At the same time, it is important to recognize that neither developmental neuroscience nor
developmental science more generally can provide unambiguous answers to the appropriate
integration of nurturance and self-determination in children’s rights, or on any other topic. In
addition to the complexities already noted regarding developmental trajectories, it is clear that
cultures and societies are themselves continuously adapting with respect to their understanding
of children’s rights. As already noted, the rapid transition in decisions and rationales regarding
juvenile sentencing by the U.S. Supreme Court reflect such evolution in thinking about
children’s rights. Some of the most noted “hot button” issues involve conflicts between different
societies’ understanding of rights, or between more or less traditional views within a society:
reproductive choice; circumcision; juvenile justice; and many others. Although developmental
neuroscience cannot, and should not, seek to adjudicate such issues, the evidence can be
informative about what children’s evolving capacities look like, and what that implies as one
element in implementing a regime for children’s rights.

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 Part III
Children’s Rights in Legal,
Educational, Health Care
and Other Settings
 13
Health and Children’s Rights
Priscilla Alderson

The Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC, United Nations General Assembly, 1989) is
imbued with respect for every child’s embodied worth and dignity, and with the social, economic
and political means of promoting these. Ratified in every country except the US, the CRC
shows how health and health care weave into practically every human right. The Committee
on the Rights of the Child (2013) analyses this in detail, because all children’s rights are
interdependent and indivisible. The Committee regards ‘health as a state of complete physical,
mental and social well-being and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity’, following
the World Health Organization (WHO, 1946). The African Charter on the Rights and Welfare
of the Child (African Union 1990, Article 14) adds ‘spiritual health’ and like the CRC (Article
24c) directly links health to ‘nutritious food and safe [or clean] drinking water’ and the right
to ‘adequate health care’.
The great international rights treaties (UN, 1948; EC, 1950), echoed in the CRC and African
Charter, emerged from World War II and the holocaust. The United Nations realised the extent
both of frail human physical vulnerability to suffering, illness and death, and of the human
capacity to oppress and torture others. They agreed therefore on the need for formal global
human rights standards to protect the vulnerable and to prevent oppression and injustice.
The human vulnerability of children and adults binds us all together in positive ways, as
the source of our understanding of empathy, compassion, interdependence and solidarity
(Herring, 2012), the grounds of human rights. The years of childhood dependence reinforce
these human ties, positively through loving care, negatively when children are abused or
neglected. Besides being legal concepts, human rights emerge from physical and psychological
needs – for an adequate standard of living, and freedom from physical and mental abuse. Rights
to life, liberty and security of person all affect health, as do the freedoms of information,
expression, association, social inclusion and non-discrimination. These rights are the deeply
experienced and enacted means of protecting and promoting physical, mental, social and spiritual
health and well-being.
Among countless examples of health pervading the CRC is Article 31, on the child’s rights
to rest and leisure, and to engage in play and recreation. These rights promote health through
children’s quiet times and their lively activities and friendships, which help to reduce and prevent

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exhaustion, stress, obesity, loneliness and depression. The rights relate to time and space. Schools
take up more of children’s time with long hours of study and homework and stressful tests,
while many working children around the world have to work longer hours for smaller wages.
Both rural and urban public spaces, including woods, fields and rivers, parks, playing fields,
school playgrounds and youth clubs, are being enclosed and privatised (Pearce, 2012). In crowded
cities, homes are becoming smaller with many children living in high-rise flats (Minton, 2012),
so that these open public spaces become ever more vital activity and meeting places, necessities
not luxuries for children and young people and for healthy communities (see Chapter 32 on
children’s right to child-friendly cities by Chawla and van Vliet— in this volume).
One version of rights is ‘my rights’, selfish individualism and protection of private property.
The CRC Preamble endorses the contrasting version of ‘our’ equal rights, ‘the equal and
inalienable rights of all members of the human family [as] the foundation of freedom, justice
and peace in the world’. Free open playgrounds and shared piped water benefit every local
child, their health, families and communities, their present and future.
This chapter considers two main areas of health-related rights, based on Article 24 (CRC,
1989): ‘the right of the child to the enjoyment of the highest attainable standard of health’;
and the right to the highest attainable health care services with ‘facilities for the treatment of
illness and rehabilitation of health’. The concluding section considers why so many children’s
health-related rights continue to be neglected, and ways forward to increase their promotion.

The Highest Attainable Standard of Health

There is no ‘right to health’, just as there is no right to love, because health and love cannot
be willed or enforced. No one can tell a child dying of cancer, ‘don’t worry you have the
right to health’. Yet the child should be assured ‘we will try to give you the best possible or
the highest attainable standard of health’ within the limits of terminal cancer, such as with
good nursing and pain relief. On loving care, parents cannot be taken to court for not loving
their child enough. However, the courts can protect children’s rights not to be neglected or
abused by their parents, behaviours that the parents have the power to change. One example
is if parents refuse to consent to life-saving treatment for their child. In this way the courts
give realistic, practical support to children’s health. And the CRC Preamble speaks of children’s
need for respect for their ‘worth and dignity’, the basis of healthy living, and how all the Articles
aim to support ‘an atmosphere of happiness, love and understanding’ in families.
The CRC promotes justice by expecting that governments should not leave some of their
children to be neglected and unhealthy, while others have privileged standards of health. Every
child should be able to enjoy the ‘highest attainable standard of health’ that that state can support.
Yet the ‘attainable standard of health’ varies between the wealthier or minority world (about
17 per cent of people in the world) and the majority poorer world, when wealthier states can
support much higher standards of living and health and health care than poorer states can. The
CRC Article 24.4 promotes justice through advocating ‘international co-operation’ to achieve
the health-related rights particularly in ‘developing countries’. The CRC is concerned explicitly
or implicitly with many social determinants, or conditions, that can benefit or harm children’s
health. Determinants include adequate family income, road safety, vaccination programmes,
clean air and many other health and safety measures.
Even in rich countries such as Britain, one quarter of children live in poverty and many
others live in borderline poverty (UNICEF, 2014). The The ‘austerity’ programme has
disproportionately affected children, with ‘a great leap backwards’ in child health and well-

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being (Taylor-Robinson, Whitehead & Barr, 2014). Every day, five more young children die
in the UK than in Sweden (Taylor-Robinson et al., 2014). Many health outcomes for British
children remain poor (Marmot, 2013), and a baby girl born into a poor area may live 15 fewer
years in good health than one born in a privileged area (Due North, 2014).
Poverty and malnutrition ‘stunt’ children’s physical, mental and social development and well-
being. Between 100 and 140 million children have vitamin A deficiency, a major cause of
blindness, illness and early death (Iannotti, Trehan & Manary, 2013). One disadvantage can
lead to others (Doman & Woodhead, 2015). Children’s own poor diet and hunger during
severe food shortages appear to affect their grandchildren’s metabolism through epi-genetics
(Pembrey et al., 2006). To promote child health-related rights today sows the seeds for healthy
societies tomorrow and helps to prevent conflict, suffering and wasted lives (Bryant & Raphael,
2015). There are complex interactions between everyday life and children’s health. For
example, in England house prices are soaring and families who cannot afford the rising rents
keep being moved into lower quality housing away from their friends, schools and
neighbourhoods, greatly disrupting children’s sense of secure well-being and their mental health
(reviewed later).
The US ranks at or near the bottom among the 34 wealthiest countries ‘on nearly all indicators
of mortality, survival and life expectancy’ (National Research Council & Institute of Medicine,
2013). Indicators include living conditions likely to undermine health and well-being. There
is the highest teenage birth rate, almost the lowest survival rate of baby girls, the highest
proportion of single parent families, and more than a fifth of the children live in poverty.
Imprisonment is especially related to poverty and, in past decades, numbers of children and
adults in prison have soared in some countries. Many young prisoners have serious mental
illness and/or learning difficulties, and many have been severely abused and neglected, and
have very high rates of self-harm before and during their imprisonment. They need to be in
remedial settings instead of punitive ones (Willow, 2015). The US imprisons almost five times
as many people per capita as most other rich democracies, including 3,000 mainly black children
and young people. Thousands of them are serving life sentences with no parole, which means
death in prison. Often sentenced when they were aged 13 or 14 or younger, they may spend
years in windowless rooms in solitary confinement, without adequate health care for injuries
and illness (Stevenson, 2014). The topic of juvenile’s procedural rights is considered in the
chapter by Buss in this volume.
The CRC aims to support parents and families, not to control them. The Convention respects
women’s rights when it avoids saying that babies have ‘the right to be breastfed’, which would
overrule women’s control over their own body. Instead, states should ensure that everyone
‘and in particular parents and children, are informed, have access to education and are supported
in the use of basic knowledge of child health and nutrition, the advantages of breast-feeding,
hygiene and environmental sanitation and the prevention of accidents’ (Article 24, 2e).
States should provide adequate ‘primary health care’, ‘combat disease and malnutrition’,
‘ensure appropriate pre-natal and post-natal health care for mothers’, ‘develop preventive
healthcare, guidance for parents, and family planning education and services’ (CRC, Article
24, 2 b, c, d, f ). Family planning (Article 24f ) and population control can seem anti-child in
preventing births. Alternatively, they can be pro-children in seeking to reduce the immense
problems of over-population on a finite planet, and to promote the health and potential of all
children, when every child is wanted and cherished. Over the past 15 years in China, infant
mortality has halved, and the one child policy may have contributed to this progress. The
Chinese government’s annual health budget of about £230 billion only partly covers everyone’s

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health care costs, and there are frequent riots because of the high charges for medicines (Kaiman,
2013).
‘Traditional practices prejudicial to the health of children’ such as female genital mutilation
(FGM) should be abolished (CRC, Article 24.3). Children’s physical and mental health, their
rights to bodily integrity and protection from harmful practices can conflict with the rights of
people ‘to enjoy their own culture’ (CRC, Article 30) as shown by debates about FGM and
about degrees of physical punishment (debated, for example, by Sloth-Nielsen and other authors
in Freeman, 2012).
States should address ‘the dangers and risks of environmental pollution’ (Article 24c), a clause
that is rapidly growing in importance, given the dangers to air, water and land. For example,
air pollution from China to Mexico damages the health of children and adults in cities, while
many industries waste water and pollute wide areas. Greater use of pesticides increases resistant
insect strains, which are then met with higher doses of chemicals. Although the carcinogenic
pesticide chlordecone was banned in the US in 1976, it was found to contaminate Martinique
wildlife. Yet it continued to be used until 1993 to protect bananas in Martinique, because the
French West Indies export 270,000 tonnes of bananas a year to Europe. The chlordecone is
expected to pollute local land, fresh and sea waters and fish for the next 700 years. Although
families are advised which foods to avoid, vision and psycho-motor impairments have been
found in 1,000 babies on the islands (Valo, 2013).
The greatest threat to world health is from the greenhouse gases that cause global warming,
which is already associated with an estimated annual death rate of at least 150,000 (WHO,
2015a) mainly in countries with especially high populations of children. The world is warming
unevenly with a possible rise of up to 10°F higher in already hot areas parts of the world within
the next hundred years (NASA, 2015) and within the lifetime of many of today’s children.
Work to reduce climate change depends on recognising the shared equal health-related rights
of ‘all members of the human family’.
The CRC’s emphasis on basic health care reflects the needs of the great majority of the
world’s children for protection from malnutrition, dehydration and ‘minor’ infections, which
can be prevented and cured but which continue to kill millions of children each year.

Problems of Violence
Steven Pinker (2011) has argued that the world is now less violent and far more peaceful, with
less military conflict, homicide, genocide and torture, less cruelty and more kindness to children
than in past centuries. However, Pinker concentrates on deliberate actions. In some ways, the
world is far more violent today than in the past, often impersonally, through social structures
rather than deliberate agency (Lewis 2015). Although this suffering may be unintended, much
could be avoided and prevented.
While kindness towards many children may have increased globally, there is still mass illness,
injury, exploitation and death of countless children through violence (UN Secretary General,
2006), through neglect and abuse, and through the slave labour of 8.4 million children (Anti-
Slavery, 2012), the many children among the 2.48 million people killed in road traffic incidents
each year (WHO, 2015b) and the numbers killed or seriously harmed by pollution and by
poverty. If the poverty line were set at $3.60 (£2.40) a day, about 3.5 billion people would
be living in poverty, and 500 million more of them would be living in extreme poverty than
there were in 1981 (Hickel, 2015). Each day around 21,000 children die, many from lack of
basic health care.

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Global warming has violent effects in extreme and increasing floods, hurricanes and droughts
(Carty, 2012). Drought and hunger are spreading through many countries including eastern
Pakistan, northern India and Bangladesh, where 600 million people live. Millions of wells and
aquifers are being over-pumped there, so that far more fresh water is used than is being naturally
replaced (Goldenberg, 2013). Within the next ten years, nearly three billion people in 48 nations
are predicted to experience chronic water scarcity (EurekAlert, 2015). In wells across Asia,
there are very high levels of fluoride and arsenic affecting many millions of people in what has
been called ‘the world’s largest mass poisoning’, which is causing children to become misshapen
and disabled (Pearce, 2007, pp. 72–77). Another silent violence, which attacks children’s minds
and bodies and is connected to disturbed behaviours and learning difficulties, is leaded petrol
that is still used in some countries. Young children inhale and suck lead from flaking, leaded
paint work in many US tenement blocks (Nadesan, 2010).
Almost everyone is drawn into supporting unhealthy and even deadly routines unwillingly
or unknowingly. Just one example arises when it is hard to avoid buying clothes that have
been made in Asian sweatshops. Without adequate health and safety regulations, child and
adult sweatshop workers endure fatigue, illness, harassment, accidents, sometimes fires and the
collapse of buildings. There is also the violence of forcing millions of people off their land,
and away from their farms, into fetid city slums (Pearce, 2012; Roy, 2014).
Among the world’s refugees who are trying to escape from violence or extreme poverty
are numerous children. Half of the millions of refugees from Syria are children (UNICEF,
2013). Bribes and subsidies in government arms deals help to flood the world with ‘legal’ arms,
but from the seven to eight million weapons sold each year for over $1.5 trillion, it is estimated
that almost one million weapons are stolen or lost into illegal systems. Today’s lighter weapons
more readily arm child soldiers, increasing the risks that children will be forced into armies
where they are highly likely to suffer from hunger, exhaustion, infection, terror, disabling or
lethal wounds and post traumatic stress disorder (Bourke, 2014; Honwana & De Boeck, 2005).
In 2012 alone, almost a trillion dollars were funnelled out of the poorer countries, through
crime, corruption and tax evasion, and more of these funds flow out of Africa than flow in
through trade and aid (Global Financial Integrity, 2015). Global corruption in the arms
industries is estimated to cost $20 billion per year, diverting much needed funds away from
health care. India has the highest number of poor children, and is the highest spender on arms.
And the effects of armed violence cost Africa an estimated $1 billion a year. Each minute in
the world on average one person is killed by a weapon (Oxfam, 2015).
Wars are now conducted mainly in urban areas and in extremely poor countries, where
most of the casualties are civilians. In Iraq, where 45 per cent of the people were aged under
15 years, sanctions during 1993–2003 were estimated to have killed 500,000 children (UNICEF,
1999). Jeff Lewis (2015) noted that during 2003–2011, there were almost one and a half million
child and adult war-related deaths. He believed that Steven Pinker vastly underestimated deaths
in Iraq, most of which were ‘secondary’, from effects after the war through untreated disease,
injury, lawlessness, suicide and through the life-sustaining social fabric having been destroyed.
Every day in 2011, on average 100 Iraqi children died from malnutrition, lack of health services,
and from landmines and poisons leaked from weapons. There are also high rates of child cancers
and of malformed babies (Kentane, 2013)
Another way in which avoidable violence has increased compared to 50 years ago is in relation
to our knowledge, technologies, choices and policies. On knowledge, constant news reports
ensure that we immediately know about wars and other major disasters, whereas in the past we
were often unaware. Today we have the technologies, wealth, transport and resources to supply

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everyone with health care, education, clean water, food and shelter, yet we choose to divert
resources elsewhere, such as into the arms industry. And dominant policies in the ever more
closely-knit global village increase inequality and debt, and reduce the public services that children
especially need (Woodhouse, 2010).
The global systems of poverty and violence damage children’s health in several major ways
when they: jeopardise children’s present health, education and standard of living; reduce
children’s abilities to build better, healthier societies in future; erode the infrastructure including
health services, and the trust, justice and democratic systems on which healthy societies
depend.

Rights to the Highest Attainable Healthcare Services and Facilities

for the Treatment of Illness and Rehabilitation of Health
To become a patient is not a formal right, but it is a necessary step towards the right to the
best attainable health care. There are great differences in how children are or are not treated
as patients or perceive themselves as patients (reviewed more fully in Alderson, 2014). The
borderlines between health and illness are drawn differently in the minority and majority worlds,
as shown in the following examples.
Talcott Parsons (1951) identified disease as bodily dysfunction, whereas he saw being ill
and being a patient as social roles. The patient or sick role involves four expectations:
exemption from normal role responsibilities; legitimation often by a doctor; wanting to get
better; and seeking and cooperating with technically competent help.
Minority world children with brief illness, who might like ‘legitimation’ to rest in bed and
be ‘exempted’ from normal responsibilities, tend nowadays to be sent off to school with their
antibiotics and have to behave ‘normally’. Many children with life-threatening, long-term illness,
such as diabetes or cystic fibrosis, thanks to their medication, are very pleased to live thriving,
active, ‘normal’ lives. Much corrective surgery is greatly valued by children such as for
congenital heart disease or cleft palate, transforming them from sick or disabled children into
healthy ones.
There is uncertainty about when children’s seemingly abnormal feelings and behaviours
come within a normal range, or should be corrected, or punished, or are forms of illness.
Identified psychiatric disorders have multiplied in recent decades (APA, 2013). Sales of
medication to treat emotions and behaviours have also soared (Bakan, 2012; Mills, 2012)
alongside research to develop the treatments (Rose & Rose, 2014). In Britain, the reported
incidence of hyperactivity, autistic spectrum, depression, anorexia and many other problems
has increased (Young Minds, 2015). One in ten children aged under 15 years have diagnosed
mental health problems, including over 8,000 aged under 10 years, as well as 72 per cent of
children in care, and 95 per cent of imprisoned young offenders. One in every 12 to 15 young
people deliberately self-harms, with a steep rise in hospital admissions and reported suicide
attempts over the past decade. More than half of all adults with mental health problems were
diagnosed in childhood, when less than half were treated appropriately, so neglect in childhood
can have far-reaching effects (House of Commons, 2014; Young Minds, 2015). There is concern
about inadequate services and incomplete, out-of-date records, when the most recent national
report was still Costello et al. (2003). Yet child and adolescent community mental health services
have been cut by up to 94 per cent during 2011–2014 in Britain’s second largest city (Mental
Health Today, 2014). Thousands of nurses were dismissed (Royal College of Nursing, 2015),
so that many untreated problems become more serious and expensive to treat. Children in

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great need, such as after attempted suicide, are taken to crowded Accident & Emergency
departments where the staff do not have the skill or time to help them. Children who are
thought to be a danger to themselves or others may be detained in police cells or sent hundreds
of miles away to where a hospital bed can be found, frequently in wards for very disturbed
adults (House of Commons, 2014).
CRC Article 25 enshrines the right of children when they receive ‘care, protection or
treatment [for] physical or mental health, to a periodic review of the treatment provided for
the child and all other circumstances relevant to his or her treatment’. This important right
helps to protect children from sub-standard care, to maintain general standards, and to use
complaints to inform and improve future services. If the review reveals serious problems that
the staff will not correct, then the only course for children and parents may be able to appeal
for legal support for their complaint (CRC, Article 40). However, in England their financial
legal aid has been cut (Children’s Society, 2015).
Each year, medical screening results in millions of possibly healthy children being identified
as patients who receive health care services; hundreds of thousands of babies are screened to
detect the very few who have, for example, cystic fibrosis, in the belief that treatment is most
effective when it begins as early as possible. Many who would have died as children or teenagers
can now expect to live into their 40s or longer, which seems a miracle to affected families,
who see their right to the highest attainable health and health care more than justifies the mass
neonatal screening. However, screening of children for late-onset genetic-related conditions
such as breast cancer or Huntington’s chorea is more controversial. Not only will the conditions
develop years later in adulthood, but there is no cure or prevention (apart from a double
mastectomy in adulthood for breast cancer). Should healthy children be haunted with such
longer term future fears, which could complicate their prospects for marriage/partnership and
for having their own children? (Evans et al., 2011). If children are tested and found to be
carriers of recessive genetic conditions, when they will not have cystic fibrosis or sickle cell
themselves, for example, but might pass the illness on to their children, when should they be
informed? The right to information can conflict with the right to privacy and the freedom
not to be burdened with unwanted fears that have no remedy.
While many children and parents value their health care treatments, some find that
treatments are useless or harmful, or they do not want to be treated as patients, while others
remain in great unmet need. Millions of majority world children who are severely ill and urgently
need medical treatment have no hope of becoming patients in terms of seeing a doctor and
receiving a diagnosis and formal health care.
Excellent health care services do not guarantee excellent standards of health. The US has
the highest health care budgets and some of the best doctors, nurses and hospitals in the world,
but one in four children were denied health care in 2007 (Children’s Health Fund). And although
Obamacare has improved matters, it leaves many children under-insured (WND, 2013).
Antenatal, normal birth and newborn care cost an average $30,000 in 2013 and, for a caesarean
section, $50,000 (Symons, 2013). Commercial insurers paid an average of $18,329 and for
caesareans $27,866, leaving families to meet the difference, which bankrupted many of them.
Despite the highest health care costs in the world, 50 per cent more babies die in the US
during their first day of life than in any other industrialised nation surveyed (Manning, 2013).
Medicine and nursing are international disciplines, and major hospitals everywhere are run
on similar lines, so that all countries can benefit from the knowledge and skill. Yet expensively
trained health care staff tend to move from poorer countries, ridden with tropical diseases,
where there is much greater need and up to half the population may be children and young

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people, into richer countries where children may be one fifth or less of the population. It was
reported that: ‘There are more nurses from Malawi in Manchester than in Malawi and more
doctors from Ethiopia in Chicago than in Ethiopia’ (Khor, 2006).
A similar imbalance can be found when pharmaceutical companies invest in researching
profitable medicines, such as for behavioural problems of relatively healthy, minority world
children (Bakan, 2012), but neglect research on tropical diseases that endanger millions of people,
especially young children who lack immunity and are most likely to be disabled or to die from
infections. The huge potential market for medicines in the majority world is largely closed by
poverty, and global drug companies sue firms in India, trying to prevent their efforts to meet
the great need by producing cheap versions of costly medicines (Pharmaceutical Manufacturing,
2014). There is also less regulation in many countries as well as over the internet, with higher
risks of fake, contaminated and out-of-date medicines, of inaccurate over-prescribing by
under-trained doctors, and misuse of medicines by everyone who cannot read the instructions.
And leading pharmaceutical corporations have bribed thousands of Chinese doctors to
overprescribe and overcharge for drugs (Anderson, 2013), especially for cancer treatments, when
desperate parents will accept almost any medical advice for their sick child. Authorities and
hospitals that rely on donations from these firms dare not prosecute them.
The 2014–2015 Ebola epidemic in West Africa revealed missing health services in areas
with the highest maternal and perinatal mortality rates in the world (Huff, 2015). The rates
had been improving. Each year across the region, the estimated 800,000 women who give
birth became more likely to receive free care in a health centre assisted by skilled staff, to promote
babies’ right to life. However, there are still very limited health care and sanitation services,
basic resources such as clean water and soap, and limited common knowledge about how to
prevent and treat diseases. Infection spreads rapidly among malnourished people with low
resistance to disease living in crowded slums. During the Ebola epidemic, when no one dared
touch them, and they were afraid to go to a hospital, women had their babies unaided at home
or in the streets (Boseley, 2014). Hospitals came to be feared and avoided as death houses, so
that rates of untreated serious and fatal disease rose. Schools, markets and farms closed down
and hunger increased, while many children who were orphaned by Ebola were feared and
isolated. Ebola revealed the whole unequal, unjust global health care system, most extreme in
Africa, where up to half the citizens in some states are aged under 15 years (BBC, 2014). Ebola
epidemics prove the need for CRC Article 24.4, mentioned earlier, which addresses global
injustice by requiring all states ‘to promote and encourage international co-operation’ to respect
all children’s health-related rights; ‘particular account shall be taken of the needs of developing
countries’.
From numerous examples of severe illness, an estimated four million people in Nigeria alone
currently have extremely painful sickle cell disease, and each year over 150,000 affected children
are born, while 100,000 affected children and adults die (Sickle Cell Society, 2014).

About 100,000 individuals in the US and millions more worldwide have sickle cell disease,
which leaves them at risk of strokes, disability and premature death. [It] is the most common
genetic disorder affecting African-American individuals [as well as] those from other ethnic
and racial backgrounds.
(Wang et al., 2013)

They tend to live either in poorer countries, or in poorer communities in rich countries, yet
they have vital and costly health care needs.

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Sickle cell is a recessive genetic disease (both parents have to be carriers, though they may
not have the full disease or be aware that they are carriers), and higher numbers of affected
people increase the chance of their intermarriage. During the 1970s, the needs of people with
another severe, recessive, genetic blood disorder, thalassaemia, were overwhelming health service
budgets in southern Cypress. All the authorities, including the churches, promoted pre-
conceptual prevention that still continues. Individuals are tested and counselled before marriage,
so that identified carriers have the informed choice to avoid marrying one another, and to
avoid the distress of having affected children or making painful decisions about prenatal testing
and terminations (Angastiniotis, Kyriakidou & Hadjiminas, 1986). This compassionate and cost-
effective work very urgently needs to be organised wherever there are high rates of severe
recessive genetic disorders.

Consent to Medical Treatment and Research

Central to Locke’s and Kant’s concepts of modern rights is the self-determining autonomous
‘Man’. His autonomy in decision making is so deeply assumed that it is not mentioned in the
great rights treaties, but is phrased as negative rights to non-interference with private life and
implicitly supported by all other rights (EC, 1950; UN, 1948). Children’s rights are both
weakened and strengthened by Article 12, which respects three levels of children’s views: first,
children’s rights to form views and second, to express them. Yet even pre-term babies form
and express views, such as when they are tired or hungry or happy (Alderson, Hawthorne, &
Killen, 2005), no one can stop them, so are these really rights or simply activities? Third, children
have the right that their views are ‘given due weight in accordance with the age or maturity
of the child’. This right is so highly qualified and dependent on adults’ assessments that its
status as a right is uncertain.
The CRC does not mention ‘decision making’. Yet it respects extra legal provision made
by states, which is ‘more conducive to the realization of the rights of the child’ than the
Convention (Article 41). English common law, which influences the 53 British Commonwealth
countries, respects a fourth level: the right of ‘Gillick competent’ children to make their own
decisions (Gillick v. Wisbech & West Norfolk Area Health Authority, 1985). Children of unspecified
age can give legally valid consent, such as to medical treatment, when they are able to make
an informed and enlightened decision and their doctor deems they are competent. Empirical
research demonstrates how children are involved in minor though not major medical decisions
about cancer care (Coyne et al., 2014), and how some experienced younger children can be
competent decision makers about major surgery and diabetes care (Alderson, 1993; Alderson
et al., 2006). If children are not happy about chemotherapy or surgery intended to save life
or prevent serious disability, usually great efforts are made (in Britain) to inform and involve
them, sort out their fears and misunderstandings, negotiate as much as possible, and avoid
forcing treatment against fearful resistance. Complications about the legal restrictions on
children’s right to consent to treatment but not to refuse it are reviewed in detail elsewhere
(Alderson, 2012).
Health care offers children unique respect for their consent. Children’s rights are sometimes
divided into the ‘3 Ps’, provision, protection and participation, which all clearly relate to health
and health care. Powerful dyads may be set up: the providing adult and the needy child; the
protecting adult and the victim child; the more mutual equal partnership of participation between
adults and children or young people. Many professionals, such as teachers and social workers,
concentrate on providing and protecting and may override children’s and parents’ views and

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decisions, and claim that only professional experts can determine the child’s best educational
or social welfare interests. Teachers serve groups of children, and must balance individual with
group rights, which further downplays each child’s own views. Social workers may want to
protect children from the stress, anxiety and risks of sharing full yet distressing information,
and letting children make decisions that might go wrong, or bring them into danger. In contrast,
Anglo-American law requires doctors treating each individual child to give detailed information
and to respect the child’s and/or parent’s informed and voluntary or unpressured consent. Doctors
cannot override families’ decisions without going to court and obtaining legal authority
(Brazier & Cave, 2011).
Health care and medical research ethics thus set the highest standards of respect for children’s
rights, because of the high direct and obvious risks if a child’s body is harmed. Voluntary consent
as the central human right was defined in the Nuremberg Code (1947): The person concerned
should have sufficient information and freedom from pressure to be able to make a free,
‘understanding and enlightened decision’. Nuremberg was agreed (along with EC, 1950; UN,
1948) in reaction to abusive medical research during the holocaust (see the beginning of this
chapter). Informed consent to treatment involves knowing the hoped-for benefits, the methods
and processes, risks and discomforts, any alternative treatments, and the likely effects of the
continuing problem if it is not treated (adapted from Declaration of Helsinki, WMA, 1964/2013).
The discussion and relationship between the doctor and child patient or research participant,
in their aims, topics, methods, processes, values and outcomes, are all supposed to centre on
the child’s and/or parent’s autonomy, qualified by concern for the child’s ‘best interests’ and
‘evolving capacities’ (Articles 3, 5, 18). There should be honesty about risks, caution about
hoped-for benefits, and deference to the patient’s and/or parent’s decision. Children with long-
term conditions often know much from experience about the bodily problems to be treated,
and the desired balance between the need and hoped-for benefits of treatment against the harms
and costs (Alderson, 1993).
Uniquely in English law, doctors are ultimately accountable to the courts not for making
a correct decision, but for ensuring that the patient and/or parent was able to make an informed
and voluntary decision. The doctor cannot claim that the parents were incompetent to decide,
as teachers and social workers might do. Doctors who act without consent (unless they have
permission from the High Court and except after compulsory psychiatric admission) can be
tried for negligence (for not informing patients sufficiently) or for assault (touching the person
without valid consent), which protects children’s rights.
Knowledge and treatments developed through medical research have greatly supported
children’s health-related rights, and have lengthened and enhanced the lives of very many.
However, research can also challenge children’s rights. More clinical trials are now conducted
in majority world countries, raising hopes of introducing better health care there. Nevertheless,
new medicines continue to be too expensive, and companies are urged to lower prices to ensure
that those who helped with the research may benefit from the results. There are concerns that
clinical trials are being outsourced to poor countries because regulation is more lax, and the
people are less aware about medical ethics and their right to give or withhold informed consent
(Kolch et al., 2010). Parents are eager to volunteer their children for research, when it is their
only hope of obtaining treatment, and they are left unaware of the risks. Lax standards of
regulation and legal recompense are illustrated by 15 years of delay after a trial of Trovan to
treat meningitis in Nigeria, when children were disabled or died. The company eventually
settled with a few of the families out of court and Trovan has not proved to be effective or
been licensed for sale (BBC, 2011).

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British ethics guidance (RCPCH, 2000) insists that children should be involved in medical
research only if the research cannot equally well be done on adults, and if the findings are
intended to benefit children as a group. However, US guidance does not respect these
protection rights. In the US, children are recruited simply to increase numbers of subjects in
adult trials, with no guarantee that they will be studied as a separate group in order to benefit
future child patients, and there are lower standards for testing new treatments (Ross, 2006).
There are complications about children’s rights to give or withhold informed consent to
mass biomedical research, when survey data or human tissue or genetic material may be used
in unknown ways by future research teams (see review in Alderson & Morrow, 2011; Rose
& Rose, 2014).
There is wide-spread concern about fraud and how commercial interests distort medical
research funding and agendas, bioethics committee judgements, and peer reviewing for journals.
(An online search for ‘medical research fraud’ found over 12 million hits.) Yet over past decades,
many doctors have gradually accepted that codes of ethics and consent protect not only patients’
rights, but also protect doctors, researchers and high standards of treatment and research.

Ways Forward to Promote Children’s Health-Related Rights

Are children’s health-related rights legal, moral or political? Some analysts deny that health
care is either a legal or a moral human right (Buchanan, 2015). In such cases, health and health
care are seen as commodities to be bought and sold in contracts between free agents.
Millions of children have no practical legal right to health care when the services do not
exist. Yet by ratifying the CRC, and also in Africa the African Charter, in principle governments
support the legal right to the best attainable health care for every child, and the state’s duty to
provide it.
Children’s health care can be defended as a moral right in terms of social justice, non-
discrimination and equity, the relief of avoidable suffering, and governments’ primary duty to
defend their citizens against dangers, which include, for example, severe infections. To avoid
violating others’ rights by passing on lethal infections, people must seek treatment such as for
Ebola, HIV/AIDS, TB and typhoid. Measles can be another deadly infection. If people cannot
afford the necessary health care and vaccinations, then states have some obligation to provide
these along with public information and measures to promote health. Most of all, states must
support their children’s health before, during and after birth and through childhood if they
are to ensure that there will be healthy workers and parents in future who will sustain society
and not be sick, costly burdens on the state.
Besides having legal and moral weight, children’s rights are also highly political when they
concern public control over power and resources. There are three main financial systems: the
market (commerce), philanthropy (donations) and the state (taxation). These connect to the
three main methods of controlling the economics and politics of health care.
First, the market dominates some areas of health care, such as providing medicines and
technology, and it can achieve high standards in private hospitals. However, as earlier examples
showed, health care markets can be the most costly and the least effective, especially for children
and other no-income or low-income groups who cannot afford to pay for private care. When
governments invite companies to influence public health, as when food corporations advise
on healthy eating in the UK, obesity levels still rise, indicating that the profit motive can
counteract and not guarantee public health. Yet advocates of the market, including the World

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Bank, pressure governments into privatising health-related state-run services, from water to
hospitals (Hildyard, 2014). Nestlé is criticised for promoting high-sugar diets, and baby milk
formula that harms and kills babies in poorer countries (Baby Milk Action, 2014), and it is the
world’s largest vendor of bottled water. The Nestlé Chief Executive (2014) declared that water
is not a human right but rather a commodity to be sold, and that private companies organise
water supplies most effectively. However, this policy ends with the poorest people paying the
most for water, bought in bottles and buckets. Around the world, private companies channel
their profits to shareholders instead of into repairing and improving the services (Hildyard,
2014). Around one billion people lack safe clean water, and two billion people lack sanitation,
which especially jeopardises child health and survival (Oxfam International, 2014; UNICEF,
2014).
The market claims to guarantee excellence by promoting free competition. Yet in reality
the market is not free but highly subsidised by states, such as through PPPs (public–private
partnerships) to build and run hospitals. The UK has the most PPPs in the world (Hildyard,
2014). They yield 13–25 per cent annual profit, and English health services are becoming
bankrupt through having to pay over decades up to six times the original cost of building each
PPP hospital. PPPs exist in over 134 disadvantaged countries. For example, in Lesotho, the
extremely poor, landlocked state within South Africa, more than half of the approximately
two million people are aged under 25, and around one third under 15 years (Lesotho
Demographics, 2014). Although 99 per cent of the costs of the new PPP hospital in Lesotho
were paid from government funds, all profits go to the private sector which paid only 1 per
cent: a group of private equity, hedge fund and venture capitalists; private banks and pension
funds; lawyers who devised the decades-long contracts; and there are the bribes paid to
government officials (Hildyard, 2014). The people of Lesotho desperately need health care
staff more than trophy buildings and debts.
Second on philanthropy, advocates of the market claim that philanthropy safeguards child
health by filling in any gaps left by the market. For centuries, charities have protected, rescued
and provided for children, have set up imaginative new services and have campaigned valiantly
for greater practical respect for children’s rights and health. Charities such as the Children’s
Rights Alliance for England in their detailed annual reports publicly challenge the government’s
record on respecting or violating children’s rights. Another charity, Child to Child (2015a),
works with children to promote their health-related rights and to publicise their views. In
Northern Uganda, a twinning programme paired children with and children without disability.
Within a year nearly four times as many disabled children had enrolled in school. One disabled
child said: ‘My twinning buddy reads the billboard for me, we play games; he is my guide, I
love my friend!’ Children help to run a radio programme in Sierra Leone that supports Ebola-
affected children and enables them to talk ‘about their knowledge, attitudes, practices, beliefs,
hopes and dreams’ in vernacular languages. ‘With Ebola particularly; people don’t trust top-
down information [and] the official government lies . . . they think there’s a conspiracy’,
commented a radio director. Instead, the people prefer known and trusted local adults’ and
children’s voices to convey health-related information (all quotes from Child to Child, 2015b).
On a much larger scale, Bill and Melinda Gates are praised for their philanthropy and their
work has saved many lives, although their Foundation also poses problems. It is not accountable
or democratic and can bypass and overrule governments. Bill Gates is proud of his record of
forming policy and influencing governments and UN agencies, such as by forcing the privatising
of health care and schools (Bakan, 2012; Ball, 2013). He sees privatised water supplies as the
solution for the 2.5 billion people without sanitation, and to prevent the 700,000 child deaths

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each year from diarrhoea (Gates Foundation, 2014). The Foundation promotes PPPs and partners
the pharmaceutical company GlaxoSmithKlein (GSK) although, for example, GSK paid $3
billion fines for fraud in July 2012 (BBC, 2012). They have centralised control of the world
public health market of vaccines, believing that they benefit the world’s children, despite charging
UNICEF much higher prices for the vaccines. The Foundation provides grants for health care
and research largely to US and UK companies, and gives direct grants to Africa only on condition
that related public health services are sold and privatised. There are doubts about Gates’s high-
technology, expensive, minority world remedies for majority world problems. These remedies
can increase debt and dependence in the poorest countries through ‘venture philanthropy’,
which is invested in projects that will return profits (Gates Foundation, 2012). The Foundation
is backed by massive investments in fossil fuel industries, and is criticised for supporting these
industries when their emissions increase many of the problems that the Foundation aims to
relieve (Guardian, 2015).
Philanthropy has the drawbacks that grants are made on the choice and whim of the donors,
and can be withdrawn at any time so that long-term, fair, coordinated planning is not possible.
Some groups are favoured, such as in lavish funding for ‘white’ cell research into childhood
leukaemia, while others are neglected, such as the ‘black’ cells of childhood sickle cell or
thalassaemia.
Commercial philanthropy, supported by the ‘celebritocracy’ treats poverty as a problem to
solve with aid. Yet for 35 years poverty has steadily increased. The Gates are among the 67
people in the world (in 2015) who had more wealth between them than the poorest 50 per
cent composed of over 3.5 billion people. Each year, the tiny elite grows richer and the majority
grows poorer (Wealth Report, 2014). Philanthropy can wrap a seemingly generous and
glamorous veil around the gross inequality that causes the problems that philanthropy seeks to
relieve, and the veil helps to defuse critical analysis, protest and work on alternative solutions.
The third financial system is health care organised by the state in liaison with businesses
and charities, but when states are the primary providers and organisers. Only elected govern-
ments can promote the social justice and equality that correlate with health. Healthy children
including the poorer ones thrive in more equitable societies, whereas extreme differences
between rich and poor undermine almost everyone’s health and well-being among both richer
and poorer groups (Wilkinson & Picket, 2009). The present great need, suffering and premature
death of so many children can only partly be remedied by providing more resources and health
care. Economic structures that increase inequality and ill health will have to change, and this
will depend on international cooperation by governments if they are to prevent and reduce
pollution, carbon emissions, armed conflict, migration away from violence and destitution,
and other major problems that harm health (Klein, 2014).
Very many states are also the main providers of medical research, and of the teaching and
training of health care professionals. Private health care companies greatly benefit from these
vital workers, but seldom fund their training. The schools that states support promote health,
such as when average standards of children’s health rise with every extra year their mothers
spent at school or college (Boyden & Bourdillon, 2012). All of these measures involve
reversing current dominant policies that ‘shrink the state’ and privatise health care and other
services, transferring them to be run for profit by commercial companies.
The eight global Millennium Development Goals (MDGs), agreed by the United Nations
for action 1990–2015, have had mixed effects. MDG 4 was to reduce by two thirds the mortality
rate of children aged under 5 years. The goal has not been met, though great progress has
been made, especially in Rwanda where it is estimated 509,000 children’s lives have been saved

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since 2000 (BBC World Service, 2015). Agnes Binagwaho, the Minister of Health and a former
paediatrician, set up a national system of 45,000 care workers who record their activities and
the outcomes on their mobile phones, and are paid by results. Unlike most countries, Rwandan
policy concentrated on reaching every child and family, however hard it was to make contact
with them, when working to reduce the four main causes of child death: malaria, pneumonia,
TB and diarrhoea. The example shows the vital role of government authority and planning,
actively taking health care out to the people in order to create and sustain far-reaching change.
Brazil has rapidly rolled out primary-care services across the entire country through
pioneering health councils, though with mixed support from the World Bank. The Bank claims
to advocate a rights-based ‘universal and equitable health coverage’ but it fails to reach many
poor communities and its major policies still promote profit-based industry and privatised public
services (Global Health Watch, 2015). Protests are growing in all continents against these policies,
such as in the Indian Right to Food campaign involving many groups including child rights
organisations. They all believe ‘everyone has a fundamental right to be free from hunger and
that the primary responsibility for guaranteeing basic entitlements rests with the state’ (Right
to Food, 2015). Aboriginal communities are campaigning for access to health care and action
on causes of ill health. Each country tackles their health-related rights in different local ways,
though in a shared vision ‘of equity and justice, and imbued with the urgency that the present
global health crisis demands’ (Global Health Watch, 2015).
In conclusion, the driving force behind child health and illness, and whether children’s health-
related rights are honoured or violated, is economics (reviewed in detail in Alderson, 2016).
Children become patients when adults are willing and able to pay for their treatment, and
when it is profitable for companies to sell treatments. Although children’s lives are precious
to their family, in the market they may not count as worth the cheapest health care. The greatest
threat to children’s health-related rights is not lack of existing knowledge or resources, but the
decisions made by electorates, governments and global agencies such as the World Bank, when
they choose either to invest or not to invest in child health. Politics and economics, more than
doctors, determine when children can be regarded and treated as patients in need of health
care.
Yet countries that do support children’s health care face hard questions about how far the
rights extend. A right to very costly cancer care? To repeated organ transplants? To forcing
care on extremely ill babies and children who might prefer to die in peace? To a cocktail of
medications for behavioural disorders that might be cured instead through changes in the child’s
life style and social context? Is it right to spend over a million dollars on one child’s care, when
so many children die for lack of simple cheap remedies and protections?
The CRC does not provide definite answers but it does offer a rich resource for addressing
these questions, and for involving children and young people in these debates. The aim is to
balance children’s individual and collective rights and best interests, and to distribute resources,
including health care practitioners, far more equally around the world. Children’s ill health
can be a warning of problems that threaten many of their rights – problems such as poverty,
inequality, undue stress and pollution.
The idea of ‘contraction and convergence’ involves the rich world contracting its excess
consumption and waste, and gradually converging with the standards of consumption in the poor
world, until everyone has more equal shares of the resources on the finite planet (Meyer, 2000).
Global warming is predicted to raise levels of conflict, migration, tropical infections and health
care needs. Richer countries may therefore be forced to apply contraction and convergence
to health care, in order to respect children’s rights more equitably, and to support work in the

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world’s poorest countries where the burden of disease is the greatest. Contraction and
convergence could help to alter global policies away from health-destroying ones towards health-
promoting ones.
Health and health care are basic to children’s enjoyment of all their rights. Although they
are falling, the still very high levels of avoidable child morbidity and mortality will only be
resolved by massive international action. Besides improving health services, sanitation and
education, action is also needed to reduce the causes of ill health: poverty and inequality, injustice,
armed conflict, forced migration and global warming.

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 14
The Right to Be Who You Are
Competing Tensions among Protection,
Survival, and Participation Related to
Youth Sexuality and Gender

Stacey S. Horn, Christina Peter and Stephen T. Russell

For the past two decades, the rights of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, questioning,
and gender non-conforming (LGBTQ-GNC) people across the globe have been at the
forefront of international human rights debates and have been a central focus of human rights
groups such as Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, and the International Gay and
Lesbian Human Rights Commission. These groups have documented the pervasive and severe
human rights violations perpetrated against LGBTQ-GNC people in practically every country
including torture and rape; the criminalization of same-sex sexuality; restricted freedom of speech,
assembly, and association; and denial of access to due process, education, health care, and
employment (Brown, 2010; ICJ, 2009; Saiz, 2005; United Nations Human Rights Office of
the High Commissioner, 2012). In fact, approximately 75 countries have laws making the
expression of same-sex sexual orientation or transgender identities illegal with offenses
punishable by death, imprisonment, or fines (Brown, 2010; ICJ, 2009; Saiz, 2005). In response
to these violations, both the Human Rights Council and the General Assembly of the United
Nations put forth resolutions on sexual orientation and gender identity (SOGI) rights in 2011.
Shifts towards supporting the rights of LGBTQ-GNC persons, however, have not been universal.
While 94 countries across the globe have signed on to at least one of these documents, 54
countries are currently signatories on a statement opposing LGBTQ-GNC peoples’ rights and
46 have remained neutral on the topic (ICJ, 2009).
Although the landscape regarding human rights affordances, constraints, and abuses related
to sexual orientation and gender identity is constantly in flux (for example, in January 2014,
the Same Sex Marriage [Prohibition] Act became law in Nigeria, whereas in 2015, both Ireland
and the United States made marriage a legal right for same-sex couples), any discussion of the
SOGI rights of young people must take into account this larger global context. The rights of
LGBTQ-GNC youth in countries that criminalize the expression of same-sex sexuality are
virtually non-existent. Further, human rights violations against LGBTQ-GNC youth occur
within most countries across the globe and are often justified by cultural and social norms and

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conventions regarding “acceptable or normal” definitions of sexuality and gender. While these
social and cultural norms and conventions impact the rights of all LGBTQ-GNC people, they
are especially salient in relation to young people. This is due, in part, to the ways in which
affordances and constraints on young people’s behaviors and lives are shaped as institutions
and individuals navigate the tensions between upholding the sometimes competing tensions
between “the best interest of the child” and “the developing capacities of the child.”
While the rights of LGBTQ-GNC people across the globe have been advanced in the last
decade via human rights documents (for example see the Yogykarta Principles, 2006; Human
Rights Council’s resolution on LGBTQ-GNC rights, 2011) these have rarely attended to specific
rights of young people or put forth any particular considerations regarding children and youth
(a notable exception is in relation to access to education; United Nations Human Rights Office
of the High Commissioner, 2012). As documented in this volume (see Chapter 6, this volume;
Todres chapter this volume) and evidenced by the development and ratification of the
Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC, United Nations General Assembly, 1989),
existing international human rights laws, treaties, and agreements are often not applied to children
and youth. Further, while the CRC has a focus on youth, the rights of LGBTQ-GNC youth
are not specifically addressed within the document itself. Consequently, young people and in
particular LGBTQ-GNC identified young people are especially vulnerable to human rights
violations.
In this chapter, given the dearth of research specifically addressing LGBTQ-GNC youth’s
rights, we focus on three core rights domains: the right to protection from discrimination and
harm; the right to development and survival, including the right to health and health care
broadly and sexual health specifically (see Chapter 13 in this volume for a focus on young
people’s right to health); and the right to fully participate in civic life. We begin by exploring
how normative assumptions and beliefs about sexuality and gender create conditions across
countries and cultures that severely limit or deny young people’s rights in several areas outlined
by the CRC. While the chapter specifically focuses on the rights of LGBTQ-GNC identified
young people as a result of their membership in a stigmatized group, we also discuss, where
relevant, the ways that rights related to sexual orientation and gender identity can affect all
young people.

Sexuality, Gender, and the Convention on the Rights of the Child

The CRC is the pre-eminent and only international human rights document that specifically
focuses on the rights of children and youth. The CRC asserts that children and youth deserve
access and/or a commitment to political, civil, social, economic, and cultural rights due to
their “inherent dignity” as “members of the human family” (CRC, preamble). In their recent
consensus statement for the Society for Research on Adolescence, Ruck, Keating, Saewyc, Earls,
and Ben-Arieh (2014) outlined three areas of rights under which the majority of articles within
the CRC fall: survival and development; protection; and participation. The articles are intended
to apply to all young people regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity and several
articles are especially relevant. For example, Articles 34 and 35 focus on the right of children
and adolescents to be protected from sexual exploitation and abuse, and Article 24 focuses on
the right to health (inclusive of sexual health). Article 2 focuses on the right to be free from
discrimination.
Unfortunately, several issues and tensions within the CRC make the interpretation and
implementation of rights for LGBTQ-GNC young people ambiguous. Specifically, the lack

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of language explicitly including LGBTQ-GNC persons allows states to limit the affordances
of rights to these young people. For example, Article 2 prohibits “discrimination of any kind,
irrespective of the child or his parents or legal guardian’s race, color, sex, language, religion,
political or other opinion, national, ethnic, social origin, property, disability, birth or other
status.” In corollary material to the CRC, the Committee on the Rights of the Child makes
the case that sex and “other status” may be used to ensure this right for LGBTQ-GNC youth,
and thus Article 2 specifically includes SOGI-based discrimination (UNCRC general comment
#4). Yet the absence of sexual orientation and gender identity specifically within the enumerated
list of protected categories outlined in the CRC Preamble and Article 2 makes this fundamental
right to non-discrimination vulnerable to interpretation, cultural assumptions, and institutional
norms that may erase attention to sexual orientation and gender identity. In fact, in response
to this and other international human rights treaties, the Organization of Islamic Conferences
(OIC) and the Holy See1 have put forth official letters arguing that sexual orientation is an
“undefined term” that:

[M]ay be a legitimate basis for discrimination to protect children and the family. It is not
a human rights issue but a social and cultural one, best left to each state to address within
its own sovereign legal and social systems. Asserting sexual orientation as a source of universal
rights is culturally divisive and therefore threatening to the UN consensus.
(UNESCO, 2012, as cited in Saiz, 2005, p. 12)

Thus, despite the strong statements by the United Nations regarding sexual orientation and
gender identity as protected classes within the CRC’s definition of discrimination, evidence
exists that some states do not acknowledge these categories as relevant to protections afforded
within the CRC.
Another major tension within the CRC relevant to sexual orientation and gender identity
is the weight given to both parental and cultural rights (especially in light of the statements
made above by the OIC and the Holy See). For example, within the preamble of the CRC
there is a focus on the family being “the fundamental group of society and the natural
environment for the growth and well-being of all of its members and particularly children.”
In addition, Article 5 states that parents have the right to “provide, in a manner consistent
with the evolving capacities of the child, appropriate direction and guidance in the exercise
by the child of the rights recognized in the present convention.” Further, several articles within
the CRC include the statement or caveat that rights are subject to limitations or restrictions
as are “prescribed by law and are necessary to protect public safety, order, health or morals, or
the fundamental rights and freedoms of others” (emphasis added). This statement appears
in four articles in the Convention and most importantly qualifies the rights and freedoms
expressed in Articles 13, 14, and 15 that deal with freedom of expression and access to
information; freedom of thought, conscience, and religion; and freedom of association and
peaceful assembly, respectively. In addition, similar statements or qualifications regarding
parental and cultural rights appear in Articles 17 (right to access material from the mass media),
28, and 29 (rights to an education directed toward the child’s fullest development, democratic
ideals, and human rights).
The inclusion of these statements, coupled with the absence of sexual orientation and gender
identity from the list of non-discrimination categories creates significant latitude for states and
other institutional and governmental bodies to deny these rights to LGBTQ-GNC young people.
The denial of these rights will be most easily upheld in countries that criminalize the expression

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of same-sex sexuality, gender non-conforming, or transgender identities. In addition, the

inclusion of the term “morals” within the statement essentially makes it possible to deny SOGI
rights to youth within any country across the globe due to competing claims about the
“normality” or “naturalness” of LGBTQ-GNC identities. Further, the strong emphasis within
the CRC on parental rights and the fundamental role of the family may put the rights of
LGBTQ-GNC young people who are members of families that are homo- or trans-phobic
at risk.
Given the controversial nature of sexuality, especially same-sex sexuality, and normative
assumptions about gender and gender roles within most countries across the globe, these strong
statements about cultural and parental rights and “the best interest of the child” within the
CRC, leave the extension of rights to LGBTQ-GNC youth open to interpretation (Saiz, 2004).
That is, if a sexual or gender identity is perceived as “unnatural,” “not normal,” or “deviant”
within a country or culture, states’ actors or other parties may make the argument that they
are “legitimately” denying and/or violating the rights put forth in the CRC in an effort to
either “protect” the “best interests of the child” or to “protect public safety, order, health or
morals, or the fundamental rights and freedoms of others” (see Article 14). Further, this type
of ambiguous language may lead to a failure to prosecute human rights violations enacted by
other parties toward LGBTQ youth.
While violations of LGBTQ-GNC youth’s rights span the spectrum of human rights
categories they are particularly pervasive and well-documented in relation to the three domains:
Protection from discrimination and harm; Survival and development, including access to
health and health information, including sexual health; and Participation in communal and
civic life.

Protection from Discrimination and Harm

Several articles within the CRC focus on the rights of young people to be free from
discrimination (Article 2), harm (Article 6: the right to life; Article 19: protection from
family/guardian abuse), and victimization (Articles 32 and 36: protection from exploitation;
Article 33: protection from illicit substances; Article 34: protection from sexual exploitation
and abuse; Article 35: Protection from trafficking; and Article 37: Protection from torture,
capital punishment, or life in prison). In countries that criminalize the expression of same-sex
sexuality or transgender identities, LGBTQ-GNC people, including young people, face
significant state-sanctioned discrimination that can include imprisonment, victimization, and
abuse due to their actual or perceived sexual or gender identities (Saiz, 2014; United Nations
Human Rights Office of the High Commissioner, 2012). This type of discrimination not only
violates the CRC and other International Human Rights treaties, it also creates conditions
under which almost all of the other rights put forth in the CRC are denied to individuals in
the name of “legitimate” cultural sovereignty, including the right to preserve an identity, the
right to privacy, freedom of expression, and the right to an education (Saiz, 2004).
Even within countries that do not criminalize the expression of sexual orientation and gender
identity for LGBTQ-GNC people, however, these rights are also violated on a regular basis
and often by individuals and within institutions that should be the strongest advocates for these
young people. These rights are most frequently violated in families, schools, and other state
institutions such as child welfare and juvenile justice. As we will see below, the interconnected
nature of the affordance or denial of these rights within these three contexts has a significant
impact on young people’s lives.

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Families
Given the significant impact that parents and/or guardians have on the health, development
and well-being of young people, and the cross-cultural primacy given to the family unit as
fundamental, the family is the first and foremost place in which young peoples’ rights should
be safeguarded and upheld (CRC Preamble). Although most young people grow up in families
that support and affirm their identities and help them to thrive, this is unfortunately not the
case for all LGBTQ-GNC young people.
LGBTQ-GNC youth appear especially likely to experience lack of support and even harm
in the context of the family. In their meta-analysis of studies from across the United States and
Canada on sexual abuse and physical abuse, Saewyc and colleagues (2006) reported that LGB
youth experienced high rates of familial physical abuse and that lesbian and bisexual girls
experience higher rates of familial sexual abuse than their heterosexual peers. In addition, in
a study of family acceptance among white and Latino families in the US state of California,
Ryan, Huebner, Diaz, and Sanchez, (2009) found that over 50 percent of youth reported
moderate to high levels of family rejection upon disclosure of their sexual orientation. Further,
youth who reported family rejection reported higher levels of significant negative health
outcomes such as suicidal behaviors, depression, illegal drug use and unprotected sexual
behavior than youth who did not report family rejection. This type of family abuse and rejection
may lead to housing instability or homelessness (due to either being kicked out of the house
or leaving home due to feeling unsafe), further perpetuating exposure to victimization,
discrimination, exploitation, and abuse (Majd, Marksamer, & Reyes, 2009).
Conversely, multiple studies2 provide evidence that supportive and accepting family
environments serve a protective function beyond the family system. That is, young people
who have supportive and accepting families are better able to resist and manage discrimination
and victimization in other contexts, suggesting that a positive family environment is an
important first line of defense in ensuring the rights of LGBTQ-GNC youth (Bouris et al.,
2010; Heatherington & Lavner, 2008; Ryan, et al., 2009).

Schools
In 2011, UNESCO convened an International Consultation on Homophobic Bullying in Educa-
tional Institutions. This consultation brought together LGBTQ-GNC and human rights
advocates, government officials, researchers, and others to address the global and pervasive
problem of bullying related to sexual orientation and gender identity in schools. In preparation
for this meeting, UNESCO also prepared a report defining bullying, connecting bullying to
homo- and trans-phobia in schools, documenting SOGI-related bullying in educational
institutions across the globe, and outlining solutions for change. To our knowledge, this is the
first document that brings together extant research from across the globe on SOGI-related
bullying (UNESCO, 2012). In the introduction the authors state that “bullying poses a signifi-
cant threat to the universal right to education” (UNESCO, 2012, p. 4) and that it undermines
fundamental rights acknowledged in the CRC (specifically Articles 2, 28, and 29). Similarly,
Human Rights Watch (HRW, 2001) published a groundbreaking report on violence and
discrimination of LGBTQ-GNC students in public schools in the US and connected these
types of bullying and discrimination to human rights. In their introduction, they state:

This report is about the failure of the government, specifically public school officials,
teachers, and administrators, to fulfill their obligation to ensure that all youth enjoy their

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right to education in an environment where they are protected from discrimination,

harassment, and violence. No child should have to go to school in survival mode.
(HRW, 2001, p. 4)

During the time between the publication of the HRW report and the UNESCO
Consultation meeting, significant advances have been made in ensuring the rights of LGBTQ-
GNC students to be free from harm in the forms of state, regional and federal policies and
programs. Most notably, at the international level, in 2012, the UN published a report on the
application of international human rights law to reducing and ending violence on the basis of
sexual orientation and gender identity that was inclusive of homophobic bullying (UNESCO,
2012). During an event to launch the 2012 UN report, UN Secretary-General Ban
Ki-moon stated homophobic bullying is “a moral outrage, a grave violation of human rights.”
In addition, several regional, national, state/provincial efforts have also been directed at
reducing or ending violence and discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender
identity. These include prohibiting discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity
in the constitution (South Africa), prohibiting SOGI-based discrimination in schools within
national education laws/code (Australia, Brazil, Israel, Taiwan), and several similar state or
provincial level policies across a variety of countries (Russell & Horn, 2016; UNESCO, 2012).
Despite these efforts, homo- and trans-phobic harassment and bullying frequently occur in
schools across the globe. While most research on homophobic bullying and harassment has
occurred in the global north and more affluent countries, an emerging body of international
research provides evidence that homo- and trans-phobic bullying and harassment are a pervasive
human rights violation. Though often measured differently, data on three types of harassment
typically exist: verbal abuse, teasing, and name-calling; harassment, bullying, and discrimination;
and physical/sexual assault or violence.
The most common form of harassment is verbal abuse with between two-thirds and four-
fifths of students across countries reporting that they had experienced verbal abuse related to
their actual or perceived sexual orientation or gender identity (Russell & Horn, 2016;
UNESCO, 2012). Rates vary by country, however, and by specific measures of verbal
harassment used. Rates range from a low of 38 percent in Israel to a high of 97 percent in the
United Kingdom; even students in sexual orientation and gender identity friendly countries
such as the Netherlands reported a high frequency (88 percent) of verbal abuse (see UNESCO,
2012). Young people across countries report experiencing physical harassment, social aggression,
and bullying less frequently than verbal bullying. On average, however, between one-third
and one-half of young people report experiencing these types of behaviors. These numbers
ranged from a low of 13 percent in New Zealand to a high of 83 percent in Japan. Finally,
although the least frequently reported, between one- and two-fifths of students, report
experiencing physical or sexual assault or violence related to their actual or perceived sexual
orientation or gender identity (ranging from 8 percent in Israel to 40 percent in Brazil and the
United Kingdom). Across all of these behaviors and across countries, males and transgender
individuals report experiencing the highest level of these human rights violations and that they
most frequently occurred at school (O’Flaherty & Fisher, 2008; Grant, Mottet, & Tanis, 2011;
UNESCO, 2012).
Finally, harassment and victimization in school may lead victimized students to disengage
from or drop out of school, which, in turn, places them at risk for involvement in the juvenile
justice system. Sexual orientation and gender identity discrimination may also operate in the
administrative environment of schools, much in the ways that institutionalized racism has led

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to the dramatic over-representation of youth of color, especially boys, in what has been termed
a “school-to-prison pipeline” (Snapp, Hoenig, Fields, & Russell, 2015). Specifically, young
men of color are more likely to be suspended or expelled for similar infractions committed by
White youth (Skiba, Arredondo, & Rausch, 2014), and new studies are documenting similar
patterns for LGBTQ-GNC youth (Himmelstein & Bruckner, 2011). In fact, LGBTQ-GNC
students from several US states, reported being unfairly disciplined in several ways: for same-
sex public displays of affection when similar public displays of affection by heterosexual couples
were not sanctioned; violation of gender norms (e.g., boys’ use of makeup in contexts where
girls were permitted to use makeup); and for fighting back in self-defense of victimization (Snapp,
et al., 2015). These findings reveal the ways that the regulation of sexual orientation and gender
identity in schools may contribute to school push-out and may be related to the disproportionate
representation of LGBTQ-GNC youth in the child welfare and juvenile justice systems.
In summary, discrimination at school may lead to serious and significant negative outcomes
for young people, including their access to school being denied, lower school engagement and
attendance, compromised academic achievement, higher school dropout, and significant
implications for mental and physical health (Palmer, Kosciw, Greytak, & Boesen, 2016; Poteat,
in press; Saewyc & Homa, in press; UNESCO, 2012).

Other State Systems and Institutions

For many LGBTQ-GNC young people, hostile or abusive family and school environments
may serve to introduce young people into child welfare and juvenile justice systems. For
LGBTQ-GNC youth, the pathways into these systems are diverse and can be both direct (family
abuse may lead to placement in foster care or sometimes arrest of the young person) and indirect
(family or school victimization may lead to truancy or homelessness and thus to juvenile justice
or child welfare involvement). In many countries, child welfare and juvenile justice systems
historically have had beneficent goals regarding the health and development of young people.
According to international human rights treaties, the human dignity and rights of young
people must be upheld and states’ actors must ensure the safety and support of young people
in these systems.
Within the past decade, emerging advocacy and research efforts have provided evidence
that for LGBTQ-GNC youth this is not the case. Instead, they are at high risk for violence,
discrimination, and harm once they are placed into state custody, and these harms are both
ignored and often perpetrated by the adults and institutional actors in whose care the young
people have been placed (Amnesty International, 2005; Estrada & Marksamer, 2006; Majd,
Marksamer, & Reyes, 2009). The majority of the relevant, nascent body of literature documents
the experiences of LGBTQ-GNC youth in the global north, specifically North America and
the United States (Skiba et al., 2014).
In the child welfare system, LGBTQ-GNC youth experience higher rates of discrimination
and victimization such as coercive treatment to regulate their sexual or gender identities and
expression through being forced to go to church or regulations of their dress and activities;
physical and sexual abuse similar to rates in their own families; and lack of access to services
sensitive to sexual orientation and gender identity. Comparatively, more evidence has
documented human rights violations of LGBTQ-GNC youth in juvenile justice systems. Even
in countries that do not criminalize the expression of LGBTQ-GNC identities such as the
United States, young people experience higher rates of interaction with punitive systems and
more severe forms of punishment than gender conforming and heterosexual youth (Irvine,

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2010; Skiba, Arredondo, & Rausch, 2014). Within the United States, LGBTQ-GNC youth
are more likely than their heterosexual and gender conforming peers to be stopped by police,
arrested before the age of 18, and convicted of a crime as a juvenile (Himmelstein & Bruckner,
2011). Within this general pattern, gender non-conforming girls and lesbians are at the most
risk. Although no more likely to be involved in violent crimes than their heterosexual and
cis-gendered3 counterparts, evidence suggests that police regularly profile LGBTQ-GNC
youth, selectively enforce laws for status and conduct offences committed by LGBTQ-GNC
young people, and often presume them to be sexual predators by virtue of their identities (Grant
et al., 2011). Much of this disproportionate treatment is related to the fact that the definition
of status and conduct offenses rely, in part, on public definitions of “normal” or “appropriate”
behavior, and LGBTQ-GNC young people are often in violation of normative interpretations
of such laws simply by being out and/or expressing their gender and sexuality in their everyday
interactions (Bellinger, Darcangelo, Horn, Meiners, & Schriber, in press).
In the United States, once in the system, LGBTQ-GNC youth are more likely than other
youth to be held in secure detention for conduct (e.g., loitering), non-violent (e.g., prostitution,
stealing), or status offences (e.g. truancy, running away) (Garnette, Irvine, Reyes, & Wilber,
2011), often because due process rights are treated as subordinated to rationales focused on the
“best interest of the child.” For example, due to homophobic and inhospitable family
environments, parents of LGBTQ-GNC youth may not post bail or allow the young person
to be remanded into their custody. Rather than remanding the young people into the custody
of the child welfare system, as they would other minors with no guardian or parental support,
they more often retain young people in detention indefinitely due to the perception that they
will be “safer” or have access to more services within juvenile detention (Majd et al., 2009).
Further, once within secure facilities, LGBTQ-GNC young people may face extreme discrim-
ination, exploitation, and abuse. These human rights violations range from being prohibited
from preferred gender expression (e.g., being forced to cut their hair or wear clothes deemed
“more appropriate” for their assigned birth sex rather than their gender identity), being physically
and sexually assaulted by other inmates and guards, being segregated or placed in solitary
confinement “for their own safety,” or facing ongoing ridicule and punishment simply for being
who they are (Majd et al., 2009). Although international data on the experiences of LGBTQ-
GNC youth and the justice system are scarce, the global picture for LGBTQ-GNC individuals
within justice systems internationally provides some evidence that young people may experience
similar conditions worldwide (for a brief review, see United Nations Human Rights Office of
the High Commissioner, 2012).
In summary, LGBTQ-GNC youth may experience discrimination and harm across a
number of contexts that all youth rely on for basic support and human development. The past
two decades have seen numerous advances in creating frameworks, professional development
for staff, and policies to improve the experiences of LGBTQ-GNC youth in these systems, as
well as in educating LGBTQ-GNC youth regarding their rights (Estrada & Marksamer, 2006;
Wilbur, Reyes, & Marksamer, 2006), yet SOGI discrimination is pervasive and affects all other
areas of rights affordances for young people. Experiencing these types of rights violations
disproportionately impacts the health of LGBTQ-GNC youth through the well-documented
associations between victimization and discrimination and a broad range of compromised health
statuses, including threats to physical, behavioral, and mental health (Russell, Sinclair, Poteat,
& Koenig, 2012). The disproportionate impact on health is not limited to one country; LGBTQ-
GNC persons (including young people) face numerous conditions that compromise their well-
being and access to health services across the world and as a result, they often experience

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disproportionate negative health outcomes (USAID, 2013). Thus, a second critical area for
SOGI rights pertains to health and sexual health as a human rights issue related to basic survival
and development.

Survival and Development: Health Information and Access

The World Health Organization (WHO) and the CRC emphasize that health is a basic human
right and that all young people should have access to health and health-related services (see
Article 24, CRC). Organizations such as the WHO and United Nations are well positioned
to enact global change to support the health of LGBTQ-GNC persons, and have recently
attempted to do so, yet the action of these organizations has been impeded by discriminatory
attitudes toward LGBTQ-GNC persons. For example, in 2013 the WHO added LGBT health
disparities to its agenda in a movement toward supporting the health of LGBT persons. In
response, several countries called for the discussion to be removed from the agenda and the
agenda item was deferred (Daulaire, 2014). The WHO had never before experienced the
petitioned removal of an agenda item and, despite efforts to the contrary, LGBT health remained
off the WHO agenda in 2014 (for details, see Kaiser Family Foundation, 2014).
Despite such challenges there have been advances in the advocacy of health related to sexual
orientation and gender identity globally. For example, the Pan American Health Organization
(PAHO), a regional office of the WHO, has begun to address LGBT health by condemning
harmful practices aimed at LGBT populations such as gay conversion therapy (PAHO, 2012).
PAHO noted that these practices are unnecessary, ineffective, can cause severe mental and
physical harm, and deprive the rights of minors who have been forcibly subjected to them.
U.S. governmental efforts, in concert with WHO, have also recently begun to focus on SOGI
rights to health internationally, but have primarily done so through a focus on HIV/AIDS (for
review, see Kaiser Family Foundation, 2014). These efforts are important, but not sufficient,
to achieving the right to health for all LGBTQ-GNC populations. Treating health as a human
right requires providing appropriate health care services, honest and thorough health-supporting
information, and ensuring gender equality; each of these are critical components to redressing
discrimination and resulting health disparities (Office of the United Nations High Commissioner
for Human Rights & World Health Organization, 2008). Thus, large scale efforts to improve
the health of LGBTQ-GNC persons are still nascent and have fallen short of recognizing health
as a basic human right.
Despite their developmentally distinct and salient health needs, adolescents are especially
likely to have their rights infringed in specific ways due to their minor status (e.g., Kaiser Family
Foundation, 2014). Thus, in addition to protection from discrimination and harm, affording
LGBTQ-GNC youth the right to health requires, but is not limited to, several broad
components: recognition, services, privacy, and information.

Recognition
Recognition of LGBTQ-GNC youths’ identities supports their health in two central ways.
First, having to hide or deny one’s identity can cause psychological distress (for discussion,
see Yoshino, 2007). Further, hiding one’s LGBTQ-GNC identity is more common in
environments that are hostile towards LGBTQ-GNC persons. Thus, those who are unable
to disclose may be under constant stress and fear of harm while having to deny or cover their
identities; such unremittent stress is associated with several physical health concerns (American

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Psychological Association, 2015). Second, service developers and providers will be unable to
support the needs of LGBTQ-GNC young people if they remain invisible. Indeed, a recent
US study found that more than half of medical centers offered no physician training specific
to working with LBGT clients (Khalili, Leung, & Diamant, 2015). This has led some youth
organizations to advise health care providers on how to affirm and support adolescent and
LGBTQ-GNC clients (for example, see the work of the Illinois Caucus for Adolescent Health,
ICAH). Thus, acceptance and visibility can support the health of LGBTQ-GNC youth by
preparing health care providers to serve them.

Services
Primary and preventative care comes in various forms and can support mental health, physical
health, and healthy life expectancy. International organizations such as OHCHR and WHO
(2008) stress the importance of sexual and reproductive health services to upholding adolescents’
rights to health. These entities further state that “Governments and health professionals should
treat all children and adolescents in a non-discriminatory manner” (OHCHR & WHO, 2008)
and note that particular attention should be paid to groups whose rights are less likely to be
upheld including, for example, girls and intersex4 children. Thus, there is recognition that bias
related to sexuality and gender can interfere with young peoples’ right to health.
Indeed, LGBTQ-GNC youth are paradoxically more likely to experience health issues yet
less likely to receive health care services in many places around the world. These youth may
be denied services or delay seeking care if they experience bias or otherwise non-inclusive
health care environments (e.g., Lambda Legal, 2010). In fact, LGBTQ-GNC youth rate inclusive
and equitable treatment and confidentiality as highly important qualities in health care providers
and centers (Hoffman, Freeman, & Swan, 2009). Further, transgender and gender non-
conforming clients may be denied access to gender-affirming procedures when they are desired
(Lambda Legal, 2010). In order to ensure that LGBTQ-GNC persons receive adequate and
affirmative services, health advocates recommend creating inclusive health care environments,
training all staff and physicians about how best to serve LGBTQ-GNC persons and recognize
bias in care, and to take open sexual and social histories of clients without assuming them to
be heterosexual or cis-gender (Ard & Makadon, 2012; US Department of Health and Human
Services, 2012).

Privacy
Privacy and the ability to make health care decisions for one’s self are necessary components
to upholding LGBTQ-GNC young peoples’ rights to health. Young people who experience
SOGI discrimination may be unwilling to seek critical health services if it will expose their
identities and potentially put them at risk of harm. Further, it can be especially difficult to
identify and safely provide health services to LGBTQ-GNC persons in countries that criminalize
same-sex sexuality and LGBTQ-GNC persons are in most immediate danger (KFF, 2014).
This can be detrimental to those who need immediate health services, particularly when they
experience stigmatized medical issues (OHCHR and WHO, 2008). Thus, maintaining privacy
and confidentiality is essential for ensuring health care access for LGBTQ-GNC people.
Of particular concern for all young people, but specifically LGBTQ-GNC young people
is private receipt of sexual and reproductive health services. Depending upon where they live,
young people may risk inadvertent disclosure of their SOGI identities when they seek health

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services due to their minor status. For example, the majority of states in the US require parental
consent or notification before an adolescent child under the age of 18 can access reproductive
services (Kaiser Family Foundation, 2014). Though no US state requires parental notification
of STD testing, many allow physicians to notify parents when their child seeks STD-related
services (Guttmacher Institute, 2015). Policies and practices such as these can put young people
at risk by causing them to avoid needed services in order to maintain privacy. Divulging sexual
health information to guardians who are abusive could also put young people at risk by triggering
emotional abuse, physical abuse, or denial of housing and other resources. This may be especially
common for health issues that inordinately affect adolescent and LGBTQ-GNC populations.
Indeed, some adolescents reported being unwilling to seek sexual, mental, and drug-related
health services if parent notification was required (Gans, McManus, & Newacheck, 1991).
However, health care providers may believe parents have a right to be involved in their child’s
health care decisions or will be able to offer their child support if notified. For these reasons,
multiple professional health and medical organizations have provided guidelines for consent to
services and confidentiality when working with minor clients (for review, see Neinstein, 1987).
While parental notification laws may affect access to health services for all young people due
to cultural norms and conventions regarding adolescent sexuality, they can be particularly
detrimental for LGBT-GNC youth who may be seeking services related to the sexual or gender
identity, especially if they have not disclosed their identity to their family.

Information
Young peoples’ right to health is dependent upon access to accurate and supportive health
information, including sexual and reproductive health information (OHCHR & WHO, 2008).
In keeping, health experts, youth advocates, and researchers have begun emphasizing that the
right to access accurate health information is fundamental to the well-being of all young people
internationally (e.g., Levesque, 2008; Peter, Toomey, Heinze, & Horn, in press; Ruck & Horn,
2008; Sood & Suman, n.d.; UNESCO, 2009). Information can be provided by a variety of
sources including family, health care providers, formal educators, peers, media, and other
community members.
While family, health care providers, and educators are often well-positioned to provide
information, adolescents infrequently receive adequate information from these sources (e.g.,
Kaiser Family Foundation, 2014). Parents may lack adequate knowledge, experience discomfort,
or fear that the provision of information will cause their children to express their sexuality or
become sexually active (Bastien, Kajula, & Muhwezi, 2011) or may believe that children should
not receive information that affirms LGBTQ-GNC identities and relationships. Health care
providers may also lack SOGI-relevant training or assume clients are heterosexual, and
educators may lack training or be specifically barred from discussing sexuality or SOGI issues
with pupils. Again, while a lack of adequate sexual health information impacts all young people,
the stigma and bias regarding same-sex sexual identities and gender non-conforming or
transgender identities can put LGBTQ-GNC at particular risk for not receiving the information
they need to make healthy decisions.
Schools can support all young people’s right to information, including LGBTQ-GNC youth,
by offering comprehensive and inclusive sexuality and sexual health education. Compre-
hensive and inclusive education is that which includes information about physical health
and sexual protections and provides accurate and affirming information about sexual and
gender identities, relationships, and sexual desires and pleasure (see Peter, Tasker, & Horn,

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2015 for detailed review). Yet schools rarely offer comprehensive and inclusive sexual health
education. Instead, many schools around the world offer no programming or offer education
that neglects or stigmatizes the needs and experiences of LGBTQ-GNC persons (Pingel, Thomas,
Harmell, and Bauermeister, 2013; SIECUS, 2004). In fact, reviews have found some school
curricula in the United States to be medically inaccurate and explicitly homophobic (Kemper,
2001).
Countries and states vary greatly in the content and quality of sexuality education. Some
countries have moved toward comprehensive and inclusive formal sexual health education.
For example, in 2008 Mexico created a Ministerial Declaration supporting national,
comprehensive sexuality education that is inclusive of diverse sexual and gender identities
(UNESCO, 2009). However, countries and states often face barriers to providing inclusive
sexual health information. In 2000, Nigeria developed its first national, comprehensive sexuality
education curriculum but had to make several changes due to opposition (see UNESCO, 2009);
several topics, including sexual orientation and contraception, were removed from the
curriculum.
In addition, in some countries the provision of inclusive education varies greatly by region.
In the US state of California, for example, curricula are required to be medically accurate and
appropriate for students of all genders and sexual orientations if sexuality education is offered
in schools; California schools are expressly prohibited from promoting bias based on actual or
perceived gender or sexual orientation in sexual education curricula (California Department
of Education, 2015). Other US states such as Alabama, however, ban inclusive information and
instead require teachers to convey that same-sex sexuality is unacceptable and illegal within the
state (despite the fact that it is not illegal at the federal level and the Alabama anti-sodomy law
was ruled unconstitutional in 2014, Alabama Code—Section 16–40A-2).5 And still other
countries do not offer sexuality education or have states that ban the provision of sexuality
education altogether (e.g., several Indian State Governments, Sood & Suman, n.d.). Thus, many
LGBTQ-GNC young people across the globe receive no information, limited information, or
information that derogates their identities.
Finally, given the general lack of formal sexuality education, adolescents often receive
information from peers and the media. For example, the primary source for sexual and
reproductive health information for US adolescent young women is the internet (Kaiser Family
Foundation, 2014). Yet in regions or countries where information about health and sexuality
is not provided by doctors or educators, media can also be greatly restricted. For example,
Russia does not provide sexuality education in schools and has a law prohibiting the provision
of positive information about “non-traditional” sexual orientations to minors (Article 6.21 of
the Code of the Russian Federation on Administrative Offenses); fines can be levied for providing
such information through organizations, the internet, and other media. Thus, LGBTQ-GNC
youth in such contexts experience severe restrictions to their right to information from formal
(e.g. health care providers, educators) and informal (e.g. peers, media) providers.

Participation in Communal and Civic Life

Participation is understood as a dimension of self-determination rights, and the rights to
participate in matters and decisions affecting them are central to rights of the child (CRC,
1989, Articles 12, 13, 14, 15, and 16). Although adults prioritize rights for protection, children
as young as age 12 often prioritize rights for self-determination above those for protection
(Cherney & Shing, 2008). Undoubtedly, basic safety at home, in schools, and in other major

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social institutions that support the health and development of young people provide a context
in which young people may achieve participation. However, especially for adolescents
(compared to young children), the ability to participate in civic life emerges as a felt right that
is as pressing as the earlier needs for protection and safety (Metzger & Smetana, 2010).
Historically, basic rights for participation in key roles of citizenship and adulthood have
been blocked for LGBTQ-GNC young people. Over a decade ago scholars argued that not
only were many families and schools hostile to LGBTQ-GNC youth, but many forms of
participation in the labor force (e.g., government employment or military service) and even
family life (e.g., the institution of marriage as well as legal parenthood status) were explicitly
thwarted for LGBTQ-GNC people (Russell, 2002). A central argument with respect to
citizenship rights is that pathways to full civic participation have been expressly limited based
on sexual orientation and gender identity, and thus many youth grew up with visions of a
future of truncated rights for full civic participation. These limitations remain for LGBTQ-
GNC youth in many parts of the world. Yet the pace of social change, particularly in the
West, has dramatically changed the possibilities for LGBTQ-GNC young people in many
nations; presumably the social and legal changes of the last decade will alter their landscape of
possibilities for participation. Yet despite these developments around the world, and as noted
in discussions above, vigorous and public debate about SOGI rights underscores the persistent
stigma and discrimination that exists across cultures and nations with respect to SOGI rights
and full civic inclusion. Thus, despite changes related to rights for marriage for same-sex couples,
SOGI nondiscrimination in education and employment remain explicitly unprotected categories
in many of those same nations.
One longstanding challenge for understanding participation rights for LGBTQ-GNC young
people has been their systematic exclusion from mainstream and authoritative efforts to study
or monitor the health, education, and civic participation of young people. That is, most efforts
to understand youth health, education, and civic life worldwide have not included information
that allows for the identification of LGBTQ-GNC youth in data collection efforts or systems,
nor do such systems include information related to SOGI-specific experiences or rights that
might be experienced by all youth (such as homophobic bullying or discriminatory experiences).
The CRC states that children should have “freedom to seek, receive and impart information
and ideas of all kinds” (Article 13), yet sexual orientation and gender identity are routinely
made invisible in systematic efforts to track education and health for youth. When national
health or education records systems or surveys exclude questions about LGBTQ-GNC identity
or expression, or SOGI-specific experiences, they render these young people and issues
invisible: Health and education disparities remain unknown, and critical needs unaddressed
(Snapp, Russell, Arredondo, & Skiba, in press). Inclusion in major sources of administrative
as well as research data represents an important question of representation in science and policy
(Diers, 2013; Waldman, 2014), and thus participation rights.
Participation rights gain more salience as youth develop from children to adolescents. For
LGBTQ-GNC adolescents, rights for full participation are complex because they involve tensions
with what may be perceived as competing demands for protection or privacy. Across domains,
full participation implies some degree of sexual orientation and gender identity disclosure
(whether on a health survey, school record, or through marriage), which for many young people
involves significant risks for safety and well-being. Historically there has been dominant
emphasis on protection and safety for LGBTQ-GNC young people. Yet, as full civil rights
become widespread and expected by all youth without regard to sexual orientation and gender
identity, rights for participation press the question of the relative balance between inclusion

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Stacey S. Horn, Christina Peter, and Stephen T. Russell

(i.e., integrating sexual orientation and gender identity questions in administrative data systems
and in research) and protection (i.e., avoiding sexual orientation and gender identity questions
due to fear of inadvertent disclosure) (Snapp, Russell, Arredondo, & Skiba, in press), especially
as youth themselves begin to make the case for full inclusion (Waldman, 2014).

Conclusions
Sexual orientation and gender identity rights have emerged in global discourses of human rights
in the last decades, and only recently have SOGI rights specific to children and adolescents
become a focus of serious inquiry. We have argued that three core rights domains are relevant
to SOGI issues, and to LGBTQ-GNC youth in particular: the right to protection from
discrimination and harm; the right to development and survival, including the right to health
and health care, including sexual health; and the right to fully participate in civic life. We note
that limitations to full inclusion in the CRC makes it possible for individual parents,
communities, and/or other state actors to contest and/or restrict the inclusion of sexual
orientation and gender identity in educational or other institutional settings, in mass media
directed toward young people, and/or in basic and crucial information regarding health and
well-being. These restrictions not only affect LGBTQ-GNC young people but in fact impinge
on the rights of all young people to access education, information, and materials most essential
to their identity, health, and well-being. Thus, deeply ingrained cultural beliefs regarding sexuality
and gender create conditions across counties and cultures that severely limit or deny young
peoples’ rights in several areas outlined by the CRC.
One way to begin to ensure the rights of LGBTQ-GNC youth around the world would
be to include sexual orientation and gender identification as protected classes within Article 2
of the CRC. This inclusion would send a strong message to the international community that
LGBTQ-GNC youth not only have the right to their identities and to exist, but also that they
should be afforded all of the other rights outlined within the CRC itself. Inclusion of sexual
orientation and gender identity as protected statuses within the CRC itself is now justifiable
in the context of the new international discourse regarding LGBTQ-GNC rights, the passage
of the Yogyakarta principals, growing work that focuses on the rights of LGBTQ-GNC adults,
and most notably the UNESCO summit on SOGI related bullying. Moving forward, experts
in children’s rights and experts in rights related to sexual orientation and gender identity must
work together to ensure that this new discourse is one that offers the potential for broad
integration of sexual orientation and gender identity rights that will provide a context for
LGBTQ-GNC and all youth to thrive.

Notes
1 The Organization of Islamic Conferences (now called the Organization of Islamic Cooperation) is an
inter-governmental organization comprised of 57 member states representing the Muslim world and
is a permanent delegate to both the UN and the European Union (EU). While most member states
are from the African and Asian continents, the OIC also includes member states from South America
(2) and Europe (4) and serves as the “collective voice of the Muslim World” (www.oic-oic.org). The
Holy See is the sovereign state (official government) of the Catholic Church (as well as residents of
Vatican City) and represents the Church in all matters of international relations and policy. While the
Holy See is not an official UN member it has permanent UN observer status.
2 The majority of the studies reviewed focus on families within the United States and Canada.
3 Refers to people whose sex assignment at birth corresponds to their gender identity and expression
(Gender Spectrum, retrieved from www.genderspectrum.org/quick-links/understanding-gender/).

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4 “ ‘Intersex’ is a general term used for a variety of conditions in which a person is born with a reproductive
or sexual anatomy that doesn’t seem to fit the typical definitions of female or male” (Intersex Society
of North America, retrieved from www.isna.org/faq/what_is_intersex.
5 Exact language from the law regarding sexuality education reads “(8) An emphasis, in a factual manner
and from a public health perspective, that homosexuality is not a lifestyle acceptable to the general
public and that homosexual conduct is a criminal offense under the laws of the state.”

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 15
Progress toward Worldwide
Recognition of the Child’s Human
Right to Dignity, Physical Integrity
and Protection from Harm
Bernadette J. Saunders

Introduction
It has long been argued that ‘[t]here is probably no more significant step that could be taken
to advance the status and protection of children than to outlaw the practice of physical
punishment’ (Freeman, 2000, p. 287). Children are people with rights not less than adults
(Newell, 1989). Yet in countries that have not outlawed corporal punishment as a means of
discipline and control of children, it is a manifestation of both their subservient status and adults’
willingness to use their greater strength and power over them. Adults’ use of corporal
punishment is enabled through the objectification of children, and perceptions of them as lesser
beings (Saunders & Goddard, 2001). Parents who love their children and for whom their
children’s best interests are paramount may thus justify physical discipline that causes children
to suffer unnecessary pain and humiliation (see Saunders & Goddard, 2010). Counterintuitively,
the child’s pain, fear and anguish might not arouse parents’ concern. Corporal punishment is
commonly misconstrued to be neither harmful nor abusive. It is therefore maintained as a
reasonable and appropriate response to children, rather than one that wrongfully subjugates
and dehumanises them, and jeopardises their optimal development.
This chapter presents an overview of progress towards recognition of every child’s human
rights to dignity, physical integrity and protection from harm. In a very complex and unequal
world context, consideration is given to some of the reasons for many countries’ continuing
tolerance of the corporal punishment of children in family, school and other institutional settings.
The commonly accepted more powerful roles and higher status accorded to significant adults
in children’s lives are a key focus. Questions considered include, how do often unchallenged,
unjust perceptions of children vis-à-vis adults influence full recognition that both children and
adults are endowed with the human right to physical integrity? Indeed, given children’s
vulnerability relative to adults and their ‘evolving capacity for agency and autonomy’ (Tobin,
2013a, p. 396), should not children be entitled to greater protection from assault than adults?

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The increasing empirical research on corporal punishment is reviewed, and commentaries on

the morality of corporal punishment, the human rights of children, and also published
qualitative research contributing children’s/young people’s perspectives, are highlighted.
Pathways to desirable changes in attitudes and behaviours are noted, with an emphasis on the
need for enlightened law reform, strategic language reform, and positive parenting education,
with accompanying professional supports and services that motivate and enable respectful and
constructive attitudinal and behavioural changes in responses to children.

Background
In 2016, it will be 37 years since Sweden became the first country in the world to introduce
law that prohibited corporal punishment in all settings. Chapter 6, Section 1 of the Swedish
Children and Parents Code (civil legislation amended in 1979) states that ‘[c]hildren are entitled
to care, security and good upbringing. Children are to be treated with respect for their person
and individuality and may not be subjected to corporal punishment or any other humiliating
treatment’. This ‘explicit ban’ followed incremental legislative reform prohibiting men from
lawfully using violence towards their wives; employers from legally defending violence directed
at employees; personnel in schools and institutions from corporally punishing students (from
1958); and, in 1966, ‘the defence of reasonable punishment’ was removed from the criminal
code (Leviner, 2013, p. 156). Since the ban, as Leviner (2013) observed:

Swedish society and structures within families have not collapsed, and most parents have
found new ways of handling conflicts with their children. Those parents who still smack
their children are not stigmatised, nor seen as criminals, and generally children are not
removed from their parents. There is no debate about the state usurping parental rights
in this regard, and very few Swedes seem to question the correctness of the ban.
(p. 159)

Notably, in Sweden, children are accorded a special status in ‘a political and social context that
recognizes children’s rights and emphasizes a collectivist approach to meeting children’s needs
through public policy’ (Durrant & Olsen, 1997, p. 445). The inclusion of the following statement
in the 2013 Visitor’s Guide to Stockholm reflects this child-focused context:

Stockholm is an accessible, safe and child-friendly city. There are many parks and playing
grounds, museums and experiences for children of all ages. Many restaurants and coffee
shops have high chairs and children’s menus and public transport is easily accessible even
with prams. In Stockholm, children are allowed to be seen and heard.
(Stockholm Visitors Board, 2013, p. 10; revised in 2015 and replaced with
a section entitled: ‘Stockholm for children of all ages’, p. 10)

This forthright claim to child-friendliness stands in stark contrast to the ambiguous status accorded
to children in countries that condone their corporal punishment, as it is typical in these coun-
tries for ‘[c]oncern, care, and affection for children [to] comfortably coexist with feelings
of indifference, aggravation, and a willingness to physically hurt and distress them’ (Saunders,
2013, p. 289).
In 2016 it will be approaching 10 years since New Zealand (NZ) became the first English-
speaking country to ban corporal punishment, after a long debate and considerable resistance.

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Indeed, in 2009, two years after the removal of the ‘reasonable chastisement’ defence to assault
in Section 59 of the Crimes Act 1961, a non-binding citizen initiated referendum threatened
this progressive reform, This impassioned protest arose despite the urgent need to reduce the
intolerable extent of sometimes seriously injurious ‘disciplinary’ violence experienced by too
many of NZ’s children (Wood, Hassal, & Ludbrook, 2008). The referendum highlighted both
children’s vulnerability, particularly in the privacy of the home, and the tenuous nature of
children’s rights in the context of parent–child relationships in which the parents consider their
rights to be paramount; including long-held beliefs in their right to physically ‘discipline’ children
as they think fit. Historically, viewed as the parent’s possession, even ‘a commodity’ (Lancy,
2015, pp. 12–20; see Stearns, this volume for a history of children’s rights), in many countries
a child is still considered ‘owned’, even treated as ‘chattel’, some children ‘indistinguishable
from slaves’ (Lancy, 2015, p. 53). The NZ government essentially judged the non-binding
citizen initiated referendum to be an unwarranted display of disgruntlement stemming from
parents’ sense of disempowerment in parent–child relationships, and it was ignored. A further
attempt to undermine the ban similarly resulted in the resounding defeat of a private member’s
bill to legalise ‘smacking’ in September 2010 (New Zealand Parliament, 2010).
The full extent of violence perpetrated against children in the privacy of the home will
always be underestimated. Smith (2015) observes that, while the NZ ban has resulted in positive
change, optimal impact will more likely be achieved through ongoing education campaigns.
In Sweden, education campaigns and supports for parents and children accompanied the
ban that is now embedded in the culture (Durrant, 1999; Ellonen, Jernbro, Janson, Tindberg
& Lucas, 2014). Ellonen and colleagues, citing Janson, Landberg and Svensson (2007, published
in Swedish), note that in the 2000s less than 10 per cent of Swedes approved of corporal
punishment. In Lansford and colleagues’ (2010) study, involving 1,398 mothers, 1,146 fathers
and 1,417 children aged 7–10 years old, in China, Colombia, Italy, Jordan, Kenya, the
Philippines, Sweden, Thailand and the United States, very few Swedish parents reported using
any form of corporal punishment, and none believed that corporal punishment was ever neces-
sary. Moreover, in cross-country comparisons, ‘Sweden was consistently significantly lower
than the other countries in mothers’, fathers’, and [importantly] children’s reports of parents’
use of corporal punishment’ (Lansford et al., 2010, p. 10).
Similarly, Olivari, Hertfelt Wahnb, Maridaki-Kassotakic, Antonopoulouc and Confalonieria
(2015) in their research in Sweden, Italy and Greece, involving 279 Swedish, 301 Italian and
225 Greek adolescents who completed questionnaires about their parents’ parenting styles, found
that in all three countries authoritative parenting was most often identified. Unsurprised, the
researchers note that, in Sweden, Italy and Greece, law and policy related to the role that
families play in the education and care of children emphasise the importance of parents raising
their children with respect in a supportive and protective environment in which corporal
punishment is not used as a discipline method (Olivari et al., 2015). It should be noted that
Italy has not yet banned corporal punishment in all settings. Indeed, ‘[t]he law confirms a right
to correction (“jus corrigenda”) [but a] 1996 Supreme Court ruling states that this cannot be
used to defend the use of corporal punishment’ (EPOCH, 2016). Drawing on Baumrind (1971),
Olivari and colleagues (2015) differentiated parenting styles thus:

Authoritative parents are demanding and responsive. They enhance children’s involvement
and participation in family life through democratic behaviours, trusting and supporting
their children, and controlling them without being restrictive. Authoritarian parents are
highly demanding and directive, but not responsive. They exercise high control of their

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children and educate them through strict and punitive discipline measures. Permissive parents
are highly responsive, but not demanding. They do not control their children and set few
rules, warmly accepting their children and their behaviours.
(pp. 244–245)

Swedish adolescents, in Olivari and colleagues’ research, least frequently described authoritarian
parenting. However, along with Greek adolescents, they sometimes described permissive
parenting which the researchers suggest, drawing on Key (1995), Hallden (1991) and Durrant,
Broberg and Rose-Krasnor (1999), may be attributed to a long tradition in Sweden of seeing
children as equals who must be ‘supported . . . not directed’ and a greater tolerance/
understanding of children sometimes being disobedient (Olivari et al., 2015, p. 253).

World Progress towards Recognition of Every Child’s Right not to

be Subjected to Corporal Punishment
Barring the United States, 196 countries have ratified the United Nations Convention on the
Rights of the Child (CRC, United Nations General Assembly, 1989). It is the most widely ratified
international human rights treaty (with Somalia and South Sudan ratifying the Convention in 2015),
and it has been integral to ongoing improvements in children’s lives. The text of the CRC has,
however, been criticised for not explicitly condemning corporal punishment (see Freeman, 2000).
Notably, however, in General Comment (GC) No. 8 in 2006, the Committee on the Rights of
the Child, formed in 1991 and comprised of independent experts who monitor States parties’
implementation of the CRC, defined corporal punishment as ‘any punishment in which physical
force is used and intended to cause some degree of pain or discomfort, however light’
(CRC/C/GC/8, para. 11, emphases added) and, in both GC No. 8 and GC No. 13 in 2011,
the Committee expresses unequivocal intolerance of corporal punishment, declaring that
‘eliminating violent and humiliating punishment of children, through law reform and other necessary
measures, is an immediate and unqualified obligation of States parties’ (CRC/C/GC/8, para. 22),
and ‘definitions must in no way erode the child’s absolute right to human dignity and physical
and psychological integrity by describing some forms of violence as legally and/or socially acceptable’
(CRC/C/GC/13, para. 17). Countries that have not banned corporal punishment in all its forms
and in all settings are thus severely reprimanded and called to account when subjected to UN
Universal Periodic Review (UPR) of their implementation of the CRC. In 2012, for example,
the UN Committee on the Rights of the Child (2012) were embarrassingly critical of Australia’s
resolute tolerance of corporal punishment; recommending campaigns involving children to raise
awareness of corporal punishment’s negative effects and to promote children’s rights to positive
discipline. The Committee has repeatedly called for the removal of the ‘reasonable chastisement’
defence to assault, and has noted that professionals working with children ought to be better
educated and resourced to quickly identify, report, and respond to child maltreatment.
Tolerance of corporal punishment violates a number of human rights laws, including Article
7 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights 1948, Article 16 of the Convention Against
Torture 1984, Article 7 of the International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights
1966, Article 7 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights 1966, Article 11(5)
of the African Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child 1999, Article 5 of the American
Convention on Human Rights 1969, and Article 17 of the European Social Charter 1961;
revised in 1996. Committees appointed to monitor the implementation of these human rights

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documents in countries that have ratified them have been highly critical of tolerance of violence
against children, including corporal punishment (for a stirring commentary on corporal
punishment as a human rights violation, see Bitensky, 2006). In a more recent example in May
2015, the European Committee of Social Rights decided that failures to prohibit corporal
punishment in Ireland, Slovenia, Belgium and the Czech Republic violates Article 17 of the
European Social Charter (a Council of Europe Treaty). Consequently, in decisions specific to
each of these countries, the Committee drew attention to European and international agreement
‘among human rights bodies that the corporal punishment of children should be expressly and
comprehensively prohibited in law’ (European Committee of Social Rights, 2015, p. 12).
Subsequently, in November 2015, Ireland removed its common law defence of ‘reasonable
chastisement’, finally recognising children’s rights to equal protection from assault (Offences
Against the Person [Non Fatal] Act 1997, Sect. 24A[1]).

Countries that Have Banned Corporal Punishment in All Settings

Despite Sweden’s lead in 1979, only 49 countries have banned corporal punishment in all
locations, including the child’s home (EPOCH, 2016). By decade, these countries include:

• 1979–1989: Sweden; Finland; Norway; Austria.

• 1990–1999: Cyprus; Denmark; Latvia; Croatia.
• 2000–2009: Germany, Bulgaria, Israel (followed the lead of its Supreme Court); Turkmenistan
(Turkmenistan’s ban was officially confirmed in 2014); Iceland; Ukraine; Romania; Hungary;
Greece; Spain; Netherlands; Togo (first of six African countries); Portugal; Venezuela (first
of nine Latin American countries); Uruguay; New Zealand (first English-speaking country to ban
corporal punishment); Republic of Moldova, Liechtenstein, Luxembourg; Costa Rica.
• 2010–: Poland; Albania; Kenya; Tunisia; Republic of Congo; South Sudan; Honduras;
Cabo Verde; Macedonia; Nicaragua; Bolivia; Argentina; Brazil; Andorra; Malta; Estonia;
San Marino; Benin; Ireland (second English-speaking country to ban corporal punishment in late
2015); Peru; Mongolia.

As is evident, there has been a steady increase since the new millennium in the numbers of
countries introducing or amending law to make any degree of corporal punishment unlawful.
Increasingly, countries are committing, without reservation, to legal recognition that each child
has a human right to dignity, physical integrity and protection from harm. Also encouraging
is knowledge that at least 52 more countries have committed to future law reform (EPOCH,
2016).
Of special note, Brazil has a child population of around 59 million (UNICEF, 2013). As
the largest country to fully prohibit corporal punishment, it raised the global percentage of
children legally protected from corporal punishment from 5.5 per cent (EPOCH, September,
2014) to approximately 8.2 per cent, in June, 2014. To date, as Pinheiro (2015) notes, just
over 201.2 million children live in this laudable list of countries in which corporal punishment
is not perceived to be ‘simply a fact of childhood’ (McGillivray, 1997, p. 211). Indeed, ‘corporal
punishment in these countries cannot be defended as a lawful, reasonable, or justifiable
violation of a child’s body even, and perhaps particularly, if delivered with disciplinary intent’
(Freeman & Saunders, 2014, p. 683).

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Countries that Condone Children’s Corporal Punishment

Especially disturbing, as noted on the EPOCH (2016) website, state, traditional and/or
religious law permits children to be whipped, flogged or caned as a sentence for juvenile crime
in these 36 countries: Afghanistan, Antigua and Barbuda, Bahamas, Bangladesh, Barbados,
Botswana, Brunei Darussalam, Colombia Dominica, Ecuador, Eritrea, Grenada, Guyana, India,
Indonesia, Iran, Kiribati, Libya, Malaysia, Maldives, Mauritania, Nigeria, Pakistan, Qatar, Saudi
Arabia, Singapore, Somalia, St Vincent and the Grenadines, State of Palestine, Tonga, Tuvalu,
United Arab Emirates, UR Tanzania, Vanuatu, Yemen, and Zimbabwe. Corporal punishment
in schools is allowed in 71 countries, and 98 countries that at least allow corporal punishment
in the home are yet to commit to law reform (EPOCH, 2016).

Why Does the Corporal Punishment of Children Persist?

Childhood is a social construction ( James & Prout, 1990). As such, in different countries, cultures
and historical periods, children’s childhoods considerably vary in length and experience. The ideal
world in which children ‘grow up in a family environment, in an atmosphere of happiness, love
and understanding’ (Preamble, CRC, 1989) is far removed from too many childhoods. Many
children’s childhoods also do not fit well with extended ‘modern’ childhoods that better facilitate
the attainment of the CRC’s goals. Some have described the idea of childhood inherent in the
CRC ‘as a Western construction’ and suggest that it naively downplays ‘the interdependence
between material progress and social progress’ (see, for example, Pupavac, 2011, pp. 286, 307).
It is also notable that children were not consulted when the CRC was drafted (Freeman, 1998).
Nevertheless, the CRC is a document that is continuously interpreted through the UN’s
monitoring of its implementation in all countries that have ratified it; its full meaning and
application evolving over time, and in consideration of contextual and cultural diversity.
Successive UN General Comments attest to this.
Franklin remarked that defining a ‘child’ and ‘childhood’ is more than specifying ‘an age
of majority’; definitions, he suggests, reflect ‘a particular society’s values and attitudes towards
children’ (2002, p. 19). Article 1 of the CRC defines a ‘child’ as ‘a person below the age of
18, unless the laws of a particular country set the legal age for adulthood younger’. To enhance
children’s protection, however, it encourages countries to not set ‘the age of majority’ to below
18 years old. Yet, in seemingly total disregard over the more than 25 years since the CRC’s
inception, in some countries children as young as seven years old may be prosecuted as criminals
(Children’s Rights International Network, 2015); children as young as five years old are labourers,
sometimes working for their own, and their families’, survival (International Labour
Organization, 2015); children as young as 11 years old are recruited to fight as soldiers in wars
(Child Soldiers International, 2012); and female children are forced into marriage when under
15 years old (UNICEF, 2014) and as young as eight years old (Girls Not Brides, 2015).
In this context, the act of a parent or guardian hitting his or her child as a means of discipline
or control might easily be dismissed as insignificant. Indeed, as is apparent from the number
of countries that have ratified the CRC but continue to tolerate children’s corporal punish-
ment, it is too commonly regarded as not a breach of a child’s rights; particularly if it is norm-
ative parental discipline – violence characteristically minimised through language such as
‘smacking’ and ‘spanking’. Diverse societies and distinct historical periods inconsistently
perceive what is in children’s best interests; ‘some will argue that a smack is not violence, does

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not inflict injury, is not abuse or maltreatment’ (Freeman, 2011, p. 20). Given disparate notions
about what is in a child’s best interests, too frequently, well-meaning but misguided parents,
often with societal permission to use the euphemistic ‘smack/slap/spank’, do so with tragic
consequences (Nielssen, Large, Westmore, & Lackersteen, 2009). Indeed, through comparing
14 European countries, some with and some without a corporal punishment ban, Gracia and
Herrero (2008) confirmed an association between a country’s legislative tolerance of physical
punishment and higher serious/fatal child maltreatment statistics. Too frequently, serious and
fatal abuse begins as lawful corporal punishment (see chapter by Mudaly and Goddard this
volume on the abuse and neglect of children).
Freeman contends that ‘[c]hildren’s rights discourse (as human rights discourse also) must
not be seen, [as] it frequently is, as a foreign imposition, but rather as an element of shared
common sense’ (2011, p. 27). He urges countries to engage in ‘dialogue’ and suggests that ‘the
developed world must carefully scrutinize its own policies’ (Freeman, 2011, p. 28). The vital
task at hand, he argues, is to create ‘ “common sense”, where currently this does not exist’,
and he suggests that attempts to arrive at this intuitively sound consensus might reasonably
‘begin with children’ (Freeman, 2011, p. 28). Of relevance, Durrant (2008) cites influential
High Court decisions in India, Israel, Italy, Fiji, Kenja, Nambia, Nepal, South Africa and Zambia,
to argue that the consensus gradually reached by many countries that violence against women
is ‘a matter of rights not of culture’ is now beginning to be reflected in attitudes concerning
violence directed at children, traditionally regarded as normal (p. 60). Also observing a shift
in attitudes, Renteln (2010) concludes that as we move toward an international consensus against
the use of corporal punishment, ‘culturally varying customs’ will likely attract less tolerance
(p. 279). Children will then be justly accorded human rights equal to other people, including
other previously disempowered groups.

Can a Line be Drawn that Justly Divides Corporal Punishment and

Child Abuse?
Attempts to draw a line between corporal punishment and child abuse are inherently challenging
and controversial. Given that the human right to dignity is arguably unequivocal as ‘[d]ignity
asserts the worth of the person who is imbued with it’ (Freeman, 2010, p. 215), such attempts
are invariably an affront to children as human rights holders. A child, as Clark (2004) asserts,
cannot preserve his or her dignity when threatened with corporal punishment. Indeed, as well
argued in an early commentary on corporal punishment of children:

If we are to assert the dignity of all persons, to affirm equal respect for all persons, we
must as a necessary pre-condition protect the bodily integrity of all. If we are concerned
to eliminate the evil of child abuse, we must ultimately come to accept that corporal
punishment of children is child abuse.
(Freeman, 1988, p. 8)

In issues impacting children, such as corporal punishment, children’s human rights ought ‘to
provide the lens’ that leads to just reviews and resolutions (Tobin, 2013b, p. 88) reasonably
conducted in consultation with children. Indeed, as Donnelly (2013) contends ‘[r]ights
empower, not just benefit, those who hold them. Violations of rights are a particular kind of
injustice, with a distinctive force and remedial logic’ (p. 8). He further observes that:

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[H]uman rights authorize and empower citizens to act to vindicate their rights, to insist
that these standards be realized, and to struggle to create a world in which they enjoy (the
objects of ) their rights. Human rights claims express not merely aspirations, suggestions,
requests, or laudable ideas, but rights-based demands for change.
(Donnelly, 2013, p. 12)

Apparently unconcerned about children’s human rights to physical integrity, Coleman, Dodge
and Campbell in the United States (following in the footsteps of other well-motivated people
around the world) contentiously propose a ‘standard for reasonable corporal punishment’ (2010,
p. 164). Their motivation stemmed from the observation, emphases added, that:

[D]ecision making about whether an injury or incident remains in the realm of family business or
has crossed the line into the impermissible varies, reflecting a multiplicity of purely personal
viewpoints, religious and political ideologies, and academic or disciplinary training and
requirements. In turn, institutional treatment of and outcomes for children and families
are often inconsistent.
(Coleman et al., 2010, p. 108)

While clearly an insightful and unfortunately accurate observation, children’s rights advocates
are challenged to understand how even purportedly ‘permissible’ corporal punishment
(apparently including injuries to children), and often oxymoronically described as ‘loving physical
discipline’, can be so misconstrued and delineated. This is not to suggest that all parents who
use corporal punishment should be criminalised or have their children removed, and this has
not been the case in countries that have banned corporal punishment (see Naylor & Saunders,
2011, Leviner, 2013). On the contrary, most parents want what they believe is best for their
children and they parent with this in mind. Most parents would want to parent in a manner
and in conditions that ensure their children’s optimal development. Most, if not all, parents
and other adult family members who share parenting responsibilities could benefit from
‘positive parenting’ education (see Durrant, 2007), together with supports that enable them to
respectfully and effectively engage with and nurture children. Clearly the living conditions of
families in different countries and in different cultures present different challenges, some appalling
and sadly insurmountable.
This acknowledged, in light of (i) judicial and human rights bodies’ interpretation of
international human rights law, (ii) increasing empirical evidence of the detrimental impact of
corporal punishment, and (iii) children’s descriptions of their experiences of corporal punishment
and its impact upon them, proposals that claim that various types and degrees of ‘disciplinary’
violence are permissible, and thus not in breach of children’s human rights, are spurious and
offensive. McGillivray (1997) astutely describes questionable attempts to legally define ‘lawful
chastisement’ as an absurd and ‘shifting geojurispudence of licit and illicit body contacts’
(p. 211). Provocatively illustrating what he describes as moral bankruptcy, Freeman (1999)
aptly juxtaposed the parent–child relationship with a marriage between a man and a woman
and asks us to imagine ‘legislation which allowed husbands to smack their wives but withheld
from them the power to use an implement!’ (p. 132). He mocks incremental law reform in
relation to corporal punishment, declaring that adults must stop ‘hitting children because it is
wrong . . . as it is wrong to hit adults’ (Freeman, 1999, p. 139).
Corporal punishment, in any form, is a violent act that risks harming children. Typically,
an adult responsible for a child’s nurture and development uses physical force that inevitably

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hurts, humiliates and/or subordinates a child who is physically weaker, dependent and
impressionable. The child’s ‘unacceptable’ behaviour may be developmentally reasonable but
the adult’s emotional state (anger, frustration, tiredness, stress) may motivate an impulsive, violent
reaction rather than a considered, empathetic and constructive response (Saunders & Goddard,
2010). In such circumstances, corporal punishment can escalate in intensity. Severe and
fatal injuries and/or child protective services involvement can result (Cappa et al., 2014;
Gershoff, 2002; Lansford, Deater Deckard, Bornstein, Putnick, & Bradley, 2013; Nielssen
et al., 2009). Indeed, Durrant et al. (2006) found that corporal punishment was a significant
factor in 75 per cent of substantiated child physical abuse.

The Family – ‘A Real Cradle of Violence’ and Human Rights Abuses

Prominent thinkers have long made the connection between violence in society and violence
in the family, including the normative use of corporal punishment in child rearing (Freeman,
1979; Miller, 1983; Straus, 1996). Recent research well supports this (Lansford et al., 2013;
Straus, Douglas, & Medeiros, 2014). Freeman observed over 30 years ago that ‘we live, as we
always have done, in a violent society, of which the family is a true microcosm . . . the family
is a real cradle of violence [in which] conditions of childhood and experiences of family violence
socialise into a culture a violence’ (1979, p. 1).
Many of the arguments espoused in support of the legitimacy of parental corporal punishment
were historically adopted and, in some countries, continue to support violent responses to
vulnerable, disempowered members of society, such as women (Lansford et al., 2013). In their
study of 25 middle- and low-income countries of which three had banned corporal punishment
– Ukraine in 2004, Togo in 2007 and Albania in 2010 – Lansford and colleagues concluded
that ‘individual endorsement and higher normative country-wide endorsement of the belief
that husbands are justified in hitting their wives . . . that corporal punishment is needed to
rear children, and . . . the interaction between individual beliefs and country-wide norms’
significantly predicted ‘more psychological aggression, physical violence, and severe physical
violence toward children’ (2013, p. 5). They surmised that in countries that generally tolerate
domestic violence and corporal punishment, harsh discipline of children may be a default response
aligned with ‘normative social practices’ (Lansford et al., 2013, p. 6) rather than a reflection
of individuals’ considered choices and, in countries where domestic violence and corporal
punishment are less common and societal support of violence is not characteristic, personal
views might better predict caregivers’ disciplinary choices. It is significant that, in Sweden where
physical discipline has been banned for decades, children are shielded from exposure to
violence and the trepidation that exposure to violent images arouses, children’s contact with
‘violent models’ is curtailed, and non-violent means of resolving conflict are encouraged (Durrant
& Olsen, 1997, p. 448).

Adults’ Roles and Status vis-à-vis Children

In his book, The Anthropology of Childhood: Cherubs, Chattels, Changelings, Lancy (2015) pro-
vides many thought-provoking examples, across different countries and cultures, of the child’s
ambiguous status, and the varying nature of childhoods in and within diverse societies. Based
on extensive anthropological literature, personal experience of ‘modern’ society and information
in child development texts, Lancy debatably maintains that modern societies, ‘from which most
of the generalizations about childhood have been made’ may be stereotypically described as

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‘neontocracies’ – predominantly child-focused, in comparison to the rest of the world’s more

‘agrarian’ societies which he describes as ‘gerontocracies’ – predominantly adult-focused (2015,
pp. 2–3). He generalises the implications of this neontocracy/gerontocracy dichotomy through
some ‘polemical comparisons’ including the following illustrative paragraphs (Lancy, 2015,
p. 404, emphasis in original) specific to children’s corporal punishment:

We invest a great deal of our time in socializing our children . . . through conversations.
The intent is to instruct children by precept and persuasion. Corporal punishment is seen
as a retrograde strategy for socializing the young and may be prohibited in law.
Relatively speaking, adults avoid interfering with children’s autonomy, expecting them
to want to fit in and learn their culture. If the child deviates from expectations, brief and
sometimes harsh directives are used to correct [including] frightening the child and or
corporal punishment. Parents who don’t discipline their children are pilloried.

Arguably, many industrialised societies fall short of Lancy’s neontocratic stereotype, as the
descriptor ‘child-focused’ surely remains an ideal to which many ‘progressive’ countries can
only aspire while they continue to condone or tolerate corporal punishment in childhood.
A brief overview of some selected research studies conducted in different societies serves
to illustrate how adults’ perceptions of their roles and status in relation to children persist in
motivating, perpetuating and supporting the use and acceptability of corporal punishment
particularly in parent/child relationships, sometimes misguidedly described as nurturing. Even
when a belief in a positive, child-focused outcome motivates the adult’s use of corporal
punishment, the child’s human right to dignity is denied. In loving and caring parent–child
relationships in English-speaking countries, adults’ explanations and justifications for using
corporal punishment of varying types and intensities, including the use of implements, often
refer to (i) pedagogy (teaching children lessons in good behaviour, parental duty sometimes
driven by religious and/or cultural beliefs – ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’); (ii) inter-
generational transmission (social learning unquestioningly passed down from one generation
to the next – ‘it never did me any harm’); (iii) catharsis (the adult’s impulsive and violent release
of emotions (anger, stress, frustration), often when unrealistic expectations of children are not
met); and (iv) temperament – the adult has a hostile, aggressive personality (Gough & Reavey,
1997; Saunders & Goddard, 2010). Other non-physical means of discipline, such as reasoning,
are commonly used but, as a last resort or when feeling bereft of alternatives, adults often resort
to physical punishment which they may subsequently regret.
In diverse countries and cultures, for example, in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania and in Seoul,
Korea, adults’ aforementioned explanations and justifications for using corporal punishment
are not dissimilar to those characteristically given in English-speaking countries. Johnson
Frankenberg and colleagues’ (2010) qualitative research in Dar es Salaam explored ‘smacking’
and ‘beating’ within what they described as ‘caring’ contexts in which the use of sticks, burning
and pinching children aged as young as three years old are acknowledged. There are three
relevant themes emanating from the study. The first is ‘to beat with care’, which is explained as
beating a child ‘with love and control’, in his or her best interest, to learn right from wrong,
and to avoid injurious accidents. The second relevant theme is the ‘the non-care of non-beating’.
This is depicted as ‘horror scenarios’ where inadequate discipline is believed to lead to drug
addiction and theft. The third theme, ‘as if beating a snake’, is described as excessively beating
a child ‘to correct the child’s misbehaviour’ and to exert the adult’s power ( Johnson
Frankenberg, Holmqvist & Rubenson, 2010, pp. 460–464). The researchers, recognising similar

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disciplinary motives in different cultures, conclude that ‘[t]he tendency to regard corporal
punishment not as violence but as an act of love and a necessary form of discipline, as in beating
with care, is far from unique’ ( Johnson Frankenberg et al., 2010, p. 466). They note that in
Sweden in the early twentieth century it was commonly said that ‘the one you love you beat’.
Further illustrating commonalities across counties and cultures, Yang’s (2009) qualitative
research in Seoul revealed that parents, influenced by Confucianism, highly value their adult
authority and children are expected to abide by their rules – a parent’s ‘duty’ is to transform
children ‘into decent people’ (p. 1545). The ‘cane of love’ is used to discipline children ‘as a
sign of parental love and concern’, and helps ‘to formalise and control’ the parents’ behaviour
because it has to be fetched before use, allowing time for the parent to focus and calm down
(Yang, 2009, p. 1547). Yang notes the Korean belief that age differences place children ‘in an
inferior and powerless position within the family and society at large’, and Koreans are
reluctant to accept that children have rights thus ‘caning is accepted as child discipline [and]
children must be forced to conform’ (Yang, 2009, pp. 1550–1552). Yang comments that
sometimes parents lack composure, and non-physical discipline is not considered to be a means
to achieve parents’ child rearing goals. It appears that in most, if not all cultures, adults
imprudently use physical means to discipline and control their children believing that it
demonstrates love and care, and that it is in the child’s best interests. At the same time, in all
cultures that condone corporal punishment, children’s safety and human rights are compromised.

The State of Research on the Incidence and Effects of Corporal

Punishment
Pinheiro’s (2006) World Report on Violence against Children involved extensive consultation with
adults and children/young people, and revealed that:

Most corporal punishment involves hitting (‘smacking’, ‘slapping’, ‘spanking’) children,

with the hand or with an implement—whip, stick, belt, but it can also involve, for example,
kicking, shaking or throwing children, scratching, pinching, biting, pulling hair or boxing
ears, forcing children to stay in uncomfortable positions, burning, scalding or forced
ingestion (for example, washing children’s mouths out with soap or forcing them to swallow
hot spices).
(pp. 52–53)

In a more recent UNICEF report, Hidden in Plain Sight: A statistical analysis of violence against
children, Cappa et al. (2014) drew on data from 190 countries to present an appalling picture
of the physical and emotional harm that children may suffer. Their report notes that children
endure many forms of violence, from slapping and pushing to fatal assaults and, in 2012, almost
one in five of the world’s homicide victims was under 20 years old. The most common form
of violence directed at, and witnessed by, children is the typically unquestioned ‘disciplinary’
violence – physical force and verbal intimidation – to which parents and teachers resort as
punishment and/or to limit children’s bothersome or improper behaviours. Cappa and
colleagues’ (2014) report suggests that, worldwide, six out of 10 children aged between two
and 14 are regularly physically punished; robbing children’s dignity, diminishing their self-
esteem and threatening their optimal development. Sadly, much of this violence is perpetrated
by the adults upon whom the child depends for his or her safety and well-being and to whom
the child looks up as role-models. Durrant and Ensom’s (2012) review of 20 years of research

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on corporal punishment documents robust evidence that there are associations between
corporal punishment and child aggression, mental health issues, diminished parent–child
relationships, lower cognitive development/academic achievement, and they further confirm
that severe and fatal child abuse occurs within a ‘context of punishment’ (p. 1373). A recent
meta-analysis of longitudinal research (Ferguson 2013) is notable as he states that it was explicitly
designed to not overstate corporal punishment’s association with detrimental and enduring effects.
He concluded that there is:

[A] trivial to small, but generally significant relationship between the use of spanking and
CP and long-term negative outcomes . . . This is not to say that scholars are remiss in
communicating concerns about negative outcomes . . . there was no evidence from the
current meta-analysis to indicate that spanking or CP held any particular advantages . . .
positive parenting practices had a non-significant relationship with externalizing behaviors
and could be considered as ‘least negative’.
(Ferguson, 2013, p. 203)

The research evidence thus reveals an undisputed risk that, even if ‘trivial to small’, is an
unnecessary risk that too many adults have the freedom to make at children’s expense. Surely
any conclusive association between corporal punishment and subsequent short and/or enduring
harm to children provides compelling support for its demise. Indeed, this prompts one to ask,
‘Why are we no longer permitted to conduct lab-based control-group experiments involving
“spanking procedures” for “non-compliant pre-school subjects”, as occurred in Bean’s and
Roberts’ research’ (1981, p. 95)? And why is it not also ethically objectionable to hit children
beyond the lab? The search for scientific proof that physical punishment causes harm, or is
ineffective, or no more effective than other forms of discipline, is surely morally questionable.
As Durrant (2011) contends, it should be unnecessary to irrefutably prove that violating a human
right invariably leads to harm before ensuring that that human right is protected, ‘[n]or should
the putative “benefits” of a rights violation be used to justify the violation’ (p. 42).

Children’s Voices on Corporal Punishment

Living under the threat of corporal punishment may silence children but, when permitted,
children have vividly recalled incidents of corporal punishment. They describe what they see
and what they hear, and they talk about both the child’s and the adult’s thoughts and feelings
– physical and emotional (see, for example, Saunders & Goddard, 2008). Children’s comments
often reflect its soul-destroying nature, its effect on their sense of self, and their feelings of
subjugation, powerlessness and indignation. Children have also expressed, often unreciprocated,
empathy towards the adults who cause them to feel physical and emotional pain (Saunders &
Goddard, 2010). As Chapman, Whitbread and Santos Pais wisely advise, ‘[w]e cannot afford
to ignore the voices of the world’s children: they will lead the societies of tomorrow’ (2014,
p. i). Yet regular consultations with children about issues that affect them still only rarely occur,
despite countries’ obligations under Article 12 of the CRC which accords to all children,
depending on their age and maturity, the right to freely express their views, and have them
duly taken into account, in all matters that may have an impact upon them.
We do not know how many of the world’s children are aware that they have a human
right to dignity and thus to not be corporally punished. Newell (2002), citing Freeman 1966,
observes that, in 1669, a child acting on behalf of all children, delivered a ‘Children’s Petition’

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to the UK Parliament objecting to corporal punishment in schools. He notes that over three
centuries later the child’s bold human rights claim was finally conceded. In 2000, he observes,
a UK organisation of children and young people called Article 12 organised a ‘Stop Smacking
Us’ march, again delivering a petition but this time to the Prime Minister. He observes that
despite sympathetic media coverage, the children’s human rights claim still awaits a just
response.
Consultations, even with very young children, lead to insightful and important revelations
about children’s thoughts, feelings and experiences. In numerous studies around the world,
children’s reflections on corporal punishment are thought-provoking and unsettling. Children
have revealed that, whether experienced or witnessed, corporal punishment:

[A]dversely impacts on [their] sense of self, reinforces their powerlessness and vulnerability,
and lowers their perceptions of the adults whom they love and respect. [It] hurts them
physically and can escalate in severity; arouses negative emotions, such as resentment,
confusion, sadness, hatred, humiliation, and anger; creates fear and impedes learning;
is not constructive, children prefer reasoning; and it perpetuates violence as a means of
resolving conflict . . . children are sensitive to inequality and double standards, and
children urge us to respect children and to act responsibly.
(Saunders, 2013, p. 298)

Children’s perspectives can be challenging to adults not only because they reveal often
disturbing realities but because children’s views may not align with adults’ views, even when
the adult is considering the child’s perspective through a human rights lens. In contexts in
which corporal punishment is a cultural norm, children may perceive themselves as not yet
people–subordinate to, and even owned by, adults. They may then readily justify corporal
punishment as necessary discipline and condone it as the adult’s right. Children’s poor sense
of self and powerlessness are common to many cultures, as this small selection of children’s
comments illustrate. In Gwirayi’s (2014) research in Zimbabwe, 16–17-year-old school students
commented:

You really feel painful when beaten . . . as a child there is nothing one can do about it.
(Zimbabwean child, Gwirayi, 2014, p. 122)

Corporal punishment is a very good system that would guide pupils from wrong doing
. . . beating is not meant to hurt children but to correct them.
(Zimbabwean child, Gwirayi, 2014, p. 123)

When reflecting on corporal punishment at home, children commented:

I am a human being and naturally make a mistake. Humans do not always follow rules.
So it is necessary to use the whip . . . parents have the right to physically punish their
children.
(Ethiopean child, Save the Children Sweden, 2007, p. 37)

[Spanking] doesn’t show him how to do something better; it just shows that you have
more power over him.
(American child, Vittrup & Holden, 2010, p. 218).

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[There’s] the control . . . over you . . . There is . . . helplessness . . . with being a child
. . . I don’t think it’s appropriate for [my parents] to physically punish me any more . . .
’cause I think I am becoming a bit of a person, not a child anymore.
(Australian child, Saunders & Goddard, 2010, pp. 155, 134)

Given the opportunity, children who feel unjustly treated seek change:

These teachers treat us as if we are their children. I don’t think that they beat their children
like they do us. Beating a school child who is dull will not make him bright. No child
abuse!! . . . This thing [CP] must be abolished . . .
(Zimbabwean child, Gwirayi, 2014, p. 122)

I’d like to say to . . . the government, to the parents, this is not the way to . . . discipline,
by hitting a child . . . you can see a bruise but you can’t see how it mentally affects someone
and they’ll carry that right through their childhood, right through their adulthood.
(Australian child, Saunders & Goddard, 2010, p. 231)

[W]hen I make a mistake and she punishes me I’m not angry with her because I know
she wants me to be a good child. But I wish all parents would stop punishing their children.
They should respect children’s rights and educate children using nonviolent methods.
(Cambodian child, Beazley et al., 2005, p. 190)

In too many cultures, children’s voices continue to be ignored. Eekelaar well argues that
in no society will perceptions of ‘children as rights holders’ have developed ‘until adults’ attitudes
and social structures are seriously adjusted towards making it possible for children to express
views and towards addressing them with respect’ (1992, p. 228).

Pathways to Progressive Change

Legislative Reform
Legislative reform is integral to recognition of the child’s human right to dignity, physical integrity
and protection from harm, and to happier, more enriching childhoods for many of the world’s
children. As Freeman and Saunders (2014) contend:

Governments are there to lead, not slavishly follow. Law can be used for social engineering,
though not in isolation from other policies. Law can change attitudes, as well as behaviour.
The goal of legislation in countries which have implemented a ban is education . . . rather
than . . . penal sanctions. And, of course, law reform would facilitate the improvement of
children’s lives and eventually the elimination of abuse.
(p. 701)

Smith (2015), reflecting on her experience of the New Zealand law reform process,
observes that there are three conditions integral to achieving legislative change: children’s
rights advocacy, enhanced awareness of corporal punishment’s adverse effects, and ‘the political
will and courage to promote a socially just society for children’ (p. 46). Santos Pais’ global
survey report on violence against children (2013) identified inadequately enforced laws that
leave children unprotected, especially the child with a disability, the impoverished child, the

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child who lives or works in streets, the Indigenous child, the female child, and the child from
a minority group. All governments, she declares, should devise and endorse a cohesive,
multidisciplinary, child-focused and time-limited plan to eliminate violence, and tolerance of
violence, directed at children, including legislative changes, and effective strategies to implement
and enforce them (Santos Pais, 2013). Once law reform is achieved it must be well publicised
and enforced with sensible and just discretion.

Changing the Language Used in Reference to Children and to Corporal

Punishment
Entrenched attitudes towards children that underlie the unquestioned use of corporal
punishment may be absorbed and perpetuated through language. The child, denied human
status ( Jenks, 1996) and its associated rights and privileges, may be undermined as ‘just a kid’,
and even objectified as ‘it’, denying his or her gender and individuality (Saunders & Goddard,
2001, 2010). Through euphemistic language, such as ‘smacking’ and ‘spanking’, disciplinary
violence directed at a child may be normalised, minimised and justified as in a child’s best
interests. Uplifting disempowered people’s status and affirming their human rights has historically
required or prompted the replacement of unjust, subjugating and discriminatory language
(Saunders & Goddard, 2001). Strategic changes in language will play a significant role in uplifting
the status of children, and enhancing children’s self-esteem as human rights-holders.

Challenging Traditions—Motivating a Shift in Attitudes Towards More

Considered, Respectful and Nurturing Adult–Child Relationships
To change entrenched attitudes and behaviours and to promote a more child-focused culture,
law and language reform that discourages the use of corporal punishment must be accompanied
by education (from early childhood into adulthood) about positive parenting and respectful
human relationships, together with positive role-modelling, and supports and services that
acknowledge both children’s rights and adults’ responsibility for children’s nurture and optimal
development. Santos Pais’ (2013) global survey report on violence against children aroused
ongoing concern about both its deterrence and current responses to it. Several recent studies
have found that both parents and non-parents who are informed about research demonstrating
the negative effects of corporal punishment, aptly seen to be ‘a serious public health concern’,
express less tolerance of its use (see Holden, Brown, Baldwin, & Caderao, 2014, p. 907).
Research also emphasises the need to determine and, if necessary, change the attitudes and
behaviours of professionals who can and do influence parents’ parenting methods (Taylor,
Hamvas, Rice, Newman & DeJong, 2011). Increasingly, professional bodies are releasing policy
statements condemning corporal punishment, and this is to be encouraged.
Santos Pais’ (2013) report highlighted insufficient investment in early childhood and positive
parenting initiatives; deficient child maltreatment reporting systems; insufficient services for
children affected by violence; and limited knowledge of (i) the causes, extent and effects of
violence that children experience, and (ii) the entrenched attitudes and norms that perpetuate
violence directed at children. Santos Pais’ (2013) report called for further research into the
nature, causes, perpetuation of, and current responses to, violence directed at children, with
a view to enlightened policy and well-resourced, responsive service provision. Santos Pais (2013)
also advised that all children should be enabled to actively and effectively participate in society.
Children’s Commissioners ought to facilitate this.

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Conclusion
Children are our future so they have got to be important . . . Parents think hitting children
is sort of their right . . . I guess parents have got to learn to respect children.
(Australian child, Saunders & Goddard, 2010, p. 222)

To the greatest possible extent, children are entitled to live in environments that nurture and
promote their optimal development. Pupavac (2011) well observes the significant challenges
to eliminating normative corporal punishment when ‘discipline norms are part of a totality of
social relations’ in differing cultural contexts and ‘social conditions’ (pp. 305–306). Arguably
an empathetic but questioning understanding of the historical and cultural context in which
children are subjected to corporal punishment is integral to enlightened change. Corporal
punishment is unquestionably an affront to the child’s dignity and a denial of due respect. It
disregards the child’s physical integrity and is an impediment to his or her joy of living and
life potential. Corporal punishment, in all its forms and to any degree, cannot be differentiated
from child abuse because that is what it is. It is time to concede that a line between corporal
punishment and child abuse is elusive because, in humane societies, it cannot be drawn.
As Freeman and Saunders (2014) contend, ‘when physical chastisement is outlawed, we
will have nailed a further nail in the coffin of child abuse, and we will have finally advanced
the status of children’ (p. 703). In ideal childhoods, ‘discipline is consistent and empathetic;
physical punishment is not considered – talking replaces hitting, and tolerance, understanding,
gentle persuasion and negotiation, replace violent coercion’ (Saunders, 2013, p. 299). Children
ought to be respected and valued, and this ought to be reflected in our attitudes, our language,
our behaviours and our investment in children’s safety, well-being, and optimal development.
Children are ‘persons, not property . . . and not just the subject matter over which rights are
exercised’ (Freeman, 1988, p. 8). The denial of children’s human rights to dignity, physical
integrity and protection from harm can no longer be justified or tolerated in civilised societies.

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Wood, B., Hassal, I., & Ludbrook, R. (2008). Unreasonable Force: New Zealand’s Journey towards Banning the
Physical Punishment of Children. Wellington, New Zealand: Save the Children.
Yang, S. (2009). Cane of Love: Parental Attitudes towards Corporal Punishment in Korea. British Journal of
Social Work, 39, 1540–1555.

Legislation, Treaties and international Declarations

African Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child 1999, from: http://www.who.int/hhr/African%
20Child%20Charter.pdf
American Convention on Human Rights 1969, from: www.oas.org/dil/treaties_B-32_American_Convention_
on_Human_Rights.pdf
Convention Against Torture 1984, from: http://www.ohchr.org/Documents/ProfessionalInterest/cat.pdf
Crimes Act 1961 New Zealand, from: http://www.legislation.govt.nz/act/public/1961/0043/latest/DLM
327382.html
European Social Charter 1961, from: https://www.coe.int/t/dghl/monitoring/socialcharter/Presentation/
ESCRBooklet/English.pdf
International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights 1966, from:http://www.ohchr.org/
Documents/ProfessionalInterest/cescr.pdf
International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights 1966, from: http://www.ohchr.org/Documents/
ProfessionalInterest/ccpr.pdf
Offences Against the Person (Non Fatal) Act 1997 Ireland, from: http://www.irishstatutebook.ie/eli/home.html
Swedish Children and Parents Code 1949, from:http://ceflonline.net/wp-content/uploads/Sweden-
Parental-Responsibilities-Legislation.pdf
Universal Declaration of Human Rights 1948, from:http://www.un.org/en/events/humanrightsday/
udhr60/pdf/60th_booklet_final.pdf
United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child 1989, from:http://www.unicef.org/crc/(1989,
November 20)

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 16
The Continuing Abuse and
Neglect of Children
Neerosh Mudaly and Chris Goddard

I think what happens with most kids, is they grow up so quick, I had to grow up too quickly
and I just feel like I missed out on childhood pretty much. I didn’t really have a choice, you
have to grow up pretty fast in that sort of situation, otherwise you don’t survive. It’s as simple
as that.
(17-year-old female)

Child abuse is devastating. ‘It just creeps into every part of your life’ (17-year-old female) and
destroys childhood (Mudaly, 2002, p. 247). We contend that ‘abusive acts against children’
continue because children are not only ‘invisible’ but also often silenced (Mudaly & Goddard,
2006, p. 18). The assumption is that children are ‘too young’ to tell what is happening to them
(Kempe, Silverman, Steele, Droegemueller, & Silver, 1962, p. 18). We assert that children are
often capable of telling but it is adults who do not want to hear (Mudaly & Goddard, 2006).
In 1989, the Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC; United Nations General
Assembly, 1989) was the first legally binding international document to integrate the complete
range of rights for children – civil, political, economic, social and cultural. It encompasses four
guiding principles on non-discrimination (Article 2), the best interests of the child (Article 30),
survival and development (Article 6) and participation (Article 12) (Healey, 2004). Child
participation incorporates encouraging and ‘enabling children to make their views known on
the issues that affect them . . . engaging them in dialogue’ and moving ‘from a world defined
solely by adults to one in which children contribute to building the kind of world they want
to live in’ (Healey, 2004, p. 9). It is with this motivation that we make children’s voices the
focus of this chapter. Direct quotations from children include their gender and age only, and
distinguishing details are excluded or modified to ensure anonymity. All the quotations can
be found in research undertaken by Mudaly (2002) and in our book The truth is longer than a
lie: Children’s experiences of abuse and professional interventions (Mudaly & Goddard, 2006).

Background to the Research

Our research sought the views of children who had been abused about their experiences of
abuse and professional interventions. A qualitative research methodology was employed as it

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captured the complexity of children’s experiences and privileged their voices. It was undertaken
through Monash University, Melbourne, Australia and approved by the University’s Human
Research Ethics Committee. Many ethical issues arose in undertaking this research, and
strategies were implemented to avoid and minimise possible harm to the children who
participated (see Mudaly, 2002; Mudaly & Goddard, 2009).

Child Abuse Worldwide

While the CRC has sought to protect the interests of children to safe childhoods, the ‘abuse,
degradation and exclusion of children by adults’ continues to be ‘a global issue’ (Scraton, 2005,
p. 85). The topic of the global challenge of sexual exploitation and abuse and the Optional
Protocol on the Sale of Children, Child Prostitution, and Child Pornography is considered in
the chapter by Saewyc in this volume.
The full extent of the problem worldwide is difficult to measure as definitional issues on
what constitutes child abuse dominate attempts to obtain a clear picture. Child protection
intervention statistics, however, provide some data.

• Although data in Australia are particularly deficient (see Broadley, Goddard & Tucci, 2014),
the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare reports that between 2013 and 2014, ‘143,023
children received child protection services – 99,210 were the subject of an investigation;
55,067 were on a care and protection order; and 51,539 were in out-of-home care’.
• In the US, Fang, Brown, Florence, and Mercy (2012, pp. 156–157) report that ‘US state
and child protection services (CPS) received 3.3 million reports of children being abused
or neglected and an estimated 772,000 children were classified . . . as being maltreated’
in the year 2008.
• In the UK, the number of children in need of services (for family support, leaving care,
adoption or disability services support) increased from 378,600 in 2013 to 397,600 in 2014.
Of these, abuse and neglect was identified in 47.2 per cent of cases and 48,300 were subject
to a child protection plan (Department for Education, 2014, p. 1).

These statistics are just some examples of the scope of the problem. In spite of the size of the
problem globally, children’s voices are seldom heard.

Children Are Silenced

I think that people would be surprised if kids had the chance to talk. I mean, that’s good
that you’re not getting the adults interviewed to see what they think, instead to get the
kids interviewed from a kid’s point of view. No one knows kids better than kids.
(11-year-old female)

The voice of the child has gained some attention in research involving children (see Alderson
& Morrow, 2011; Butler, Scanlan, Robinson, & Murch, 2003; Christensen & James, 2008).
It is evident that, when allowed, children assert their views clearly and eloquently (see, for
example, Buckley, Holt, & Whelan, 2007; Mayall, 2005; Peterson-Badali & Ruck, 2008). In
our research, children spoke of how difficult it was to disclose abuse, about not being heard
when they did, of not being believed, and what made them vulnerable to ongoing abuse and
violence (see Mudaly, 2002; Mudaly & Goddard, 2006).

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Abuse Silences Children

Child abuse, states Finkelhor (2007, p. 10), ‘stands apart from other life events’ in that children
are harmed by ‘other human actors behaving in ways that violate social norms’ (author italics).
Forward describes being abused in one’s own home as a ‘private holocaust’ (Forward, 1989,
p. 121). Children ‘become hostages in their own homes’, entrapped by society’s trust in ‘parents
to nurture and care for their children’ (Mudaly & Goddard, 2006, p. 121).
Children are silenced as ‘the only other witness to their trauma is an adult perpetrator’
(Atwool, 2000, p. 23). They may then be forced to hide the abuse and may delay disclosing
abuse because of fear and concern at betraying their families (Buckley et al., 2007; C. Doyle,
1997):

I’ve put the lid on it for a while. . . . I was seven or eight then, and I don’t expect a seven
or eight-year-old kid to tell something like that, and trust me, it’s very, very scary.
(11-year-old female)

Because like, they (children) can’t handle it. I was scared to tell anyone.
(13-year-old male)

They threatened me . . . with my grand-father it was, mmm, a rusty nail through my

hand. You’ve got all this fear and confusion and stuff inside you and you want to let it
out but you know you shouldn’t because of all these threats that are on you.
(10-year-old female)

‘I Was The Easiest Target’ (11-year-old female)

Children are prone to victimisation because of their ‘special developmental vulnerability’
(Finkelhor, 2007, p. 10) which includes their small physical stature and size, and their under-
developed skills, knowledge and experience (Brighouse, 2002; Mudaly & Goddard, 2006).
Children are also taught to be obedient to parents and adults (Briere, 2002) which makes them
easy targets and ‘perfect victims’ (Summit, 1990, p. 60).

That’s probably because I was the closest one and because I was the easiest target. It’s like,
it would be too difficult to go out into a shopping centre and catch whoever comes into
the toilet, and I was there at the time.
(11-year-old female)

Well, they’re picking on people who are smaller than them and weaker than them.
(12-year-old female)

Because kids are smaller and kids can’t fight back when they are young.
(13-year-old male).

Often children are subject to violence for no apparent reason, and they come to accept that
avoiding abuse is beyond their control (Briere, 1992).

Well the problem is you don’t know beforehand, you don’t know really what’s going to
happen. I mean if it hadn’t happened to you before, you don’t know, you just don’t know.
(11-year-old female)

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I found something in the bedroom – a double-barrelled shotgun. And there was a note.
It said he was going to blow us away and I’m tellin’ ya, I did shit my pants. A couple of
months ago, I seen somebody that looked exactly the same as him, and it (expletive) scared
the shit out of me.
(13-year-old male)

Children Are Seldom Believed

When the child most needs love, endorsement and exculpation, the unprepared parent
typically responds with horror, rejection and blame.
(Summit, 1983, p. 179)

Being believed is a major obstacle for children in disclosing abuse. Children learn that what
adults say is more believable as ‘Many adults regard children as morally suspect and unreliable’
(Mayall, 2005, p. 80), resulting in children being ‘psychologically orphaned’ (Summit, 1983,
p. 179).

There was a time, she (mother) went through a phase where she was prepared to look at
the fact that yes, I had been abused, but not by dad. That’s as good as it got. In a way it
was worse than the abuse and I’m just shattered.
(17-year-old female)

A 15-year-old boy who wrote of his abusive experiences says ‘[It] is a shame that a child can
still be silenced or made to regret having the courage to tell a difficult truth’ ( Johnson, 1995
as cited in Atwool, 2000, p. 29):

Well, I was scared that if I told mum she would say, no that wouldn’t happen, dad wouldn’t
do this with me sort of thing.
(11-year-old female)

I didn’t want to tell because I thought that I might get into trouble.
(11-year-old female)

Professionals frequently fail children because of misconceptions about the credibility of

children’s disclosures and lack of knowledge (Buckley et al., 2007; Goddard, 1996). Children
may be branded as ‘confused or malicious’ (Summit, 1983, p. 179).

Miss N, she started telling me, oh this happened and that didn’t happen, and my mum
could hear me from in the foyer crying, and she (Miss N) just told me that I wasn’t abused
and that all this in my head isn’t real but my mum’s been putting it in my head.
(12-year-old female).

Children Protecting Parents: Co-Existing Feelings of Love, Fear and Anger

But the way I see it, I mean for starters they’re my parents, the only parents I’ve got.
You’ve been brought up to love your parents no matter what. I didn’t think I had a choice.
(17-year-old female)

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Mason stresses that the ‘emphasis on the idealised family’ gives parents absolute power (2005,
p. 94). This makes children particularly vulnerable to abuse because they are reared within the
privacy of the family (Parton, 1990): ‘Unfortunately, it is in the familial incubator that children
are most frequently manipulated, coerced, degraded, inoculated with destructive beliefs and
exposed to violence’ (Perry, 2000, p. 3).
Children’s loyalty to the parent and family, may result in confusion and ambivalence for
the child (Stanley & Goddard, 1995):

You know, I mean, despite what dad’s done to me I didn’t want to sort of tear up the
whole family. The thing that people don’t understand is that yes, your dad may abuse
you or your mother or whatever, but you still love them, you still have feelings for them,
they’re still your parents and you don’t want to lose them.
(17-year-old female)

There is little risk of the abuse being discovered because ‘dependent children are helpless to
resist or complain’, and the positive relationships they had experienced with the abuser prior
to the abuse makes the abuse all the more bewildering to them (Summit, 1983, p. 183).

We were friends, like every day when I came down to the basketball court, he came out
and played.
(12-year-old male)

I know he does love me, I know he loves me a heck of a lot, and I always just figured
it was just over-fondness or something.
(17-year-old female)

He used to be a really nice person, he was loving before he had a stroke, then he started
chucking a fit, and then he was a bastard, he went mad.
(13-year-old male)

The closer the relationship with the abuser, the greater the confusion for the child as children
are not prepared for the ‘possibility of molestation by a trusted adult. (It) is a well-kept secret
even among adults’ (Summit, 1983, p. 181). Children may be particularly afraid for their safety,
the safety of their siblings and non-offending parents (Buckley et al., 2007):

Mum was scared. She didn’t know what to do.

(13-year-old male)

Well, mum was really supportive the whole way through, but she got a bit emotional
sometimes and was really sad. I didn’t want mum to feel sad because that makes me sad
when she’s sad.
(15-year-old male)

Disclosure often results in the fragmentation of the family, and the responsibility falls on the
child to either destroy or keep the family intact. ‘Family loyalty is an incredibly powerful
force in most children’s lives, no matter how corrupt that family may be’ (Forward, 1989,
p. 146).

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And with my dad, he knew that I didn’t like mum and dad fighting because, mmm, he
threatened that they’d fight and that was enough to make me shut up.
(11-year-old female)

Children’s Helplessness
Children do not have the same ability as adults to move away from situations and relationships
that are dangerous or hostile to them. Developmental vulnerabilities also prevent them from
being able to ‘retaliate or deter victimisation’ (Finkelhor, 1997, p. 93). Sometimes witnessing
violence to other family members is enough to let the child know the consequences of disclosure
(Buckley et al., 2007; Hiller & Goddard, 1993).

This mean devil used to bash my Mum up, and you know, like you see your Mum get
bashed up and you almost got killed once, and you wouldn’t be a normal person if you
are going through something like that.
(13-year-old male)

But he actually went and he hit mum in the head and she ended up with this massive
bruise.
(12-year-old female)

In order to survive such familial victimisation, including ‘issues of malevolence, betrayal,

injustice, and morality’ (Finkelhor, 2007, p. 10), children have to find ways to retain ‘trust in
people who are untrustworthy’, find safety in unsafe situations and take control at a time of
helplessness (Herman, 1992, p. 96). To cope, children often develop dysfunctional patterns
of behaviour:

I have a high temper, used to throw chairs around the room and used to be like a wild
tornado. Because I had a problem.
(13-year-old male)

I went through a stage with drinking and the drugs and that didn’t particularly help.
I was a great one for the old self-mutilation as well.
(17-year-old female)

Because I didn’t have any control over my life then, so I started controlling my food. I
would either eat it and throw it up again, or I wouldn’t eat. Because that was the one
thing I could have control over, my food.
(11-year-old female)

Long Term Effects

Children are rarely victims of one type of abuse. ‘Repeated episodes over a period of time’
when children are beaten and sexually abused or emotionally and physically neglected within
a violent household leads to emotional, psychological and health problems throughout the
lifespan (Finkelhor, 2007, p. 20).

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Children confirmed that the abuse ‘will never go away’ and will remain a part of their lives
forever:

Probably, I think it will be there really the rest of my life.

(15-year-old male)

You can’t forget something like that. I’ll still be dealing with things later down the track.
It’s always going to be in the back of your mind. I don’t think it will ever go away.
(17-year-old female)

Silenced by the Child Protection System

The victimisation of children does ‘not map neatly onto conventional crime categories’ and
therefore requires a host of ‘specialised institutions’ to respond (Finkelhor, 2007, p. 10). In
Australia, many government and non-government organisations have responsibility for the
protection of children and young people (Australian Institute of Health & Welfare, 2015). The
system is complex, involving ‘both criminal and civil responsibilities’ (Plum, 2014, p. 182) and
the welfare of the child is ‘always intertwined with politics, economics, values, [and] cultural
attitudes’ (Stanley & Goddard, 2002, p. 16).
According to Plum, ‘Children have always been a unique challenge to the legal system’
worldwide (2014, p. 181) making it a very difficult system for children to understand and
navigate.

There was a whole range of agencies involved in this. Yeah, and between that time there’s
probably been four or five counsellors and probably psychiatrists that mum and dad sent
me to.
(17-year-old female)

Children Are Seldom Heard

The right of a child to be heard is enshrined in Article 12.2 of the CRC and most countries
have made some provision for this (Plum, 2014). However, parental rights frequently override
children’s rights (Gelles, 2001) and conceptions of children as ‘psychological objects’ tend to
silence children (Henaghan & Tapp, 2000, p. 66).

The courts didn’t listen to me when I was young. They didn’t even want to put me in
court, you know, little do they know what happened to me. You know, it is sort of
unfair.
(13-year-old male)

Sometimes in court they’ve actually believed them (the abuser) and not me.
(12-year-old female)

Children as Unreliable Witnesses

Children have also been viewed ‘as unreliable witnesses being prone to fantasy and suggestibility’
(Henaghan & Tapp, 2000, pp. 68–69). Parents or ‘professional experts’ are therefore charged

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with the responsibility of speaking for the child, while children themselves are silenced (Mason,
2005, p. 96):

I mean, people like that are supposed to listen, they’re not supposed to sit there and tell
you what you’re thinking or what you’re feeling, because that’s what she [Children’s court
worker] was doing, just sitting there and telling me what’s right.
(12-year-old female)

Yet children do have the capacity and ability to convey thoughtful views on issues of
importance. ‘Being taken seriously’, declares Melton, simply means ‘having a say, being heard
politely and having one’s perspective considered’ (Melton, 2000, p. 143).

I wish he was [expletive], well, he should be dead for what he did. He should suffer for
what he has done, and he hasn’t. Six months in jail!
(13-year-old male)

The one thing to improve would be to get people who want to hear the truth, who want
to help. They’re not just there because they want to get money, they want to help, they
just want to hear the truth and help children.
(12-year-old female)

Children’s Views Rarely Represented

Gelles (2001, p. 9), in a critical analysis of the child welfare system in the USA, states that
children ‘have a minimal voice in child welfare proceedings’. A review of studies on child
participation by van Bijleveld, Dedding and Bunders-Aelen (2015) reported that children felt
that they had limited or no opportunities for participation. Even in Sweden, generally regarded
as the most ‘child-friendly’ country (Fernquist, 2011, p. 227) with a strong focus on promoting
participation from all people in shaping ‘their own welfare state’, children are said to be excluded
(p. 238):

As far as I am concerned, and sorry for saying this, but if you ask me, you know the
system is well and truly stuffed. Because like, you know, he could just get married or
something and do the same thing.
(13-year-old male)

Well, mmm, I know they can’t really put everybody in jail, but, like, if my grandfather
did it to two people I think that they should have at least taken him to court or something.
(11-year-old female)

Children say that it is more important for their views to be valued, considered and respected
than getting what they want (Littlechild, 2000; van Bijleveld et al., 2015).

It was a pretty freaky time and really horrible at the time, but I’d have to say they were
pretty fantastic. I think because of the fact that I had a brilliant worker, and it was just
great to have someone with my sort of well-being in mind. When I look back I’m amazed
because I didn’t really give them anything to go on, I didn’t sort of reveal much to them

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at all about what dad did. But, mmm, they kept pursuing it and you know, they took me
out of my home and put me somewhere safe, so I think it was pretty amazing.
(17-year-old female)

Children should also be provided with full and clear information about the system that they
will be part of, and ‘practical details of who will support them and how’ (Littlechild, 2000,
p. 412). In van Bijleveld et al.’s review (2015, p. 133), children ‘reported that they were not
well informed about what was happening, what they could expect, and the changes that were
happening in their lives’:

I think that they left my life as quickly as they came into it. I find that really hard, they
sort of come in for four or five months and turn your world upside down, pretty much,
and you come to rely on them and then you’re told they won’t be sort of involved anymore
and that’s it. You never hear from them again. You go from having all of their support
and they sort of make a lot of decisions for you, and practically take control of your life,
and then they’re gone, and you’re left standing on your own and it’s pretty freaky. Mmm,
I mean it was hard enough for me and I was 16 or 17, so I can’t imagine what it would
be like for younger kids.
(17-year-old female)

Sensitivity to Children’s Anxieties

Ensuring that interventions are sensitively implemented is essential, yet ‘implementation is not
universally applied through all legal systems’ (Plum, 2014, p. 200).

I was too scared. Because some coppers were interviewing me, doing an interview, but
they were asking me really weird questions, like, how big was his penis? And that kind
of shit. And you know, they asked me to draw it, and I was young.
(13-year-old male)

Well, if they did that [made a decision to charge her father] then it wouldn’t be as bad
because I wouldn’t have made the decision, I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about it.
I wouldn’t have to cop all the shit from every family member, friends or whatever.
So, I mean it would still be bloody hard but, you know I’d feel like there was an actual
reason for him being in jail or whatever, because the police saw reason to take action, it
wasn’t just something that I’d decided to do.
(17-year-old female)

Children’s fears and anxieties, coupled with professionals’ lack of knowledge, continue to
‘contribute to the invisibility’ of children’s suffering (Buckley et al., 2007, p. 308):

The problem with Miss N was she didn’t want to believe the truth and that’s always the
problem with these people, they don’t want to believe the truth, they just want to believe
the easiest side, the side that is easiest to, that is the simplest basically so then they get paid
and go on to the next one and just pick the simplest out of that. They don’t want to hear
the truth because the truth is so much harder to understand and so much longer than a
lie about the truth.
(12-year-old female)

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Other Factors that Silence Children

In this section we examine other factors that silence children, with a particular focus on the
Australian context. Space constraints preclude us from an extensive review, for example, of
the mandatory detention of child asylum seekers and refugees (see Briskman, Latham, & Goddard,
2008), abuse within religious, educational and aid organisations, sexual trafficking of children,
and electronic and internet abuse of children.
We explore how an inadequate public health model, the inadequate care of child protection
workers, and the way language is used contribute to maintaining children’s silence and
vulnerability to abuse.

Children Count for Nothing: The Neglect of Abuse

Failure to collect compatible data is but one example of the history of silencing children.
(Goddard & Hunt, 2011, p. 414)

While the economic costs of child abuse are colossal, ‘the less measureable cost is in relation
to the pain and suffering experienced by children in the short and long term’ (Broadley et al.
2014, p. 5). Access Economics, a leading Australian advisor on economics (Taylor et al., 2008),
estimated that conservatively 177,000 children under the age of 18 years were abused and/or
neglected and, of these, more than 130,000 were abused and/or neglected for the first
time in 2007. The cost to the Australian community in 2007 was conservatively estimated at
AU$10.7 billion per annum1 (Taylor et al., 2008). The true costs could be almost three times
as high, AU$30.1 billion (Taylor et al., 2008). Yet, in 2007, the population of Australia had
not reached 22 million.
That is only the beginning of the story. Costs for each child who has been abused, neglected
or traumatised by violence create ‘costs for the community long after the abuse stops’, because
‘child abuse and neglect increases the costs of health and education, housing and supported
accommodation assistance, court related matters and crime, and leads to significant productivity
losses’ (Cummins, Scott, & Scales, 2012, p. xxvi).
Concerns about the child protection systems in Australia are widespread. They are described
as ‘unsustainable’ (Allen Consulting Group, 2008, p. vi; O’Donnell, Scott, & Stanley, 2008,
p. 325; Scott, 2006, p. 9), ‘overloaded’ (O’Donnell et al., 2008, p. 325; Scott, 2006, p. 11)
and fail to protect children and young people (Allen Consulting Group, 2008; Scott, 2006).
An effective child protection system requires accessible and accountable data on all aspects
of child protection interventions in children’s lives. Yet, in Australia, ‘the accountability
framework that has developed around the child protection system lacks sufficient rigour and
transparency’ (Ombudsman Victoria, 2009, p. 15). As a result, many researchers and professionals
have suggested that a public health approach to child protection is required (Allen Consulting
Group, 2008; Council of Australian Governments, 2009; O’Donnell et al., 2008) and many
international researchers and organisations have endorsed this recommendation (Broadley &
Goddard, 2015).
There is general agreement that a public health approach to child protection comprises three
service areas – primary, secondary and tertiary (Broadley & Goddard, 2015). Primary services
provide services to all children and families, secondary services target children and families who
are ‘at risk’ and need greater support, while tertiary services are directed where abuse or neglect
has occurred (see for example, James, 1994). Such an approach will assist in reducing the

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prevalence of child abuse and neglect, and thus reduce the necessity for tertiary intervention
(Allen Consulting Group, 2008; Council of Australian Governments, 2009; O’Donnell et al.,
2008). The first step to such an approach requires high quality, robust surveillance data ( Jack,
2010; Leeb, Paulozzi, Melanson, Simon, & Arias, 2008; World Health Organisation, 2006;
Wulczyn, 2009) yet no such data are available in Australia.
In 2009 the Commonwealth Government released the National Framework for Protecting
Australia’s Children 2009–2020 which aimed to reduce the incidence of child abuse and neglect
(Council of Australian Governments, 2009). Unfortunately, little progress appears to have been
made in collating reliable national data. Munro, in the final report of her review of the child
protection system in England, stated that: ‘It is essential that high quality data are used
intelligently at local and national levels to drive improvements in practice that benefit children
and young people’ (2011, p. 139). Australia, however, has adopted what has been described
as a ‘tokenistic public health approach’ (Goddard et al., 2014, p. 260). There have been long-
term, systemic government failures to provide any detailed, reliable data about child protection
activity (Goddard, 1995; Goddard & Tucci, 2008; Liddell & Goddard, 1993).
Australia has six State and two Territory child protection systems with major ‘differences
between jurisdictions’ in child protection policies and practices (Australian Institute of Health
and Welfare, 2012, p. 1). Every year, for more than 10 years, the annual reports of the Australian
Institute of Health and Welfare warn that the data from the different jurisdictions are not
comparable (Broadley et al. 2014). The result is an extraordinary compilation of deficient data
with wide variations in the reporting rates of the different forms of abuse (Broadley et al. 2014).
For example, of all substantiated notifications, physical abuse ranged from 14 per cent in Tasmania
to 31 per cent in Victoria; emotional abuse from 19 per cent in Western Australia to 52 per
cent in Victoria; neglect from 8 per cent in Victoria to 49 per cent in the Northern Territory;
and, sexual abuse from 5 per cent in the Northern Territory to 23 per cent in Western Australia
(Australian Institute of Health and Welfare, 2012, p. 8). Goddard and Hunt (2011) have
questioned how the National Framework can claim to aim to achieve the planned ‘substantial
and sustained reduction in child abuse and neglect’ (Australian Institute of Health and Welfare,
2011, p. 6) when the base data are clearly deficient. Children, in this arrangement, ‘count for
nothing’ (Broadley et al., 2014, p. 1).
In the latest report, released as we finalised this chapter (Australian Institute of Health &
Welfare, 2015), the deficiencies in the national data are once again apparent. For example, the
identification of indigenous children remains problematic, with a ‘high proportion of children
whose Indigenous status is unknown’ (Australian Institute of Health & Welfare, 2015, p. 8);
there are ‘no national data available on the reasons children are placed in out-of-home care’
(p. 3); and ‘the policies . . . for assessing child protection notifications vary broadly’ (Australian
Institute of Health & Welfare, 2015, p. 4).
At the state and territory level, data are also inadequate. A recent report by the Auditor
General of Victoria ( J. Doyle, 2015) made at least four recommendations that stress the
importance of data (2015, p. xiii). The report emphasises what Saunders (2015, p. 20) has found
in the US: ‘Goals and monitoring activities in child welfare frequently are directed to client
participation in services rather than functional outcomes. Participation goals are problematic
since they are frequently met, but do not result in any meaningful change.’ Child protection
services at all levels are established to protect the most vulnerable children, and the continuing
secrecy and obstacles to scrutiny are of great concern (Goddard & Tucci, 2008). If we are to
provide ‘safe homes for all children’ and protect them from ‘dysfunctional’ families (Sammut,
2011, p. ix), a transparent and accountable child protection system is fundamental. Processes

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must be ‘child-centred, fair, open, accountable, accessible, timely, safe’ (Representative for
Children and Youth and Ombudsperson, 2010, p. 12). This is required at all levels to establish
an effective public health approach (Bessant & Broadley, 2014).

Silencing Child Protection Workers

If the social worker is feeling unsafe then this is possibly a good indicator of how the child
is feeling.
(Hunt, Goddard, Cooper, Littlechild, Raynes & Wild, 2015)

Mudaly asserts that ‘Child protection work is extremely complex, difficult, extremely stressful
and may be dangerous to the workers’ (Mudaly, 2002, p. 121). Agency limitations, legislative
requirements and constraints of the multidisciplinary nature of the system and the risks involved
in the work can have an impact on the worker and leave children unprotected.
However, it is now proposed that violence within abusive families is also frequently
directed at the child protection worker and may therefore contribute to failures to protect
children (Stanley & Goddard, 2002). Research in Australia, Canada, the UK and US has revealed
that child protection workers are frequently subjected to aggressive behaviour by the parents
and families that they seek to work with (Laird, 2013).
Stanley and Goddard’s (2002) child protection study was based on interviews with 50
randomly selected Australian child protection workers and the case records of 50 children selected
from their caseloads. The workers were asked how often they had experienced a range of violent
and intimidating acts in the six months prior to being interviewed. The outcomes of the study
revealed that 23 workers had received at least one death threat, nine had been assaulted, four
had been assaulted with an object, seven had been subjected to attempted assault, and 13 had
been threatened with an object (Stanley & Goddard, 2002, p. 89). In addition, 32 child protection
workers had received intimidating phone calls, 28 had complaints made about them to
supervisors, politicians or the media, 18 had received threats to their families, friends and
colleagues, and five had been threatened with sexual assault. Other major intimidating
behaviours included grabbing car keys and blocking exits to rooms. All these acts took place
in just a six month period (Stanley & Goddard, 2002, p. 89). The violence experienced by
child protection workers is also reflected in research conducted in the UK (for example, Cooper,
2011; Wild, 2011).
While traumatisation and post-traumatic stress have been increasingly recognised in social
work practice (Gibbons, Murphy, & Joseph, 2011), Stanley and Goddard (2002) propose that
there may be an association between ‘the trauma and isolation experienced by child protection
workers’, and the ‘re-abuse of children known to protective services’ (Stanley & Goddard,
2002, p. 2). They suggest that ‘When a worker is explicitly or implicitly threatened with violence,
he or she may unconsciously act as a hostage’ (2002, p. 119), and may develop characteristics
similar to those described in the Stockholm Syndrome by adapting defences to protect
themselves and relieve extreme stress. These defences may include ‘denial of the threat;
rationalisation; intellectualisation’; and ‘identification with the aggressor’ (Stanley & Goddard,
2002, p. 119).
The worker may then distort the facts on the risks to and safety of the child. As noted by
Stanley and Goddard, ‘if the worker minimises the violence and risk to herself, it is likely that
she will also be minimising the violence and risk to the child’ (2002, pp. 120–121). For example,
some workers in a UK study emphasised that when violence and aggression occur, the focus

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on the child can be lost and the situation for the child can be disastrous. ‘If I feel like this,
how does the child feel?’ (Hunt et al., 2015). Capri, Kruger, and Tomlinson (2013, p. 367),
in their research on child sexual abuse and its impact on workers, state that workers may feel
like the sexually abused children they work with: ‘intruded upon, burdened, defeated,
contaminated and exploited’, which may result in them ‘disengaging from children’s narratives’.
Davies (1998, p. 17) also wrote about the impact on workers, stating that they are ‘open
to be traumatised’ and they can become ‘dehumanised’ similar to their clients’ experiences of
‘being treated as “inanimate” objects of violence or sexual abuse’. This is further compounded
by demands made of workers by society, politicians and the organisations they work within,
and by responsibility and ‘blame for anything that goes wrong’ placed on them as the front-
line workers (Stanley & Goddard, 2002, p. 80). Harms against children may then be minimised,
perhaps even re-labelled; for example, an abused child may be perceived as ‘naughty’ rather
than ‘profoundly damaged’ (Laird, 2013, p. 223).
If children’s safety and protection are dependent on the role of the child protection worker,
then child protection workers must be cared for. Skilled, competent, accessible and regular
supervision is one critical aspect in combatting threatened and actual violence that make child
protection work so challenging, confronting and complex (Goddard & Hunt, 2011). Effective
supervision provides emotional and professional support for the worker, while also challenging
the workers’ practice and reasoning (Munro, 2011). However, a number of studies have shown
that workers have been failed by their supervisors (see, for example, Laird, 2013; Stanley &
Goddard, 2002).
A recent UK study, undertaken by Community Care, analysed workers’ experiences of super-
vision following interactions with hostile and intimidating parents (Hunt et al., 2015). The
analysis examined organisational and management responses to workers’ experiences. Five
hundred and ninety participants responded, of whom 402 were qualified social workers and
423 were working in child protection. The results revealed that many workers had experienced
a range of violent behaviours from parents, yet received little support from supervision: ‘The
overwhelming theme in responses was the lack of support and supervision workers received,
often in stressful and frightening circumstances’ (Hunt et al., 2015, p. 5).
In the Australian study, many workers reported on ‘the procedural nature of supervision:
“dealing with crises”, “pushing through cases”, “getting paperwork done” (Stanley & Goddard,
2002, p. 174) with little or no time for the worker. The UK survey described how lack of
support affected workers’ roles and services: ‘Mismanaged parental hostility affected their practice
and the quality of protection that children received. The violence experienced had a significant
negative impact on their personal and professional lives’ (Hunt et al., 2015, p. 5).
The complexity of child protection work is also reflected in the role of supervision. Stanley
and Goddard state that ‘if child protection work is complex, then the task of supervising the
protective worker is doubly so’ (2002, p. 186). Bartoli and Kennedy (2015) examined the many
pressures and difficulties in child protection work that has a direct bearing on effective child
protection supervision. A significant constraint is training. Although there is acknowledgement
that supervision is a ‘highly skilled task’, and supervisors need to be trained, Bartoli and Kennedy
stated that ‘typically social work managers have little or no training before being appointed to
supervisory roles’ (2015, p. 7), and call for mandatory supervision training.
Recent literature suggests that the supervisory relationship is one critical requirement for
effective child protection work. Supervision should ensure ‘a more collegial relationship
between the supervisor and supervisee’, with a reduction in the managerial and administrative
aspects (Blackman & Schmidt, 2013, p. 90). Worker well-being must be addressed and

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supervision should ensure a ‘supportive, safe environment’ so that workers can ‘be nurtured
through the emotional density’ of their work (Bartoli & Kennedy, 2015, p. 6). This will promote
staff ‘retention and job satisfaction’ and prevent ‘burnout’ (Bartoli & Kennedy, 2015, p. 7). It
can contribute to an improved child protection service and deter children being silenced by
a system that silences its workers (Stanley & Goddard, 2002, p. 199).

Language Silences Children

Children are crippled and knocked stupid by such batterings: yet our judicial system takes
no note of it, as though it were not the very limbs of our State which are thus being put
out of joint and maimed.
(de Montaigne, 1592, p. 808)

Michel de Montaigne, the French philosopher, was shocked by the lack of action on child
abuse. The suffering of children is clearly as long as history itself.
The way language is used, which ‘objectifies children’, ‘reframes and minimises the
seriousness of offences’ against children, ‘exploits children’, and language that ‘degrades children
and denies their gender’ serve one major purpose: to silence children and hide the crimes of
adults (Saunders & Goddard, 2001, p. 446).
Even after child abuse was ‘discovered’, when children have sometimes tried to tell what
is happening to them, they have often not been heard. Kempe and his colleagues state: ‘To
the informed physician, the bones tell a story the child is too young or frightened to tell’ (Kempe
et al., 1962, p. 18). Yet many doctors were reluctant to accept even these ‘radiologic signs’
(Kempe et al., 1962, p. 18). Similar research followed in Australia (see Birrell & Birrell, 1966).
The invisible child may have become visible, but remains inaudible because adults do not want
to listen (see Mudaly, 2015).
In our research, we note that words used to describe children and the abuse of children
can contribute to silencing children. Language is widely recognised as maintaining power
relationships in society (see, for example, Fairclough, 2013) and this power is frequently used
in a variety of ways. Adults not only make it difficult for children to tell about their abuse,
but the language used serves to minimise and diminish the seriousness of abuse, further silencing
children (Goddard, Hunt, Broadley, Dibben, Frederick, Mudaly & Newton, 2014).
While there has been significant scholarly analysis of the ‘unevenness’ of journalists’ reporting
(see, for example, Franklin & Parton, 1991), there has been less scrutiny of the language used
by others to describe child abuse and the victims. The significance of language became
noteworthy in 1993 at the coronial inquest into the short life of Daniel Valerio who died from
abuse. Daniel was a 2-year-old boy who was terribly abused and murdered by his stepfather.
The post-mortem revealed 104 bruises, massive internal abdominal injuries and healing
fractures. Daniel died despite being known to over 20 professionals in the months before his
death (for a full account see Goddard, 1996).
The language used in the courtroom prompted our continuing study of the role of words
used in descriptions of the child. Daniel was repeatedly referred to as ‘it’ and phrases such as
‘its parents’ instead of ‘his parents’ passed unnoticed (Goddard, 1993, p. 11).
Interestingly children may become ‘it’ as child abuse stories unfold, which Goddard and
Saunders refer to as ‘gender slippage’ or ‘gender neglect’ (Goddard & Saunders, 2000, pp. 40–43).
This does not happen in any other stories. Wales, a linguist, cautions that the use of the word
‘it’ may signify ‘lack of emotional involvement’ (Wales, 1996, p. 160). We suggest that this

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‘gender slippage’ may be ‘an emotional perhaps unconscious, response’ to the unpleasant nature
of child abuse (Goddard & Saunders, 2000, p. 43), which seeks to protect adult readers from
the reality of children’s pain. This is yet another way of silencing children – by adults distancing
themselves from the suffering of children.
The seriousness of rape and child sexual assault is also reduced by the language used. Child
sexual abuse may be redefined as a ‘less serious, almost consensual relationship between adults’
(Goddard & Saunders, 2000, p. 44). For example, the sexual abuse of a child may be described
as ‘an affair’, and the perpetrator and the child as ‘the couple’ (Goddard & Saunders, 2000,
p. 43). Saunders and Goddard have called this the ‘textual abuse’ of children (2001, p. 446).
Terms such as ‘affair’, ‘relationship’ and ‘couple’ are used to re-write the statutory rape of a
child, to reduce the seriousness of the crime (Goddard & Saunders, 2000). Such terms also
conceal the full extent of crimes against children. For example, the current Australian Royal
Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse has uncovered thousands of
cases of sexual abuse and referred over 600 to the police (see Ceranic, 2015).
The law too may describe such crimes as ‘maintaining a sexual relationship with a child’
(Goddard & Mudaly, 2011, p. 12). Such ‘crimes cloaked in euphemisms’ pervade the literature
on child sexual abuse, with a child rapist referred to as ‘paedophile’ or ‘lover of children’
(Goddard & Mudaly, 2011, p. 12). It is not hard to imagine the outcry if men who raped
women were called ‘gynophiles’ or ‘lovers of women’ (McLeod & Goddard, 2005, p. 13).
This, we suggest, is the ‘rapist’s camouflage’ (Goddard, De Bortoli, Saunders, & Tucci, 2005,
p. 275).
Adults are often careless in the way language is used to describe child abuse. Society talks
of ‘child pornography’. The word ‘pornography’ originally meant ‘writing about prostitutes’
(Soanes, 2001, p. 686). Pictures and photographs of the sexual abuse of children, therefore, is
clearly not child pornography. It is child abuse and should be termed child exploitation material
or images.
The minimisation of child abuse in all its forms in the way language is used is deeply
entrenched and ‘institutionalised’ (Goddard et al., 2014, p. 260), and is yet another way that
children are silenced.

Conclusion
While our research with children has given us many insights, we still do not have a complete
understanding of how children are silenced. We would be foolish if we did not recognise that
there are still many forces at work that conspire to silence children and hide the crimes against
them. Children continue to be abused in a variety of dreadful ways yet, when given the
opportunity, they are brutally honest about the damaging effect on their lives that frequently
destroys their future hopes and dreams:

Sometimes I want to think of the bad things, because stuff always happens when we least
expect it, so I want to like expect all the bad things, so the good things come.
(12-year-old female)

The examples of the way children have been silenced, the failures of the child protection
system, the use of language to minimise abuse and create emotional distance, the roles of the
law and courts, and the moral failures of governments, all hurt the most vulnerable children
the most.

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We call for a child-centred child protection framework that keeps the child as the central
focus at all times, ensuring ‘a shared commitment to moving children and their experiences
from the periphery, where they have traditionally been marginalized (barely seen and not heard
at all), to the conceptual and practical center’ (Steinberg, Woodhouse, & Cowan, 2005, p.
120).
The truth about child abuse is indeed ‘longer than a lie’ just as the 12-year-old girl in our
study so perceptively said. The failure to listen to children ‘casts a long shadow over their lives
and deaths’ (Mudaly & Goddard, 2006, p. 25). Protecting children will never be possible unless
we recognise the forces that silence them and prevent them from being heard. Children have
a right to be heard and adults have a duty to listen and respond protectively:

I reckon us kids should have the right to be listened to, when or whenever we need to
be helped or when we are in danger.
(13-year-old male)

Note
1 At the time of writing the Australian dollar is worth 0.76 US dollars.

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 17
What Stands in the Way of
Children’s Exercise of their
Criminal Procedural Rights
in the United States?
Our Evolving and Incomplete
Interdisciplinary Understanding

Emily Buss

In many parts of the world, knowledge of child and adolescent development is playing an
increasingly important role in shaping our legal response to crimes committed by minors. In
the United States, this trend has been largely driven in recent years by a series of Supreme
Court cases that rely on social and neurological science to conclude that the Constitution requires
the law to take account of children’s immaturity in responding to juvenile crime. Much of
this emerging law focuses on culpability and sentencing, but developmental considerations are
also driving reforms aimed at ensuring that minors receive their constitutionally required
procedural protections in law enforcement contexts such as interrogation and trial.
This chapter considers the dynamic interplay between law and developmental science that
has shaped both disciplines’ approach to juvenile crime in the United States. I begin by charting
the history of that dynamic relationship from the time of the American Juvenile Court’s founding
to the present. In the latter part of the chapter, I consider the current state of the law and
developmental science bearing on children’s criminal procedural rights, and speculate about
what the more advanced interdisciplinary evolution in the context of culpability suggests should
occur in the evolution of these procedural rights.
Developments in law and social science around youth offending are certainly not limited
to the United States. Indeed, in many respects, not the least among them the ratification and
application of the Convention on the Rights of the Child, other parts of the world have surpassed
the United States in protecting children’s rights and accounting for children’s developmental
differences (Parkes, 2013; Rap, 2013; Zimring, Langer & Tanenhaus, 2015). I focus on the
United States here, charting the direct interdisciplinary interactions between law making and
the study of child development from the early days of our juvenile justice system to the present,

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to best frame the increasingly precise questions both disciplines are called upon to answer.
While the specific lawyers and scientists described here interacted in the American legal system,
it is my hope that these interactions, and the increasingly specific developmental questions that
have emerged, will have value for anyone, in any part of the world, doing, or relying upon,
interdisciplinary work in the juvenile justice field.

The Criminal Law’s Evolving Conception of Childhood

The criminal law has long distinguished its response to offenders based on their age. At English
and American common law, children younger than seven were deemed incapable of forming
the mental state required for criminal liability, and children older than seven were assessed by
the court, to determine whether they were mature enough to have the required mental state
on a case-by-case basis. At 14, a (rough) age to which I will return, the presumption shifted
from negative to positive, that is, 14-year-olds, unlike 13-year-olds, were presumed to possess
the necessary mental state unless individualized evidence proved the contrary. Whatever
criminal procedural rights were available, at least on the books, for adults were also available
(at least on the books) for children, as were the punishments. At common law, the relevance
of children’s developmental differences was recognized in that assessment of mental state alone.
At the turn of the twentieth century, pressed by progressive reformers who were themselves
motivated by their understanding of the differences between children and adults, states created
separate juvenile courts whose primary aims were to separate minors from adult criminals and
to respond to juvenile offending with assistance rather than punishment (Zimring, 2002). The
creation of the Juvenile Court drew a far more comprehensive distinction between the law’s
response to adult and child offenders than did the common law approach that preceded it. For
those children brought to juvenile court, neither the substantive law of punishment, nor the
procedural rights of the adult criminal courts applied (Mack, 1909).
Even after the proliferation of juvenile courts in every state, however, these courts did not
have exclusive jurisdiction over all juvenile crime. There have always been some minors who
were tried and convicted and sentenced in the adult system. Most juvenile courts had
jurisdictional age limits of 15 or 16 at a time when the age of majority was 21 (Mack, 1909;
Scott & Grisso, 2005). Moreover, all states had provisions for the transfer of juvenile offenders
to the adult criminal justice system, particularly for the oldest and most serious offenders. As
a result, adult procedural protections were first applied to juveniles in the adult criminal justice
system, rather than the juvenile justice system. In these cases, little to no developmental account
was taken of child defendants in the application of the substantive law. But, notably, courts
did take into account the relevance of children’s age in applying adult procedural rights
(Guggenheim & Hertz, 2012). This greater sensitivity to the relevance of development in the
procedural context is noteworthy in light of the leading role substantive law has played in
advancing developmentally based distinctions in recent years.
In 1948, in Haley v. Ohio, and again in 1962, in Gallegos v. Colorado, the United States
Supreme Court ruled that age was a relevant factor in determining, based on the “totality of
the circumstances,” whether a defendant’s confession during a police interrogation was
voluntary. Justice Douglas’s language in his plurality opinion in Haley was stark:

What transpired would make us pause for careful inquiry if a mature man were involved.
And when, as here, a mere child—an easy victim of the law—is before us, special care in
scrutinizing the record must be used. Age 15 is a tender and difficult age for a boy of any

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race. He cannot be judged by the more exacting standards of maturity. That which would
leave a man cold and unimpressed can overawe and overwhelm a lad in his early teens.
This is the period of great instability which the crisis of adolescence produces. A 15-year
old lad, questioned through the dead of night by relays of police, is a ready victim of the
inquisition. Mature men possibly might stand the ordeal from midnight to 5 a.m. But we
cannot believe that a lad of tender years is a match for the police in such a contest.
(Haley v. Ohio, 1948, pp. 599–600)

Justice Douglas’s conclusions were clearly grounded in developmental understandings, though

these understandings were drawn from common experience rather than social science.
Notable is the opinion’s focus on the 15-year-old Haley’s emotional state, rather than his
cognitive powers. Intriguingly, Douglas invoked the “crisis of adolescence,” a central
developmental concept later associated with psychologist Erik Erikson, who did not publish
his work on adolescents’ identity crisis for two decades (Erikson, 1968). Haley also noted
adolescents’ “instability” and lack of maturity, and in the passage that followed, Douglas worried
about the special risk of a teen’s “fear and panic” (Haley v. Ohio, 1948, p. 600) to portray a
picture of vulnerability driven less by confusion than by emotional fragility. The primary worry
was that a 15-year-old’s will might be more readily overborne, not that a 15-year-old might
be less likely to fully understand the choice he was making in confessing. Haley did, however,
nod to this issue of understanding in rejecting the state’s argument that Haley’s confession was
voluntary because he was “advised of his constitutional rights.” “That assumes,” Justice Douglas
countered, “that a boy of 15, without the aid of counsel, would have a full appreciation of
that advice” (Haley v. Ohio, 1948, p. 601).
Fifteen years later, in Gallegos v. Colorado, the Court considered the voluntariness of a
confession made by a 14-year old after five days of detention during which he “saw no lawyer,
parent, or other friendly adult” (Gallegos v. Colorado, 1962, p. 50). In this case, the Court focused
more on the teen’s lack of understanding—of his rights, how to exercise them, and the
consequences of his confession:

[W]e deal with a person who is not equal to the police in knowledge and understanding
of the consequences of the questions and answers being recorded and who is unable to
know how to protest his own interests or how to get the benefits of his constitutional
rights. . . . He cannot be compared with an adult in full possession of his senses and
knowledgeable of the consequences of his admissions. He would have no way of knowing
what the consequences of his confession were without advice as to his rights—from someone
concerned with securing him those rights.
(Gallegos v. Colorado, 1962, p. 54)

Thus, in two cases decided before the Court’s famed declaration of children’s due process rights
in In re Gault, the Court had already recognized those rights and identified two categories of
developmental distinctions, one social and emotional, the other cognitive, that justified
affording children special procedural protection. Over the years, and at different paces, a growing
understanding of these two strands of development have served to justify, in increasingly scientific
terms, further distinctions in the treatment of children and adults in the justice system.
While the courts assumed that criminal procedural rights applied to children as well as adults
in the criminal justice system, the juvenile justice system for decades eschewed procedural
protections as antithetical to its approach of care and solicitude. But despite the progressive

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reformers aims, it was clear by the middle of the twentieth century that the juvenile courts
were offering little in the way of solicitude and sent many of their subjects to jail-like
confinement, only distinguished in name. Indeed, the extraordinary discretion afforded to
juvenile courts on matters of substance and procedure led to the imposition of dispositions
that were at times harsher than those that could be imposed in an adult court. This was the
experience of 15-year-old Gerald Gault, who was confined at a jail-like training school for an
undefined term that could extend for the remaining six years of his childhood, all for the alleged
making of an obscene phone call to a neighbor (In re Gault, 1967).
The focus of the Supreme Court’s decision striking down the Arizona Court’s disposition
in Gault was on the lack of procedural protections afforded to Gerald and his parents rather
than on the severity of the sentence imposed. That sentence mattered, because it demonstrated
that minors were being subject to adult-sized criminal penalties, and if that was the case, the
Supreme Court reasoned, they were surely entitled to adult-sized procedural protections as
well. Declaring that “neither the Fourteenth Amendment nor the Bill of Rights is for adults
alone,” (In re Gault, 1962, p. 13), the Court ruled that minors in juvenile court had a
constitutional right to notice, to counsel, to call and cross-examine witnesses, and against self-
incrimination, at least during the adjudicative phase of proceedings.
Much of Gault is built directly on adult doctrine: Where children face equal or greater
liberty deprivations, the Court concluded that they were entitled to the same procedural rights
as adults. But at one point in the opinion the Court acknowledged that procedures surrounding
rights and their waiver might need to be modified when applied to children, in order to provide
meaningful protection. In considering children’s right against self-incrimination in the inter-
rogation context, Gault cautioned:

We appreciate that special problems may arise with respect to waiver of the privilege by
or on behalf of children, and that there may well be some differences in technique—but
not in principle—depending upon the age of the child and the presence and competence
of parents. . . . If counsel was not present for some permissible reason when an admission
was obtained, the greatest care must be taken to assure that the admission was voluntary,
in the sense not only that it was coerced or suggested, but also that it was not the product
of ignorance of rights or of adolescent fantasy, fright or despair.
(In re Gault, 1962, p. 55)

Here, again, the Court touched on limits both of children’s understanding, and social and
emotional maturity, as justifications for a modified application of an identical right.
Gault’s famous declaration of children’s constitutional rights was not the first recognition
of those rights, but it was boldly stated and clearly heard. In the juvenile justice context, it
signaled a vast expansion of the group of juvenile offenders to whom criminal procedural rights
applied, and that expansion was soon extended to a host of other procedural rights, including
the right against double jeopardy, and the right to proof of guilt beyond a reasonable doubt
(Breed v. Jones, 1975; In re Winship, 1970). And the signal reached further still, leading to
challenges, and victories, for children asserting procedural rights in other contexts and autonomy
rights, including rights of expression and procreative privacy, as well (Bellotti v. Baird, 1979;
Carey v. Population Svcs Int’l, 1975; Goss v. Lopez, 1975; Tinker v. Des Moines Independent Sch.
Dist., 1969).
Both the procedural rights cases and the autonomy rights cases inspired a new wave of
developmental research, research largely focused on children’s understanding and cognition.

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The central developmental questions framed by the cases in these years were: What can children
understand about their rights and circumstances? and: How cognitively qualified are children
to make decisions on their own behalf? Of particular interest to those doing interdisciplinary
work in child development and juvenile justice in this time period was adolescents’ ability to
understand and exercise their procedural rights. The first focus of their inquiry was on the
Miranda warnings, designed to inform those subject to police interrogation of their right to
remain silent and their right to counsel. Leading this research was Thomas Grisso, a clinical
psychologist whose background in children’s mental health treatment and evaluation had inspired
him to explore the scope and limitations of children’s competence to give consent (Grisso &
Vierling, 1978). In his Miranda-related research, Grisso explored young people’s understand-
ing of their rights, both in general terms and in the specific context of police interrogations
(Grisso, 1981).
Grisso’s research on adolescents’ understanding of their Miranda rights, and their related
ability to “knowingly, intelligently, and voluntarily” waive those rights, revealed that those
younger than 15, regardless of their IQ, were compromised, in comparison to young adults,
in their ability to understand the Miranda warnings, and that those 15 and older whose IQ
scores were in the average range or above showed the same level of understanding as their
young adult counterparts (Grisso, 1981). Based on his research, Grisso recommended that
children 14 and younger be categorically presumed incompetent to waive their rights when
being interrogated, in the absence of the contemporaneous advice of counsel. Grisso further
recommended that, for children ages 15 and 16, the judge’s totality of the circumstances
assessment should take race, socio-economic circumstances, and IQ into account in assessing
a child’s competence to waive his rights, as his research suggested that these factors combined
with age to predict greater rates of misapprehension.
One aspect of Grisso’s own research made his choice to draw the brightest line at 15 notable.
In addition to his focused study of children’s comprehension of the Miranda language, Grisso
explored children’s ability to understand the “function and significance” of the right to counsel
and the right to remain silent. Here, he found deficits up through 19, and a second line of
distinction between 15 and 16 year olds. Children younger than 16, and, to some extent, younger
than 20, were less likely to understand that counsel would defend the interests of the guilty as
well as the innocent, and that a right to silence could not be revoked by a judge. These findings
mirrored findings of other research that adolescents were less likely to grasp the important
concept that their rights were absolute and irrevocable, rather than offered, and potentially
withdrawn, by the adults charged with enforcing the laws (Grisso & Manoogian, 1978).
During roughly the same period, parallel research on children’s decision making skills
suggested that, by mid adolescence (roughly 15), adolescents manifested adult-like cognitive
capacities to engage in rational decision making, weighing potential costs and benefits of a
range of options (Scott & Grisso, 1997; Weithorn & Campbell, 1982). This research was offered
by advocates pressing for expanded autonomy rights for children and occasionally taken up by
the Supreme Court in its opinions (Wisconsin v. Yoder, Douglas, J. dissenting, 1972). Thus,
research focused on understanding supported drawing a line at roughly 15, both for the granting
of autonomy rights, and for the curtailing of special procedural protections.
Interestingly, a number of legal developments in this era that had a negative impact on
juvenile offenders sorted along this mid-adolescent line. First was the Supreme Court’s decision
in Fare v. Michael C. (1979), which was decided just as Grisso’s book went to print. In Fare,
16 and a half-year-old Michael C. was taken into custody as a murder suspect and interrogated.

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In response to being advised of his right to speak to a lawyer, Michael C. asked “Can I have
my probation officer here?” and when told that could not happen but that he had a right to
an attorney, Michael C. complained, “How I know you guys won’t pull no police officer in
and tell me he’s an attorney?” (Fare v. Michael C., 1979, pp. 710–711). After a bit more back
and forth, during which he was told, once again, that he could not talk to his probation officer,
Michael C. agreed to talk, and confessed. In endorsing the California juvenile court’s conclusion
that Michael C.’s waiver of his rights was knowing and voluntary, the Supreme Court marched
through the following factors:

He was a 16 and 1⁄2 year old juvenile with considerable experience with the police. He
had a record of several arrests. He had served time in a youth camp, and he had been
on probation for several years. . . . There is no indication that he was of insufficient
intelligence to understand the rights he was waiving, or what the consequences of that
waiver would be.
(Fare v. Michael C., 1979, p. 726)

The Court’s message was not that age was irrelevant. Indeed, it listed “age” among the factors
to be considered in determining whether a waiver of rights was knowing and voluntary. Rather,
the message was that any special developmental considerations did not need to extend to such
an old and seasoned teen. It would take many years before psychological research would find
a lack of correlation between prior experience in the justice system, and an understanding of
Miranda rights (Zelle, Riggs & Goldstein, 2015).
The second legal development in this time period was the Supreme Court’s drawing of an
age line, in two consecutive cases, between 15- and 16-year-olds, forbidding the imposition
of the death penalty for offenders 15 and younger in Thompson v. Oklahoma (1988), but allowing
its imposition for offenders 16 and older in Stanford v. Kentucky (1989). In support of its
ruling shielding younger teens, a plurality of the Court in Thompson relied on social scien-
tific sources as well as precedent to support its conclusion that “less culpability should attach
to a crime committed by a juvenile” because juveniles’ “inexperience, less[er] education and
less[er] intelligence” impaired their ability to evaluate consequences, and because they were
“more apt to be motivated by mere emotion or peer pressure” (Thompson v. Oklahoma, 1988,
pp. 834–835).
While these sources, and the Supreme Court’s analysis in previous cases, addressed
“adolescence” and “juveniles” generally, the Court refused, in Stanford, to extend this reasoning
to 16- and 17-year olds. This was not based on any fine-grained reading of developmental
distinctions, but because the Court majority, in Stanford, eschewed reliance on developmental
science altogether, finding it inconclusive, and looked exclusively to the “objective indicia”
of American society’s evolving standard of decency manifested in state statutes and sentencing
decisions.
An increase in violent juvenile crime, already beginning when Stanford was decided, inspired
the third punitive legal development of the era: the dramatic increase in the prosecution of
minors in adult criminal court. In the last years of the twentieth century, in response to a spike
in violent juvenile offending that peaked in 1994, states expanded the range of crimes and
lowered the age at which juvenile offenders could, or, in some cases, must, be tried as adults
(Griffin et al., 2011). While transfer authority was not, in all circumstances, limited to older
teens, in practical effect, the bulk of those transferred were 16 and 17 years old.

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The punitive policies of the late twentieth Century inspired a renewed interest in studying
the differences between adolescents and adults that might bear on culpability. In a seminal
article framing their research, Laurence Steinberg and Elizabeth Cauffman explained the
following:

To date, most research on adolescent judgment and decision-making, and on whether

adolescents’ judgment is less mature than that of adults, has focused on the cognitive
processes involved and has more or less ignored emotional and social influences on decision-
making. . . . Contrary to the stereotype of adolescents as markedly egocentric, for example,
or as doomed by deficiencies in logical ability, studies show that. . . . Overall, there is little
evidence from studies of cognitive development to support the assertion that adolescents,
once they have turned 16, should be viewed as less culpable than adults. . . . According
to our view, there may well exist psychosocial factors that effect the sorts of decision
individuals make, that follow a developmental progression between adolescence and
adulthood, and that bear on the question of adolescent culpability. . . . [T]hese broad
categories of psychosocial factors that are likely to affect the ways in which individuals
make decisions . . . include (1) responsibility, . . . (2) perspective, . . . and (3) temperance.
(Cauffman & Steinberg, 2000, pp. 743–745)

The article went on to report the results of their study, which found that individuals “differ[ed]
significantly in their psychosocial maturity, as well as in their antisocial decision making, as a
function of age, and, significantly, that “the steepest inflection point in the developmental curve
occurs sometime between 16 and 19 years” (Cauffman & Steinberg, 2000, p. 756).
This article was not, of course the first to flag the relevance of psychosocial factors. Indeed,
the Court highlighted these factors at least as far back as 1948 in Haley, and legal scholars with
interdisciplinary sophistication had emphasized the importance of psychosocial factors for some
time, in arguing for a less punitive approach to juvenile offenders (Scott, 1992; Scott & Grisso,
1997; Zimring, 1978). Most directly in sync with the work of Steinberg and Cauffman was
the work of Elizabeth Scott who, writing in collaboration with psychologists Reppucci, Woolard,
and Grisso, highlighted the relevance of judgment to decision making and noted several
psychosocial factors related to judgment that differed for adolescents and adults, including the
effect of peer influence, approach to risk, and temporal perspective (Scott & Grisso, 1997;
Scott, 1992; Scott, Reppucci, & Woolard, 1995). The new contribution to this emerging
interdisciplinary focus on psychosocial factors, and their bearing on criminal culpability, of
Cauffman and Steinberg’s (2000) research was its correlation of these judgment factors with
antisocial decision making, a correlation that Scott and Grisso (1997) had noted was only
indirectly suggested in earlier research.
Cauffman and Steinberg (2000), with their elaborate taxonomy of judgment factors relevant
to criminal decision making, and Scott (in collaboration with others), with her special legal
expertise, began to make and publicize the connection between psychosocial immaturity and
juvenile crime in parallel. When Steinberg and Scott began to join forces to make a
developmentally informed legal argument against the imposition of the death penalty on older
teens, they reorganized the developmental taxonomy to conform to legal doctrine (Steinberg
& Scott, 2003). Thus, in arguing that juvenile offenders were less culpable than adults, Scott
and Steinberg (2003) identified three relevant grounds for mitigation in criminal law: diminished
decision-making capacity, vulnerability to coercion or duress, and “out-of-character” behavior
(that is, criminal acts not a product of a bad character), and paired all three of these grounds

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for mitigation with aspects of adolescents’ psychosocial immaturity: Adolescents’ poor impulse
control, tendency to discount risk and long-term consequences, and their vulnerability to
negative peer pressure all impaired their decision-making capacity. Adolescents’ susceptibility
to peer pressure combined with their inability to change their environment made them
particularly vulnerable to coercion. And the ongoing development of their identities prevented
them from having a fixed “bad character” to which their criminal acts could be attributed
(Scott & Steinberg, 2003; Steinberg & Scott, 2003).
When the Supreme Court agreed in Roper v. Simmons to revisit the constitutionality of
imposing the death penalty on 16- and 17-year-olds, the American Psychological Association
(APA) pressed these arguments of Scott and Steinberg (2003) in its amicus brief. And the Court’s
decision in Roper v. Simmons (2005), declaring the imposition of the death penalty
unconstitutional for all juvenile offenders, rested heavily on their interdisciplinary arguments.

Three general differences between juveniles under 18 and adults demonstrate that juvenile
offenders cannot with reliability be classified among the worst offenders. First, as any parent
knows and as the scientific and sociological studies respondent and his amici cite tend to
confirm, “[a] lack of maturity and an underdeveloped sense of responsibility are found in
youth more often than in adults and are more understandable among the young. These
qualities often result in impetuous and ill-considered actions and decisions.”. . . . The second
area of difference is that juveniles are more vulnerable or susceptible to negative influences
and outside pressures, including peer pressures. . . . This is explained in part by the
prevailing circumstance that juveniles have less control, or less experience with control,
over their own environment. . . . The third broad difference is that the character of a juvenile
is not as well formed as that of an adult. The personality traits of juveniles are more transitory,
less fixed.
(Roper v. Simmons, 2005, pp. 569–570)

Notably, the Court’s repetition of Scott and Steinberg’s (2003) developmental account deletes
most of the subtle connections between the list of psychosocial differences and the well established
grounds for mitigation around which the developmental account was structured. In Roper, the
list becomes, simply, a list of psychosocial differences between adolescents and adults that
“demonstrate that juvenile offenders cannot with reliability be classified among the worst
offenders” (Roper v. Simmons, 2005, p. 569).
In dissent, Justice Scalia argued that the Court was picking and choosing among psychological
studies, citing only those that supported the outcome the court majority favored, and ignoring
contradictory studies. As evidence of this manipulative use of social science, Justice Scalia pointed
to the fact that “the American Psychological Association (APA), which claims in this case that
scientific evidence shows persons under 18 lack the ability to take moral responsibility for their
decisions, has previously taken precisely the opposite position before this very Court” in the
abortion context (Roper v. Simmons, 2005, p. 617). This challenge, in turn, inspired an article
by Laurence Steinberg and others explaining that adolescents achieved adult levels of cognitive
capability earlier than they achieve emotional and social maturity, and that, while cognitive
maturation qualified adolescents to deliberate maturely about an abortion decision, particularly
with the support of medical professionals, adolescents’ social and emotional immaturity impaired
their decision making in the highly charged peer-focused contexts in which juvenile crime
frequently occurred.

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What this back and forth between Scalia and the social scientific amici captures is the
importance of nuance in the law’s reliance on social science, and the difficulty of preserving
that nuance when social scientific arguments are translated into law. But even if Steinberg’s
distinctions are captured and defended in law (and some might doubt whether the categories
of adolescent decision making are as distinct as Steinberg claims), it is not clear how they should
be applied in the context of adolescents’ procedural rights, including rights in the interrogation
and, even more, the trial setting, that seem to fall somewhere in between the “cold” context
of medical decision making and the “hot” context of decision making among juvenile
offenders. At a minimum, this question suggests that an increasingly fine-grained approach to
the interdisciplinary work is required, if law is to adopt a truly developmental approach.
Justice Scalia also voiced another objection to the Court’s reliance on social science: In his
view, the developmental distinctions the Court noted did not support a categorical approach.
“At most,” Scalia argued, “these studies conclude that, on average, or in most cases, persons under
18 are unable to take moral responsibility for their actions” (Roper v. Simmons, 2005, p. 618).
Scalia emphasized that our sentencing regime relies on individualized assessments of culpability,
done by juries or by judges who can consider all relevant aggravating and mitigating
circumstances that apply in a particular case. He argued that this scheme would best take account
of the social scientific findings about adolescent offenders’ psychosocial immaturity at
individualized sentencing hearings.
The Court defended a categorical rule, in part because it contended that it would be the
“rare juvenile offender whose crime reflects irreparable corruption” (Roper v. Simmons, 2005,
p. 573) and in part because those rare juveniles would be difficult if not impossible to properly
identify. Finally, the Court took comfort in the fact that the law is full of bright age lines,
most of them set at 18. Even in a highly individualized system of laws, we tend to take a
categorical approach to developmentally based distinctions. Behind much of our consideration
of juveniles’ procedural rights and the qualities required for the effective exercise of those rights
is the question whether categorical or individualized rules are more doctrinally and
developmentally appropriate.
Five years after Roper, the Court in Graham v. Florida (2010) relied on the same list of
psychosocial differences between adolescents and adults to categorically prohibit the imposition
of a sentence of Life Without Parole for juveniles convicted of non-homicide offenses. To
this social science, the Graham Court added “brain science,” that is, findings, based on newly
advanced imaging techniques, that adolescents’ brains were different from those of adults and
most deficient in areas associated with psychosocial maturation. These cases, and the social and
neuroscience they endorsed, have been heralded as manifesting a sea change in the law’s approach
to juvenile crime. The “developmental approach” to juvenile crime is now a featured topic
at conferences and, more importantly, in briefs. And legislators and courts have demonstrated
a new receptivity to developmental science in fashioning juvenile justice law and policy. In
this general sense, Roper and Graham (and two years later Miller v. Alabama (2012)) have
implications for children’s procedural rights. But more specifically, the developmental science
expounded in these cases, focused as it is on questions of culpability, is only indirectly
applicable to an analysis of children’s procedural rights.
The case in which the Supreme Court put back on the table, decades after Haley, Gallegos,
and even Gault, the relevance of children’s immaturity to their exercise of criminal procedural
rights was J.D.B. v. North Carolina, decided between Graham and Miller in 2011. In J.D.B., a
very different legal question (Was a suspect “in custody” at the time of his interrogation?)

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pressed a very different developmental question (How does age affect a suspect’s understanding
of whether he is “free to leave” an interrogational setting?) from the culpability-focused questions
addressed in Roper and Graham and subsequently Miller. Consistent with the spirit of these
cases, the Court in J.D.B. found that age was a relevant factor in assessing whether a reasonable
13-year-old taken out of class and interrogated by police in a closed-door session at which
school administrators were also present would feel “at liberty to terminate the interrogation
and leave,” and that therefore age could appropriately determine whether a failure to read a
suspect his Miranda rights required his statement to be suppressed. In reaching this conclusion,
however, the Court departed from the Court’s approach in Roper and Graham by declining to
rest its analysis on developmental science, instead quoting from prior cases and invoking common
sense. The Court went on to say, in a footnote, that “[a]lthough citation to social science and
cognitive science authorities is unnecessary to establish these commonsense propositions, the
literature confirms what experience bears out” ( J.D.B. v. North Carolina, 2011, p. 2403, n. 5).
Social and cognitive science, then, is not the basis of the Court’s decision, but that decision
is stronger for being in line with that science.
By directing police officers to ask what a reasonable person of the suspect’s age would
understand, the J.D.B. Court suggested, as in Roper and Graham, that the law should avoid
engaging in individualized assessments of a particular child’s state of mind. In Roper and Graham,
this preference for a categorical approach was based on the near universality of developmental
distinctions and the difficulty any sentencer would have distinguishing those few whose crimes
were not in some sense a product of their immaturity from the vast majority whose were. In
J.D.B., in contrast, the avoidance of an individualized, subjective inquiry was driven by legal
doctrine: The law imposes an objective test on police to ensure that they can respond swiftly
and effectively to crimes without engaging in a complex assessment of individuals’ perceptions
or worrying that they will be second guessed later for their failure to do so. Much of the rest
of the doctrine surrounding individual’s criminal procedural rights focuses, in contrast, on the
suspect’s subjective experience, raising questions about the extent to which developmental
inquiries in these other doctrinal contexts should be individualized.
Before considering how lower courts have and should apply J.D.B. to take account of
children’s differences in analyzing children’s procedural rights, we return to the culpability
context briefly to consider Miller v. Alabama (2012). In Miller, the Supreme Court doubled
down on the relevance of developmental science and the law’s obligation to take children’s
differences, informed by that science, into account. Calling the reasoning in Graham, the
“foundation stone of our analysis,” the Court emphasized that it embraced the “logic” of its
previous, developmentally grounded decisions (Miller v. Alabama, 2012, p. 2464, n. 4). The
Court noted that the neuro and social scientific support for that logic was even stronger by
the time Miller was decided, and starkly declared: “So if [as our cases have] recognized ‘death
is different,’ children are different, too” (Miller v. Alabama, 2012, p. 2470).
But despite its heavy endorsement of Roper and Graham, Miller shifted awkwardly away
from Roper and Graham’s categorical message to call for individualized culpability assessments
before any juvenile murderer is sentenced to life without parole. The refusal to impose a
categorical rule, despite embracing Roper and Graham’s view that those meriting full adult
punishment were few and those few not easy to discern, was likely reluctant and pragmatic:
In defending its ruling outlawing the juvenile death penalty in Roper, the Court had pointed
to the availability of life without parole; and in defending its ruling outlawing life without
parole for non-homicide offenses in Graham, it had distinguished those offenses from homicide.

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And the Miller Court suggested that the appropriateness of a categorical rule, at least for the
youngest murderers, might still be open, noting that reaching the question was not necessary
in the case. The overall message of Miller, relevant to our assessment of children’s procedural
rights, might be understood to be that, when applying criminal laws to children, at a minimum,
children are entitled to an individualized assessment to determine whether the general, adult
application would be unjust. With Miller’s strong endorsement of the value of developmental
science in informing children’s special rights under law, I turn to the current state, and potential
future, of children’s procedural rights and the related developmental science.

The Future of Children’s Criminal Procedural Rights

Children’s criminal procedural rights commonly are implicated when they are interrogated,
searched, and tried. Much of the development, in both law and developmental science, has
focused on the interrogation and trial contexts, with considerable overlap in the law and science
implicated in these two contexts. While procedural rights in the search and seizure context
have received less interdisciplinary attention, the doctrinal parallels between the search and
interrogation contexts suggest that the influence of developmental science in both doctrinal
contexts should be similar. I begin by returning to the interrogation context, first considering
lower court cases applying the custody inquiry to juvenile offenders after J.D.B., and then
considering courts’ analysis of whether juveniles can be said to have voluntarily waived their
rights when they provided inculpatory information during interrogation. Here, I note the current
state of developmental science as it applies to these doctrinal questions, and suggest the need
for further research. I then go on to consider adjudicative competence, again looking to cases
and developmental science to consider the current state of the law and the need for both legal
and scientific developments.

Interrogation
J.D.B.’s focus was on the question of whether a juvenile suspect was “in custody” and therefore
entitled to Miranda warnings prior to his interrogation. As noted, in ruling that a suspect’s age
was among the objective factors to be considered in assessing whether a reasonable suspect
would feel free to terminate the interrogation and leave, the Court relied on common sense,
articulated in case law. The Court offered lower courts no more fine-grained instruction about
how to assess the impact of age.
The lower courts that have applied J.D.B. have, similarly, avoided any reliance on social
science to illuminate their inquiries about the reasonable adolescent’s perceptions of the
interrogation contexts in question. This could simply reflect an adoption of the approach taken
by J.D.B., or it could be driven by the Court’s underlying interest in maintaining a test that
could readily be applied by a broad range of law enforcement officials in a broad range of
settings.
To date, the post J.D.B cases have largely sorted by chronological age: In a series of cases
involving 12- and 13-year-olds, courts found age to be an important factor in supporting a
finding that the accused was in custody (Matter of J.S., 2012; N.C. v. Commonwealth, 2013;
U.S. v. I.M.M., 2014), and in a series of cases involving 17-year-olds, courts determined that
the accused’s age did not alter the court’s overall assessment that the interrogation did not
qualify as custodial (Commonwealth v. Bermudez, 2012; State v. Jones, 2012; State v. Pearson, 2011;

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State v. Yancey, 2012). Whether applying common sense or developmental science to defendants’
circumstances, it seems that the hardest cases will be those involving adolescents who fall
in that ever-important middle adolescent group. Moreover, it remains to be seen whether
ongoing developmental research will stay in harmony with the common sense view. In Roper,
the Court worried that common sense would lead juries to underestimate the culpability-
reducing immaturity of the oldest adolescent criminals described in the social scientific accounts,
and for that reason, not only raised the age line to 18, but also made that age-line categorical.
Perhaps future developmental research will challenge J.D.B.’s suggestion that the relevance of
a particular juvenile suspect’s age can be adequately taken into consideration by a police officer
applying common sense.
As noted, in the culpability context, it was the social scientific shift in focus from cognition
to psychosocial factors that provided support for a finding of lesser culpability to an older age
line. There is no reason to think that such social and emotional factors would not play an
equally important role in skewing adolescents’ response to interrogation. Indeed, such factors
are flagged in the cases quoted in J.D.B., which identified differences in both “behavior” and
“perception” between juveniles and adults, and worried about juveniles being “overawed and
overwhelmed.” Quoting Roper, the Court in J.D.B. suggested that juveniles’ greater vulner-
ability to “outside pressures,” bore on its consideration of juvenile’s interrogation experience
( J.D.B v. North Carolina, 2011, p. 2403).
Although there has been little research focused on the questions that bear directly on the
custody inquiry (whether and when, for example, a child would feel free to leave), there has
been a great deal of research focused on children’s exercise of their rights when they are
interrogated in custody. (Grisso, 1981; Zelle et al., 2015). To be valid, a waiver of Miranda
rights, and any subsequent confession, must be “knowing, intelligent, and voluntary.” While
these three terms are often lumped together, “knowing and intelligent,” and “voluntary” have
distinct, if interrelated, meanings. “Knowing and intelligent” has been interpreted to require
“an understanding of rights and the consequences of waiving,” whereas “voluntary” describes
the lack of coercion. Statements are “involuntary” if the accused’s will was “overborne” by
the physical or psychological tactics of the interrogators. Importantly, unlike in the custody
context, the inquiry is a subjective one. The court is required to assess the state of mind
of the suspect, taking the “totality of the circumstances”—context, interrogation methods,
and the suspect’s disposition—into account in determining whether his waiver of rights and
subsequent confession were knowing, intelligent and voluntary.
The vast majority of the research focused on children’s capacity to waive their rights in the
interrogation context focuses on the “knowing, intelligent” part of the inquiry, though not
always framed in these terms (Grisso, 1981; Zelle, et al., 2015). Less developed is the research
on children’s vulnerability to coercion, although there have been important research findings
on juvenile’s higher rates of suggestibility and false confession in interrogation settings (Drizin
& Leo, 2004; Richardson, Gudjonsson & Kelly, 1995). Even within the body of research focused
on young people’s understanding of their rights, attention is heavily weighted toward the narrow,
concrete and most measurable question of language comprehension. A great deal of the research
in this area has focused on adolescents’ ability to understand the words included in the Miranda
warnings, and many policy responses to concerns about juvenile interrogation focus on
changing the language of the warnings to more child-friendly language. While this under-
standing of vocabulary is clearly necessary for a waiver of rights explained in these terms to be
knowing, intelligent, and voluntary, it is hardly sufficient. There is much more to understanding
a right than understanding the words describing the right.

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Research dating back to Grisso’s early work and confirmed by recent studies suggests that,
while 15-year-olds understand the words of the Miranda warnings as well as adults, older teens
still lag behind adults in understanding the significance of rights (Grisso, 1981; Zelle, et al.,
2015). The fact that rights are absolute, and cannot be revoked by legal authorities, including
police officers and particularly judges, is a concept less likely to be grasped by older teens than
by those in their twenties. Related to this, even older teens are likely to associate an assertion
of rights with the likely provocation of negative consequences, whether at the time of the
rights assertion or later at trial. This failure of “appreciation,” as Grisso and others have called
this form of understanding, likely reflects, in part, cognitive limitations (understanding rights
in abstract terms demands higher cognitive functioning). But it likely also reflects young people’s
social experience, an experience that teaches, in countless contexts, that adults, particularly
adults with power, determine what children can and cannot do. Finally, adolescents’ lack of
future orientation likely further undermines their ability to understand “all the consequences”
of waiving those rights (Steinberg & Scott, 2003). These limitations on adolescents’ true
appreciation for what it means to have a right suggest that a broader range of statements, made
by a wider age range of adolescents, may be made without a knowing and intelligent waiver
of their rights.
Recent policy changes and legislation imposing categorical protections on all interrogations
of juveniles are in line with this account. A number of states now require the presence of
counsel, or a concerned adult, or the recording of all juvenile interrogations. That being said,
even some of these enhanced procedures manifest a lack of awareness of the relevant social
science. In particular, the presence of parents has been shown to have little effect, or even a
counterproductive effect, in protecting children’s rights in the interrogation context (Grisso,
1981).
It might also be expected that the psychosocial factors recently found to reduce culpability
among even older adolescents would also affect the emotional and psychosocial dynamic between
a youth and his interrogator, bearing on the “voluntariness” of the suspect’s waiver of his rights
and subsequent confession. There is some piecemeal support in social science to support this
idea, much of it a product of research on false confessions. Adolescents have been shown to
be particularly prone to false confessions (Drizin & Leo, 2004; Leo & Ofshe, 1998). False
confessions are, of course, a concern in their own right, but they also serve as evidence of
“wills being overborne,” suggesting that the same tactics that disproportionately produce false
confessions in adolescents might also disproportionately produce confessions and other useful
statements for prosecutors that, while true, were equally coerced, and therefore illegal and
inadmissible.
More detailed social scientific accounts of the psychological techniques that increase the
risk of false confessions can be combined with what we know about adolescents’ psychosocial
immaturity to fill out the likely picture of enhanced coercion. For example, techniques such
as sleep deprivation, isolation, and long periods of interrogation, all identified by courts as relevant
to their assessment of coercion and all associated with higher risks of false confession (Feld,
2006), are likely to have a particularly powerful coercive effect on adolescents, whose time
horizons are shorter, and dependence on their social structures greater, and who have greater
difficulty regulating their emotions and acting with deliberation. Strategies of “minimization,”
where a suspect is encouraged by the interrogator to minimize the moral significance of his
offense, are likely to be understood, by adolescents, as an authoritative account of lesser
culpability, coming as they do from the authority figures who, in their view, control the rules.
And confrontational tactics asserted by police officers who they, again, understand to have

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more control over the law enforcement process than they actually do, are likely to be especially
effective with adolescents, shown to be more deferential and susceptible to outside pressures
(Feld, 2006; Zelle, et al., 2015).
Making these connections paints the sort of picture that Elizabeth Scott and Tom Grisso
could paint in the early years of the twenty-first century—which they described as “sketchy,”
and “tentative”—before the more focused research of Steinberg and others allowed a tighter
connection between research on adolescents’ psychosocial development and the grounds for
mitigation bearing on culpability (Scott & Grisso, 1997, p. 164). While there is considerable
fragmented support for the idea that adolescents’ ongoing psychosocial development also impairs
their ability to waive their rights voluntarily in the interrogation setting, there is not yet the
sort of direct developmental support that inspired the Court’s dramatic shift in the culpability
context in Roper, Graham, and Miller. As in that context, we can hope that recent legal
developments, sparked by those cases, and by J.D.B., will in turn engender more tailored
developmental research that can, in turn, further improve the legal doctrine that applies to the
interrogation of children. Whether that might produce a new set of categorical rules, as it did
in the Roper line, and as advocates urge (Guggenheim & Hertz, 2012), remains to be seen, but
the same arguments offered in Roper—the near universality of children’s psychosocial immaturity
and the difficulty of sorting between those rendered vulnerable to coercion by their immaturity
and those not rendered vulnerable—might be offered to support, for example, an unwaivable
right to counsel, for all interrogated juveniles.
Unless and until such research reshapes interrogation doctrine and the doctrine’s application,
courts will continue to apply a totality of the circumstances test that considers age among a
broad array of factors that bear, in an indeterminate fashion, on a court’s assessment of
voluntariness. Because the current test is intended to assess the state of mind of the suspect,
there is room for defense counsel in an individual case to offer suspect-specific expert testimony
on an adolescent’s interrogation experience and response to that experience, and such an
individualized approach might, over time, educate the courts about the relevance of age to its
voluntariness analysis, even as it stimulates related developmental research. This is a lesson the
law could take from Miller: At a minimum, the “totality of the circumstances” test, like the
proportionality requirement in the Eighth Amendment context, might be found to require a
careful account of how an individual adolescent’s development affected his particular
interrogation circumstances, a requirement consistent with the now 70-year-old Supreme Court
language in Haley. But the considerable difficulty and expense associated with developing suspect-
specific assessments adds another to the list of justifications for preferring a categorical rule
(Guggenheim & Hertz, 2012).
To date, we do not see these individualized showings of involuntariness tied to a defendant’s
immaturity. Rather, in the cases decided since J.D.B., we continue to see a consideration of
the conventional litany of the “totality of the circumstances” with age included on the list as
one of many factors, just as the Court has directed the lower courts to do, since Fare. The
more sophisticated among these cases recognize the necessary interrelationship between the
effect of age and the effect of other factors (Boyd v. State, 2012) and the least sophisticated
mention age, but manifest a lack of understanding of the bearing age might have on the inquiry
(People v. N.A.S., 2014). Thus far, there is little evidence that the Court’s decision in J.D.B.
has in any significant way altered courts’ voluntariness assessments. Again, such advancement
of the doctrine may require the push, as was required in the Eighth Amendment context, of
further social and neuro scientific advancement.

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Adjudicative Competence
The other context in which adolescents’ ability to understand and exercise their procedural
rights has been studied by developmental psychologists is that of adjudicative competence.
American criminal defendants have a due process right to participate in their criminal defense,
a right that is violated if they lack the “competence to stand trial,” when their case is tried.
Under the standard set out by the Supreme Court in Dusky v. United States (1960), the
competence assessment considers whether a defendant has “a rational as well as a factual
understanding of the proceedings against him,” and the “present ability to consult with his
lawyer with a reasonable degree of rational understanding” (Dusky v. United States, 1960,
p. 402). For adults, adjudicative incompetence is generally caused by cognitive disabilities or
mental illness, which can, of course, be sources of incompetence for children as well. But the
special question for adolescents is whether they can be incompetent by virtue of their
immaturity alone (Scott & Grisso, 2005).
While early work by Grisso (1981) and others suggested that immaturity might produce
some of the same deficits in trial competence, for young people, as mental illness and cognitive
impairments produced for adults, the most comprehensive study of the question to date is the
MacArthur Foundation’s Adjudicative Competence Study conducted by an interdisciplinary
team of lawyers and social scientists at the turn of the twenty-first century when attention was
focused on the punitive trends in the law’s response to juvenile crime (Grisso et al., 2003).
The study isolated three types of abilities implicated under the Dusky standard: (1) a factual
understanding of the proceedings, (2) a rational understanding of the proceedings, and (3) an
ability to assist counsel; and attempted to measure the relative competence of adolescents (ranging
in age from 11 to 17) and young adults (ages 18–25) along these dimensions. The study focused
heavily on a sophisticated account of understanding, and the application of that understanding
to the decision-making process. In line with earlier studies focused on Miranda comprehension,
the MacArthur study results found considerable trial competence deficits among 11–13-year-
olds, and greater deficits among adolescents aged 15 and younger than among those 16 and
older, who functioned as well as young adults. The study also employed a specially developed
instrument to capture the potential effects of psychosocial immaturity—the concept
simultaneously making important inroads in the culpability context—on adolescents’ exercise
of judgment. In the context of this study of adjudicative competence, however, these
psychosocial factors—particularly risk appraisal, future orientation, and response to peer
influence—were studied only for their relevance as inputs in adolescents’ exercise of rational
choice, and not, as they also were in some of the studies relied on by the Roper line, for their
ability to introduce emotional and social obstacles, including uncontrolled impulses and intense
responses to social settings and interactions, that could derail, or at least seriously impair, the
deliberative process altogether.
If and when the social and emotional dynamics of adolescents’ participation in a trial, including
their consultation with their attorneys, their attention to and participation in the conduct of
the trial itself, and their response to the statements and actions of others at trial, could be measured
and compared to that of adults, we might find greater divergence between the adjudicative
competence of adults and older teens, as the parallel research in the culpability context
revealed. Of course, as in the interrogation setting, actual courtroom dynamics, and young
people’s manifestation of immaturity in that context, will be difficult to study.
Some advocates argue that the results of the MacArthur study support drawing a categorical
line at 16, and forbidding, or restricting, the availability of adult criminal prosecution for children

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15 and younger (Grisso et al., 2003; Scott & Grisso, 2005). As in the Eighth Amendment
context, this would represent a departure from the doctrine governing adjudicative competence,
which requires an individualized competence assessment, with a presumption of competence.
Justifying a categorical approach might be somewhat more difficult in this context, however,
because the MacArthur study found higher proportions of adjudicative incompetence among
younger adolescents (one-third of 11- to 13-year-olds, and one-fifth of 14- to 15-year-olds),
but not the sort of proportions that suggest the near-universal impact of immaturity the Supreme
Court relied upon in the culpability context.
That being said, the significantly higher proportion of adjudicative incompetence among
young to middle teenagers may be enough to justify requiring incompetence assessments in
all cases (another form of categorical rule), and the costs imposed by such a requirement,
combined with the relatively greater likelihood of finding a younger adolescent incompetent,
together may be enough, as some have argued, to support categorical transfer limits (Scott &
Grisso 2005). Moreover, if future developments in the social scientific study of adolescents’
performance in the trial context discover, as speculated above, social and emotional responses
linked to psychosocial immaturity that impair their trial performance, such responses might
not lend themselves to traditional adjudicative competence testing. Such developments
might support a Roper-like conclusion that a categorical rule is required because courts lack
the ability to distinguish between those adolescents impaired by their immaturity and those
not impaired.
While the competence requirement is broadly perceived to apply in juvenile as well as adult
criminal court, even the staunchest advocates have suggested that it should only apply in weaker
form to juvenile proceedings (Scott & Grisso, 2005). The argument is largely practical: Justice
requires that criminal offenses be adjudicated somewhere, and if juvenile offenders are
incompetent to stand trial in adult court, juvenile court offers a less punitive alternative. Indeed,
due process analysis routinely keys the amount of process required to the potential risks to life
and liberty (Matthews v. Eldridge, 1976), and where juvenile court punishes less severely
(sometimes, but not always, the case), a weaker competence protection may be adequate.
Another approach, however, would be to require the juvenile court process to be altered
in ways that would increase adolescents’ ability to understand the process and to participate
meaningfully. A less forgiving approach to adjudicative incompetence in this context might
harness our developmental understanding of adolescent’s social, emotional, and cognitive
difficulties in the trial setting to remake the process, rather than forcing a rights diminution in
juvenile court (Buss, 2003, 2009). This process modification would represent another form of
categorical adjustment, a change of law for all children in juvenile court to reflect children’s
developmental distinctions. We can expect the emerging litigation and policymaking
surrounding children’s adjudicative incompetence, focused heavily on individual claims for
incompetence based on immaturity, to, in turn, generate new findings, both legal and social
scientific, to answer the questions this new scrutiny inspires.

Conclusion
The developmental approach to juvenile justice is heralded as a new trend in American law.
But the attempt to shape the law to take account of children’s differences is as old as law itself.
What is new, is an increasingly sophisticated developmental picture, derived from increasingly
sophisticated psychological and now neurological research (see Keating in this volume on
developmental neuroscience and children’s evolving capacities), that can, with the help of

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collaborating lawyers and judges, frame questions that address, with more specificity, the
particular questions pressed by legal doctrine. In the area of procedural rights, as in other areas
of law, research on children’s understandings preceded the study of children’s special emotional
and social response to legally salient contexts. The Supreme Court’s decisions in Roper,
Graham, J.D.B., and Miller, however, have framed a new set of questions about children’s exercise
of procedural rights—questions focused on how young people behave in stressful contexts of
choice—whose answers await a new waive of developmental research.

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 18
Implementing Children’s
Education Rights in Schools
Katherine Covell, R. Brian Howe, and Anne McGillivray

In the early years of this millennium, with the widespread ratification of the United Nations
Convention on the Rights of the Child (United Nations General Assembly, 1989), there was
great promise for the implementation of children’s education rights in schools. According to
the Convention, not only do children have the right to education (Article 28) but also they
have the right to education that is directed at respect for human rights, including their own
rights as described in the Convention (Article 29). However, despite the promise of the
Convention, although education has been made widely available to most children, the full
implementation of children’s education rights is far from being accomplished. The Convention
requires that as a basis for respecting human rights, children know and understand their rights
and the rights of others. It also requires that schools provide children’s rights education and
ensure educational practices consistent with the Convention. But in contradiction to this, the
vast majority of children remain in the dark about their rights and schools remain largely oblivious
to the need for implementing the full range of children’s education rights. In doing so, schools
fail children.
In this chapter, we first examine the meaning of children’s education rights. We then describe
an initiative in children’s rights education and its many positive effects on children’s
understanding of rights, their practice of participation and citizenship, school climate, and the
achievement gap. Finally, we identify attitudinal and practical obstacles to implementing
children’s education rights and we reflect on prospects for change.

The Meaning of Children’s Education Rights

Discussing the implementation of children’s education rights in schools first begs the question
of the meaning of children’s education rights. From an international human rights perspective,
children’s education rights are part of the human rights of children as described by the UN
Convention on the Rights of the Child. The Convention is a legally binding international
treaty approved by the United Nations in 1989 and is the most quickly and widely ratified
treaty in world history (only the United States has yet to ratify the agreement). It is the most
authoritative and comprehensive statement in international law on the human rights of chil-
dren (Freeman, 1996; Verhellen, 1994). By ratifying the Convention, countries are committed

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to the principle that children have basic human rights as persons and that governments have
the obligation to make their laws, policies, and practices consistent with the rights and
provisions described in the Convention, if not immediately then over time.
In the Convention are numerous provisions that deal with children’s education rights in
schools (for a global perspective on the topic see Lundy, Orr & Shier, this volume). Eugene
Verhellen (1994) has described these provisions as running along three tracks. On the first track
is the child’s right to education. This right is to be achieved progressively on the basis of equal
opportunity, and with the aim of developing the child’s personality, talents, and abilities to
their fullest potential (Articles 28 and 29). On the second track are children’s rights in edu-
cation. Here, schools are obligated to provide such rights as non-discrimination, participation,
freedom of expression, protection from abuse and violence, and special care for children with
disabilities (Articles 2, 12, 13, 14, 19, and 23). On the third track are children’s rights through
education. This refers to children being able to enjoy and practice their rights as the result of
their educational experience in schools. Particularly important here are schools educating children
about their rights and the rights of others and promoting respect for human rights and
fundamental freedoms (Article 29 and 42). Children’s rights education is so important that the
UN Committee on the Rights of the Child—the UN body responsible for monitoring
compliance with the Convention—has repeatedly urged countries to incorporate children’s
rights into the school curricula and into the training of professionals working with children,
including teachers (Hodgkin & Newell, 2007; Howe & Covell, 2007).
Schools that fully implement children’s education rights are ones that work to achieve success
on all three tracks: they work to provide children with quality education on the basis of equal
opportunity; they establish policies and practices consistent with the Convention rights of
children; they ensure teacher training in human rights; and they educate children fully about
rights (Howe & Covell, 2007; Osler & Starkey, 2010). In educating children about rights, such
schools operate under the belief that children learn best when the material is relevant to them.
Thus, as an entry point for human rights education, teaching children about their own basic
rights is more engaging and more effective than teaching them about rights in the abstract.
Then, with children engaged, an important foundation is laid for the wider teaching of human
rights. Such schools also operate under the belief that the simple teaching of children’s human
rights is inadequate. If children learn about their rights but see that their rights are not practiced
in the school, the perception of hypocrisy can impair development of support for rights. Thus
teaching must be accompanied by genuine practice, especially the practice of participation.
Children not only need to learn that they have a right to participate in school functioning,
but also they need to experience the practice of participation (Flekkoy & Kaufman, 1997; Lundy,
2007).
Children’s human rights education has value because it fulfills a commitment made by
countries that have ratified the Convention. But beyond a country’s legal obligations, such
education has value for children and for societies that value human rights. According to Felissa
Tibbetts (2002), rights education can be expected to have an impact on children in at least
three ways. First, children can be expected to develop a more accurate and deeper understanding
of rights. Rather than getting partial or inaccurate information about rights through the media
or peer groups, they acquire a more complete understanding through their teachers. Second,
children can be expected to develop greater respect for the rights of others. As children come
to understand that they have basic rights, they come to understand that others have these same
rights and that they have a responsibility to respect these rights, an understanding that becomes
reflected in their attitudes and behaviors. Third, children can be expected to become more

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empowered and more willing to stand up and take action in support of the rights of others.
As will be later discussed, research has shown evidence of these anticipated effects.

Initiatives in Children’s Rights Education

In the vast majority of schools and school districts, despite the widespread ratification of the
Convention and despite the UN Committee’s call for children’s rights education, there has
been a general failure to implement children’s education rights. As revealed in reviews of country
reports to the UN Committee and in national and cross-national studies of the state of human
rights and citizenship education, very few children have knowledge of their rights under the
Convention and schools have made little effort to provide children’s rights education (Howe
& Covell, 2007, 2013). Education authorities generally have failed to incorporate the
Convention into education legislation and policy, to incorporate children’s rights into teacher
training, and to advance the teaching and practice of children’s rights and human rights in
schools. As a result, children largely remain unaware of their human rights and schools receive
a failing grade for consistency with the Convention.
However, there have been important—though scattered—initiatives in children’s rights
education by child advocacy groups, schools, and school districts. For example, resources and
teaching materials on child rights have been made available to teachers by groups such as Amnesty
International, Save the Children International, and UNICEF (Willemot, 1997). UNICEF, for
instance, has made efforts to connect with teachers internationally and provide not only
information on the rights of the child but also educational exercises, lessons, videos, and activities
for the teaching of children’s rights. In addition, UNICEF and other groups have been active
in applying pressure on governments to get children’s rights materials incorporated into the
school curricula.
Furthermore, inspired by the Convention, some schools and school districts have taken action
themselves. Among the earliest school initiatives was one in Bruges, Belgium, in the early 1990s
(Decoene & De Cock, 1996). This was a program introduced at De Vrijdagmarkt Primary
School, involving children aged 3 to 12. The overall aim was to educate the children about
the contents of the Convention, ensure child participation in the learning process, and make
use of democratic pedagogy in facilitating participation. Influenced by the Bruges initiative,
schools in Cape Breton, Canada, introduced programs during the late 1990s at primary and
secondary levels (Covell & Howe, 1999, 2001). Through a partnership between the Children’s
Rights Centre at Cape Breton University and the Cape Breton-Victoria Regional School Board,
curriculum materials based on the Convention, and designed for participatory pedagogy, were
developed for three grade levels. At the grade 6 level (children aged 11 to 13 years), the materials
focused on children’s rights in relation to issues of health, safety, families, and drug use. At the
grade 8 level (ages 13 to 15 years), activities focused on peers and relationships. And at the
grade 12 level (for ages 17 to 19), activities were focused on rights in relation to broad global
issues such as war-affected children and child labor.
Inspired by the Cape Breton program, a major school initiative was launched in Hampshire,
England, called the Rights, Respect and Responsibility initiative, or RRR (Howe & Covell,
2013). In contrast to Cape Breton where rights education occurred at the level of individual
classrooms, the RRR initiative was directed at the whole school. In the early 2000s, senior
administrators in the Hampshire Education Authority had an interest in school reform that
would improve school culture and educational outcomes for children. It was their view that

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a key to success was establishing a new shared values framework for schools, one that would
improve school climate and conditions for improved outcomes. Learning about the Cape Breton
program, they decided that children’s rights education could be a central ingredient of a new
values framework. With this in mind, a study leave was organized for a group of Hampshire
teachers and administrators to visit Cape Breton. Returning to Hampshire, the group did a
successful pilot test and then officially launched RRR in 2004.
The aim of RRR was to improve educational outcomes for children by building more
positive school cultures based on the Convention and by ensuring school practices consistent
with the Convention. Knowledge and understanding of the rights and social responsibilities
of children were to provide the values framework for all school policies, classroom practices,
codes of conduct, mission statements, school regulations, and school curricula. The framework
was to be implemented not only in a classroom but across the whole school—across classrooms,
across grade levels, across curricula, and across school practices. Of particular importance,
consistent with the participation rights of the child, behavior codes and rules and regulations
were to be developed in collaboration with the children. Classroom teaching was to be
democratic and numerous opportunities were to be provided for children to have a voice in
school functioning. Hampshire’s plan was to introduce RRR first in infant and primary schools
and then, over time, as children went into higher grades, in junior and secondary schools. By
2014, in varying degrees of implementation, the majority of schools in Hampshire were
participating in RRR.
Although success in implementing RRR was due to a number of factors, three were of
particular importance (Covell, Howe, & McNeil, 2010). First, at the outset, the Hampshire
administrators developed a careful strategic plan for implementation. Included in this plan was
using the vocabulary of responsibilities as well as rights, consulting with a wide number of
school, community, and political leaders to gain broad support, and providing for appropriate
teacher training, educational materials, and resources. This made schools more likely to
cooperate and endorse the initiative. Second, implementation was more successful when
principals and school leaders showed leadership, commitment, and planning. Rather than
delegating responsibility to a particular teacher or teachers, they took on a major leadership
role themselves. And they did not see RRR as an add-on program but as a values framework
for the functioning of all programs and practices. Third, implementation was aided by research
studies from Cape Breton and by the pilot-testing showing the benefits of children’s rights
education. Such benefits were referred to by the Hampshire administrators in gaining
community and political support for the initiative and by school leaders in gaining support
within schools.
Influenced by the success of the RRR, other initiatives were undertaken including ones
in the United Kingdom and New Zealand. In 2006, across the United Kingdom, an initiative
called the Rights Respecting School Award program was introduced by UNICEF UK (2014).
Its aim was to promote child rights education by offering schools an award if they showed
evidence of meeting certain basic standards in teaching and practicing children’s rights. In New
Zealand, following consultations between 2002 and 2004, a collaborative initiative was
introduced called Human Rights in Education/Mana Tika Tangata (HRiE, 2014). Involving
Amnesty International and the Children’s Commissioner and Human Rights Commission of
New Zealand, its objective was to build “human rights communities in education” through
having schools become learning communities that “know, promote, and live human rights
and responsibilities” (HRiE, 2014). Again, the Convention was a central reference point.

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The Impact of Children’s Rights Education

Research studies show that where schools have fully implemented child rights-consistent
education, the outcomes have been unambiguously positive. The summary of research findings
here is limited to data evaluating the impact of the RRR initiative in Hampshire. The reasons
are these. First, to our knowledge, the RRR remains the most comprehensive initiative in
children’s rights education. Second, it remains the only child rights education initiative to have
longitudinal data—over almost a decade—describing its effects on human rights values and
rights-respecting behaviors (Covell, 2014). Details regarding participants, methodology, and
findings of the individual studies are provided elsewhere (Covell, 2010; Covell & Howe, 2011,
2008, 2007; Covell, Howe, & McNeil, 2010, 2008; Covell, Howe, & Polegato, 2011; Covell,
McNeil & Howe, 2009). However it may be helpful here to provide a brief context and
overview of methods.
The county of Hampshire, comprising both urban and rural areas, is in the southern coastal
area of England. According to the most recent census data (Hampshire County Council, 2015),
it is the third most populous county in England with a population of almost 2 million. Although
somewhat prosperous, there are pockets of extreme deprivation and welfare dependency. The
population largely self-identifies as white British. Diversity is, however, increasing with
growing immigration primarily from Europe, the Middle East, Asia, and Africa. Schools within
the Hampshire Education Authority reflect the diversity of the socio-demographic composition
of the area. There are 530 schools under the governance of the Authority with 136,000 students.
The core evaluation study involved 18 of these schools of which five were infant schools
(children ages 4 to 7 years), five primary schools (children ages 7 to 11 years), and eight junior
schools (children ages 11 +). The schools were selected to be representative of the socio-
demographic composition of the area. For some comparisons, most notably school engagement
and educational resilience, other schools which either had or had not adopted the RRR were
added (e.g., Covell, 2010; Howe & Covell, 2013). A multi-method approach was used
comprising individual annual interviews with children, their teachers, principals, and
administrators; focus groups with children; self-report questionnaires with teachers and children;
and archival data collection from school records. The latter were used to monitor patterns of
absentee rates, expulsions, family demographics, number of special needs students, stability of
teaching staff, and student performance on national academic achievement tests. The full study
took place from 2002 to 2012. Prior to describing the findings, we summarize the teaching
approaches in the RRR that enabled children’s understanding of rights.

Children’s Understanding of Rights

In the RRR schools, children learn about rights in four major ways. First, the substantive
articles of the Convention are integrated into all curricula. For example, the right to clean
water and its necessity to health are discussed as part of the science unit on microorganisms.
The right to nutritious food is taught in mathematics by graphing distances between food supply
and access. And in social studies, students role-play the daily lives of children living in conflict
situations to identify how war affects rights and family life. When concepts such as rights are
linked with children’s daily realities, they are understood better, they are more readily
generalized, and they are more engaging (Howe & Covell, 2007). In support of the curricula,
rights also are described in posters that are placed around the school. For example, posters in
the library explain the right to access information, and those in the playground the right to
play and leisure.

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Second, at the beginning of each year and using the CRC as their guide, students and teachers
collaboratively develop and display classroom charters of rights and corresponding responsibilities
as a guide to behavior. These may include such statements as “we have the right to be treated
fairly and the responsibility to treat each other fairly” and “we have the right to be heard and
the responsibility to listen to and respect other people’s ideas.” In addition, all school policies,
practices, and functioning include reference to the rights of the child.
Third, the discourse of rights is a common language used across the school to guide and
encourage rights-respecting behavior, and as a basis for critical discussion and evaluation of
learning. An example from an English class is illustrative (Lightfoot, 2009). After reading the
classic fairy tale Cinderella, the children are asked to comment on her life. Grace, aged 11,
notes: “Her stepmother was very cruel and denied her right to be protected from abuse and
it infringed article 31 when they didn’t let her go to the ball, because children have a right
to play.” Grace’s comment demonstrates that the children were able to generalize their
understanding of rights.
Children’s understanding of what it means to have rights was significantly affected by their
experience with rights education. Across elementary school ages, children who were not in
RRR schools either were unable to describe what it means to have a right, or they understood
rights simply in terms of personal freedoms. In contrast, those in RRR schools described the
concept of rights in terms of justice, protection from harm, and provision of needs.
Children—even those as young as 4 years of age—who were in RRR schools were able
to describe what having rights meant. As would be predicted by their cognitive development,
the older children talked about rights with reference to abstract concepts such as equality and
justice, and the younger children used concrete terms. But their answers indicated that they
had grasped the fundamental meanings. Rights, they said, mean you “have clean water and
healthy food,” “play nicely,” “stay safe,” and get “treated properly.” And when asked to explain
why rights might be important for children, answers included: “It (having rights) allows children
to have a good life and not be hurt.”
Because in learning about rights children had discussed correlative responsibilities, they also
were asked to describe what it meant to have a responsibility. Interestingly, children not in
RRR schools talked about responsibility in terms of looking after objects—looking after toys,
being careful with books, and so forth. Only children in RRR schools talked about their
responsibilities in terms of people. Exemplars include: “The most important responsibility is
to make sure everyone has their rights”; and “You have a responsibility not to hurt others and
if someone’s hurt to help them.”

The Practice of Participation and Citizenship

Children also learned skills that are associated with the practice of democratic participation and
citizenship. Skills were taught largely through the systematic provision of opportunities for
meaningful participation in the classroom and throughout the school, and through the
promotion of human rights.
In the classroom, meaningful participation was evident in self-directed and cooperative group
learning, critical thinking, social issues discussion, role-play, and project-based learning (each
from a rights perspective). These teaching strategies require that teachers act as a facilitator or
guide, and respect the children’s various capacities, learning styles, and opinions. In turn, children
acquire communication, listening, critical thinking and problem-solving skills, and they come
to appreciate the diversities among their peers.

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At the level of the school, children were democratically elected by their peers to represent
the student body on issues of budgetary allocations, spending, hiring, disciplinary practices,
and, where undertaken, school renovation plans (Howe & Covell, 2013). Participation was
not tokenistic. Even in hiring decisions, the children’s perspectives were taken seriously, and
they responded well. One noteworthy example is seen in the hiring of a “dinner lady.” In
many UK schools, community adults—usually women—are hired to prepare and serve a hot
lunch. A four-year-old committee member had the following interview questions: Are you a
good cook? Do you like children? Do you shout?
As predicted by a significant body of research on the benefits of meaningful participation
(e.g., Fredricks & Eccles, 2008, 2006; Jennings, 2003; Lundy, 2007; Martin & Marsh, 2006;
Pancer et al., 2007; Peck et al., 2008), participation in the RRR schools was found to enhance
children’s engagement in school and confidence in learning. This was reflected in their
commitment to learning, achievement, academic aspirations, enjoyment of school, self-esteem,
and optimism for the future. And when children participate in rights-based schools, they are
more likely to develop a conception of themselves as rights-respecting citizens—as autonomous
persons with rights and responsibilities and the capacity and motivation to make socially
responsible, rights-respecting and rights-promoting choices.

School Climate
Interestingly, the evaluation data showed over time that the more the children experienced
opportunities for participation, the more respectful they became of their peers and their teachers.
Children were reported by their teachers increasingly to be more cooperative with each other,
more inclusive and sensitive to the needs of children with learning difficulties, and more respectful
in general. Incidents of bullying and other inappropriate behaviors decreased over time. It was
noted that when the children had disagreements, they often used rights discourse to settle them.
In consequence, most schools demonstrated a decrease in exclusions.
Children also were encouraged to consider the rights of others and to act to promote them.
They were encouraged by teachers to establish peer support activities such as tutoring those
who need help and befriending those new to the school or in need of social support. In addition,
showing respect for the rights of peers was motivated by asking children to identify the
corresponding responsibilities to their rights. For example, children identified the right to play
as requiring inclusion and no bullying as its corollary. A number of special projects were
undertaken to connect the children with students in other countries or living circumstances.
These involved activities such as visits, letter writing, the sending of artwork or photographs,
social networking, food drives, and raising money. In addition, even with the very young
children there was overt political activism such as contacting members of parliament about
particular rights-relevant issues.
Of particular interest was that student participation reduced teacher burnout (Howe & Covell,
2013). The more the children participated in the classroom and school, the greater the
teachers’ sense of personal achievement, and the more likely they were to empathize with and
feel connected to their students. These improvements in teacher satisfaction resulted in an
increasingly positive school climate. As has been shown previously, when teachers are
empathetic, consistent, and encourage self-management and meaningful participation, classroom
climate improves (McNeely et al., 2002).
A children’s rights-based school culture is one in which there is a shared value on rights, a
shared belief in the importance of upholding children’s rights and the rights-based assumptions

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and expectations that inform and guide school functioning and practices. Such a school culture
promotes a positive school climate. A positive school climate affects children’s satisfaction with
school (Zullig, Huebner, & Patton, 2011), and it affects student success (Konishi et al., 2010;
Schaps, Battistich & Solomon, 2004; Zins et al., 2004).
Children in RRR schools indicated higher perceptions of peer and teacher support
compared with their peers in non-RRR schools. Absentee rates decreased and achievement
increased. In a large scale comparison of children’s perception of school climate, it was found
that, compared with their peers, children in the RRR schools perceived a more respectful and
fair and safe school climate, had more positive relationships at school, and participated more
in learning and school committees and activities. In addition, more positive comments were
made about their school.

The Achievement Gap

Student successes and achievements in the RRR schools were, at least in part, attributable to
the positive school climate. Teachers and principals in RRR schools described the improved
learning styles they had observed among the children. They commented in particular on increased
levels of self-regulation, confidence, effort, and motivation—changes that were summarized
by one teacher as reflecting a change from passive thinking to active questioning. These changes
were reflected in marked and steady increases in children’s achievement scores on the
standardized assessment tests (SATs) since the implementation of the RRR. Most compelling
were the disproportionate increases in SAT scores among the most disadvantaged children (Covell
& Howe, 2011; Covell, Howe & Polegato, 2011; Howe & Covell, 2013).
As detailed elsewhere (Howe & Covell, 2013), the most marked improvements in behavior
and academic achievement were evidenced at the most disadvantaged of the schools that initially
implemented the RRR (pseudonym Woodview). Woodview is situated in a highly dis-
advantaged neighborhood. Public housing, dependence on social assistance, single-parenthood,
drug addiction, and criminal involvement among the families in the neighborhood is
significantly higher than average. At the time of launching of the RRR, absentee rates were
very high, behavior problems were endemic, and school failure was common.
Between 2002 and 2008, as behavioral incidents and absentee rates were exponentially
lessening, the children’s aggregate SATs scores almost doubled. It is noteworthy that over this
time period there was stability of principal, classroom teachers, and family profiles. School officials
reported that the dramatic improvements in children’s behavior and achievement were brought
about by the RRR whose components altered their educational experiences and, in turn, their
motivations and aspirations.
Subsequent comparisons among this school, one with a comparable socio-demo profile and
no RRR, and a well-resourced school in an advantaged neighborhood that had implemented
the RRR, demonstrated that the RRR can significantly reduce the achievement gap so
often seen between socio-economically advantaged and disadvantaged children. The children
at Woodview reported the highest level of positive school climate and teacher support.
Relationships among students and staff were the most positive, and the children’s level of
participation, academic motivation, and effort was higher than the children in both other
schools. Most compelling was the finding that the SATs scores between the advantaged students
and the disadvantaged students at Woodview were indistinguishable. The achievement gap
had been closed. Follow-up studies showed that the children had retained their engagement
and aspirations through the difficult transition to junior high school.

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Despite such consistently positive effects of children’s rights education and despite the
international obligation by education authorities to implement school practices consistent with
the Convention, few schools provide for children’s rights education and the full range of
children’s education rights. A question is why not?

Obstacles to Implementing Children’s Education Rights

Experience suggests that there are three primary obstacles to the widespread implementation
of the RRR or equivalent children’s rights education initiatives: the influence of rightist
populism, a persisting belief in the primacy of parents’ rights, and a reluctance among educators
to engage in the comprehensive re-culturing of schools that rights-consistent schooling requires.
Each will be described in turn.
A first obstacle is the rise of rightist populism and conservative beliefs that have led to attitudes
mistrustful of teachers, public school curricula, and “the very idea of public schools” (Apple,
2001, p. xvi). Such attitudes have fueled in many countries a movement toward home
schooling, private schools, and an educational environment resistant to initiatives such as
children’s rights. It is a movement that has received tacit support and significant funding from
many governments. Increasingly, children’s education has reflected the impact of powerful
populist lobbies and the conservative and religious interests of parents rather than the rights of
the child. Politicians “have learned the hard way” not to challenge the highly organized home
and religious school lobbies who wish to limit what they perceive to be intrusion by
government in their child rearing (Cooper, 2005, p. xii). These interest groups have been
particularly opposed to children’s rights. In the words of Michael Farris, U.S. founder and
head of the Home School Legal Defence Association, the Convention on the Rights of the
Child “would give the government control over our families—completely. So we are leading
the charge to kill the Convention on the Rights of the Child” (cited in Jasper, 2011; and see
Farris, 2009).
There has been a steep growth in home schooling in many countries throughout the world,
including Canada and the United States. Between 2007 and 2012 in Canada, there was a 29
percent increase in the numbers of children registered as home schooled (Van Pelt, 2015). In
the United States, as of 2013, 1 in 49 or 1.5 million of 74 million children were home schooled
(U.S. Department of Education, 2013) in order “to ‘protect’ them from the supposed
ideological, spiritual, and moral dangers of public schooling” (Apple, 2001, p. xvi). Under
U.S. laws that govern home schooling, parents may educate—more or less—as they see fit.
The situation is similar in Canada. The British Columbia School Act, for example, gives parents
the “statutory right” to educate children themselves. Parents are not supervised by a certified
teacher, are not required to meet provincial standards, and there is no inspection by the Ministry
of Education (BC Ministry of Education, 2015). And in Manitoba, among the acceptable models
of home schooling are parent-directed education with no curricular requirements and
“Christian-based curricula” (Manitoba Education, 2015). Both show little if any consistency
with the Convention on the Rights of the Child. As in much of the United States, the only
requirement is registration (Blair, 2012).
A similar increase in private schools also poses problems for children’s education rights. Across
Canada, for example, partially funded private schools must teach specified elements of the public
curriculum, but quality is not assured (Branham, 2008; Jones, 2012). Non-funded private schools,
most of which are established by religious-based communities (Manitoba Education, 2015a),
are considered as home schools. Excluding religious schools from regulations that are designed

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to ensure high quality education and safe practices violates children’s basic right to formal equality
(Dwyer, 1998). As children are entitled to equal consideration by the state, legal protections
for children in education should apply to all children regardless of their parents’ religious-based
objections to those protections. The extent to which exclusions for religious schools pose a
threat to children’s rights is exemplified in the polygamous community of Bountiful in British
Columbia. Despite being registered, inspected, and very well-funded (Branham, 2008, 2011;
Peck, 2007), abuse of children and their rights was the norm. Few boys have been educated
beyond the eighth grade. Instead boys were required to work and contribute financially to
their families and the Prophet. The education of girls ended in favor of marriage, with few
girls remaining in school beyond ninth grade (Polygamy Reference, 2010, Susie Barlow affidavit).
Schools groomed girls for polygamous marriage. When girls as young as age 12 were married
to senior males or simply disappeared across the border to become child wives, there was no
investigation (Branham, 2008; Jones, 2012). Nor did state actors respond to complaints of physical
and sexual abuse of children, deeply inadequate education, or the exploitation and expulsion
of young boys from the community. State failure to protect the rights of Bountiful children
to education, expression and protection, to say nothing of their bodies can happen anywhere.
Religious privacy coupled with the politics of intolerance and the impossibility of state
monitoring of hundreds of thousands of home and private schools invites such failures of the
state. It is a failure that results in almost insurmountable obstacles to children’s rights education.
A second obstacle to implementation is the persisting and misguided belief in the nature of
parental rights. There is no question that parents’ rights are important. The Universal Declaration
on Human Rights (1948, Article 26) gives parents a “prior right to choose the kind of education
to be given to their children.” But the Convention—a legally binding treaty, not simply a
declaration—recognizes education as a right of the child, not only of the parent. According to
the Convention, the rights of children are of fundamental importance while those of parents
are connected to their responsibilities. In the words of Rhona Smith: “there is no real reason
why a child’s views on education should be secondary” (Smith, 2014, p. 191). Article 28 of
the Convention clearly states that children have the right to education on the basis of equal
opportunity. Article 5 requires states to:

respect the responsibilities, rights and duties of parents . . . to provide, in a manner consistent
with the evolving capacities of the child, appropriate direction and guidance in the exercise
by the child of the rights recognized in the present Convention.

In short, parents do have rights but these are in relation to fulfilling their responsibilities and
guiding children in exercising their rights.
Nonetheless, for many politicians, as for conservative lobbyists, the rights of parents in
education continue to outweigh those of children. Not only do parents have the legal right
to remove their children from the public school system, but parents in virtually all jurisdictions
may withdraw children from classes that are offensive to parental values under formal and informal
“opting-out” provisions (Harris, 2007; Kauri, 2012). As a result, significant numbers of
children, for many reasons, are removed from the common curriculum. In the public school
system, there are situations in which respect for diversity can mean setting aside uniformity or
equality (Lundy, 2005). Parents who oppose a common prescribed curriculum, even one that
is based on objectivity and pluralism, can and often do remove their children (Harris, 2007).
The child’s right to education as well as to information and participation in decision making
effectively is trumped by false notions of parental rights.

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Arguments against children’s rights take many forms (McGillivray, 2004). One is that children
are loved, nurtured, and connected, making rights unnecessary. Another is that rights are cold
and divisive, disrupting family bonds. Another is that children lack the capacity to exercise
rights and giving them rights makes them ungovernable monsters (Purdy, 1994). And yet another
is that rights invite state usurpation of the power, primacy, and rights of parents (Cohen &
DeBenedet, 2012; Dwyer, 1998; Ferris, 2009; Walker et al., 1999). A simple fact is that many
of those with disciplinary authority—parents, teachers, clergy—fear losing power over children.
All of these arguments are based on a profound misunderstanding of what rights mean and
how they work.
Under the will or agency theory of rights, rights flow from power, autonomy, and rationality
(McGillivray, 2012). Autonomy here means the power to control one’s own destiny and resist
the collectivity. Sometimes the individual wins, sometimes the collectivity. Under the will
theory, rights are a zero-sum game—if I give you some rights, I lose some of mine. My power
is depleted by your rights. Might makes rights. But power is not a zero-sum game and the
sources of power are many. Just as the ‘individual’ can have meaning only with reference to
the collectivity, so rights can have meaning only in terms of the collective, as markers of
relationships. Historically, the will theory meant that those subject to the will of others—women,
children, and landless men—lacked autonomy. While they might have some legal rights, they
could not be full rights-bearers.
The interest theory of rights ties rights not to autonomy but to interests (McGillivary, 1994,
2012). An interest is a need, as in the need for protection from violence, or a social good, as
in freedom of expression or the education of children. Where an interest is sufficient to ground
a responsibility in others to protect that interest, a right is created. The interest theory is the
basis of all modern human rights documents including the Universal Declaration of Human
Rights and the Convention on the Rights of the Child. These documents recognize all humans
as rights-bearers. They recognize also that rights are never absolute, and that limits on rights
can never be arbitrary. Limits must be justified by law on the basis of respect for the rights of
others and the general welfare. Limits on a child’s rights also must be justified on the basis of
the child’s age and maturity. Rights are not about libertarianism or an improbable John Wayne
autonomy. They have meaning only as markers of relationship within the collectivity (Nedelsky,
1993). Under interest theory, autonomy is not tied to separation but to relationship. Being
dependent on others is not the opposite of autonomy “but a precondition in the relationship—
between parent and child, student and teacher, state and citizen—which provides the security,
education, nurturing, and support that make the development of autonomy possible” (Nedelsky,
1993, p. 8). Dependence is not a defect. It is an attribute of all human relationships.
Children’s rights set out in the Convention are guaranteed by the state, but the child’s exercise
of rights is intimately governed by the child’s parents. The Convention mentions parents 36
times. Nineteen of its 41 substantive articles defer to parents (Cohen, 2006). The Convention,
in Article 5, recognizes both the primary role of parents and “the rights and duties of parents”
over the exercise of children’s rights “consistent with the evolving capacities of the child.”
This extends to control of children’s education. Article 5 on the rights and duties of parents,
cited above, is the first substantive right specified in the Convention. “The placement suggests
that, not only do parental rights govern all rights of the child, but also that these are given
more weight and prominence than when handled within each specific theme” (Quennerstedt,
2009, p. 173).
Two things flow from this. First, the Convention as a rights document most clearly shows
how rights are strands in webs of mutual respect and support. By grounding rights in a circle

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of responsibility, the Convention has “wrought a historical sea change” (Wall, 2008, p. 523).
Even so, as Wall notes, the Convention retains strands of old ideas about autonomy, liberty,
entitlement, and agency. Second, if “rights and duties of parents” carry strands of these old
ideas, then parental rights are rights over children. Children, then, could have no rights and
most certainly not the sort of rights guaranteed by the Convention. This is because parental
rights are status rights (McGillivray, 2012). Status rights gave the one with status the right to
control the rights of another, conferring a magisterial power over the custody, control, and
corporal punishment of another—master over slave, servant or apprentice; schoolmaster over
pupil; ship master over crew; prison master over prisoner; husband over wife; father or mother
over child. While status or magisterial rights are for the most part gone from the law
(McGillivray, 2012), this thinking remains embedded in rightist conservative ideas about parental
rights. Notions of parental rights, long gone from the law, fuel opposition to children’s rights.
Given the numerous references to parental rights in the Convention, it is surprising that
opponents of children’s rights do not read the Convention in this way.
If parents have status rights over children, then children cannot have rights. “Parental rights
and duties” must mean something different. The key to resolving the contradiction lies in
“duties” or responsibilities. The essence of the child–parent relationship is trust. A relationship
of trust is, in law, a fiduciary relationship. As fiduciaries, parents have duties to promote the
child’s rights and protect the child’s person and developing autonomy. As fiduciaries, parents
have rights against others who might interfere with the child’s rights or with their duties to
the child. The law of fiduciaries requires that the best interest of the one whom the trust is
for (a child in this context) must be the primary consideration of the fiduciary. This is reflected
in article 18 of the Convention which recognizes that parents “have the primary responsibility
for the upbringing and development of the child. The best interests of the child will be their
basic concern.” The state also has a fiduciary duty to children, one going back many centuries
(McGillivray, 2004, 2012). If a child is in need of protection, the fiduciary duty of the state
trumps parental fiduciary duty. The state’s duty here is set out in Article 3 of the Convention:
“In all actions concerning children, whether undertaken by public or private social welfare
institutions, courts of law, administrative authorities or legislative bodies, the best interests of
the child shall be a primary consideration.” Respecting the child’s rights is in the best interests
of the child. This is the heart of the Convention. The duty of the state is now expressed primarily
through legislation and court decisions. Arguments against children’s rights based on fears of
state intrusion into the family and losing parental rights of absolute control were lost long before
the advent of the Convention (McGillivray, 2012).
Under the Convention, children have fundamental rights including the right to education
and to children’s rights education. But the child’s right to an education consistent with the
Convention is weakened when others—parents, religious leaders, and community leaders—
have rights under the Convention with respect to education. Respect for these others in the
lives of children, however, cannot change the fact that education rights, interests, and choices
equally belong to children. A new rights jurisprudence is needed. The Third Optional Protocol
to the Convention establishes an international complaints mechanism for children. With this
mechanism, “a new and exciting stream of jurisprudence could emerge in which children’s
rights, even in education, are accorded at least equal weight to the interests of the parents”
(Smith, 2014, p. 195).
Finally, there is a third and pragmatic obstacle to the implementation of child rights education.
This is the reluctance of educators to undertake the widespread school reform that is required.
The implementation of any new school initiative or program is a complex undertaking that

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often ends in failure (Berends, Bodilly, & Kirby, 2002; Elmore, 1995; Fullan, 2007; Hargreaves,
2001). Given the primacy accorded to parental wishes, this is particularly difficult when the
core of reform is children’s rights. The lack of teacher training on the Convention, rights-
consistent teaching, and school management respectful of children’s rights (Howe & Covell,
2013; Lundy, 2007), supports the misconception that children’s rights threaten authority and
weaken teachers’ power to control the classroom (Howe & Covell, 2010). And many principals,
struggling with budgetary and hiring issues and having little time to commit to the sort of
leadership, training, and planning needed, are reluctant to initiate serious reform.
Ultimately, reforming children’s education depends on the will of officials and the politics of
political survival. Fire-fighting is the political quick-fix. Anti-bullying programs, for example,
may focus on certain rights of the child while ignoring other rights, thus failing to address the
roots of the problem. Commitment to such comprehensive children’s rights education as the
RRR initiative requires re-educating teachers, reorganizing school administration, and infusing
the curriculum with children’s rights. None of this attracts votes. Under current regulatory schemes,
it may be that the basic curricular goals envisioned in the Convention cannot be implemented
through a top-down approach.
Children’s rights education will be strongly resisted in a political environment that too readily
responds to an ideology of parental rights long gone from the law, one that is by definition
antithetical to children’s rights. The challenge, then, is how to convince educators, parents,
politicians, and the public that children have the fundamental right to an education that respects
their rights and teaches them to respect the rights of others.

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 19
Children’s Right to Play
From the Margins to the Middle
Stuart Lester

Introduction
In 2013 the United Nations Committee on the Rights of the Child (CRC, United Nations
General Assembly, 1989) issued General Comment 17 (GC17) in response to growing concerns
that the ‘right to play’ was being marginalised and neglected. The Comment offers a valuable
range of justifications, considerations and recommendations for improving conditions to
support children’s play that extend well beyond the traditional ways of providing for this form
of behaviour (Lester & Russell, 2014a). This chapter will elaborate on some of the key principles
outlined in GC17 and the promise they hold for thinking differently about playing, childhood,
adulthood and space. In doing so, there is a fundamental challenge to the foundational idea in
dominant rights-based discourse that life is an individual affair. The ambition is driven by a
basic assumption that there are many different ideas in circulation about the processes of life
(and the claim will be made that playing is an exemplification of life going on) and the ways
in which humans and non-humans coexist. However the current dominant individualised
account and associated material-discursive effects cut and differentiate dynamic and emergent
processes of life by making certain judgements, drawing lines and boundaries that partition and
fix life into segments. This perspective, when applied to the period of childhood and play, has
inherent limitations that prevent a broader appreciation of the ways in which children
co-create moments of playfulness from the conditions of their daily lives. But the forces of
segmentation also contain within them the possibility for exposing, questioning, reconfigur-
ing and changing these conditions; indeed, playing itself may be a critique of dominant spatial
productions (Lester, 2014). As such, the ideas developed here have wider implications for
thinking about the issue of children’s rights and the formation of a political and ethical responsi-
bility that pays closer attention to the everyday relationships between bodies and materials and
the possibilities they might contain to help life flourish. It is a move that repositions playing
from the margins to the middle of thinking about the constituents of a ‘good life’ by proposing
that the right to play is the foundation for an ethical–spatial justice that relies on an enlarged
sense of interconnectedness between self and others. Drawing on principles and findings from
a research study in Wales (Lester & Russell, 2013a, 2104b), it will highlight how State legislation

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to secure a ‘sufficiency of play opportunities’ initiated a process of subjecting entangled power

locations, relationships and their practices to critical scrutiny to see how more equitable and
just environments for children and adults alike may be produced.

An Opening Contextualisation
It is necessary at the outset to briefly acknowledge the divisions among those for and against
the current formation of children’s rights (Freeman, 2007). This widening debate reflects a
move away from presenting the issue as solely the concern of the legal/juridical profession
to a growing multidisciplinary engagement with the conceptual construction and enactment
of rights at State and local level (Freeman, 2012). Undoubtedly this has produced important
critical perspectives that, for example, contest the notion of a universal child constructed from
a minority-world perspective and the associated promotion of a highly selective and idealised
version of childhood that critics claim perpetuates the civilising mission of colonialism (Kay,
Tisdall, & Punch, 2012; Skelton, 2007). Further arguments note the global determination of
children’s needs establishes universal norms that are crystallised in international laws (Prout,
2005) and largely based on a deficit model rooted in protection of, and provision for, children.
Children are held to be vulnerable and needy, a largely uncontentious view, and while there
are clear principles of participation in the CRC these are often seen as secondary and generally
employed to assure protection and provision rights (Lester, 2013). Countering this, attention
is drawn to the specificity of childhood; it is always situated and negotiated in multiple ways
that preclude attempts to determine a single set of rights. Such critiques have introduced a
necessary degree of ambiguity and complexity into the CRC (Lee, 2001) that places
responsibility on States legislatures and policymakers to manage and account for this.
While recognising the value of these by now well-rehearsed arguments to refine the imple-
mentation of children’s rights the intention here is not to repeat or counter these but to pursue
a different line of enquiry. It coincides with a growing challenge to the agenda established by
the field of childhood studies and the perpetuation of binary positions of universal/relative,
structure/agency, minority/majority, adult/child (Prout, 2005). These divisions form natural
frames of reference and act as ‘inaugural gestures’ (Massumi, 2013, p. x) that establish and activate
the very orthodoxy of thought that needs to be overcome; it is impossible to think differ-
ently within this framework. The chapter resists analysing the multiple interpretations, claims,
counter-claims and meanings of the CRC. Rather it goes elsewhere by examining the
normative ideal of children’s rights themselves and their material-discursive effects in shaping
adult–child relationships. Ideals, values and associated concepts are not innocent or neutral but
actively produce conditions in which new concepts may be excluded or encouraged. The line
of argument does not start with a presumption that binary relationships are given (Barad, 2007)
and defers the reduction to subject/object identification until it is apparent that they are functions
and products of processes rather than original states (Manning, 2013). Thus it is a question of
how things work rather than what they mean; it is generative rather than merely a decon-
structive movement. In order to start in a different position the discussion will focus specifically
on the relationship between playing, the current formulation of children’s right to play (Article
31) and the possible implications for a new ethico-political understanding of rights that
overcomes the idea of a universal child while at the same time avoids descending into vague
relativism. In order to achieve this, the discussion will draw on a disparate set of concepts that
might be referred to as ‘post-human’ to oppose an anthropocentric account of life.

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Childhood and Rights: The Individualisation of Life

The formulation of rights as a universal, timeless and de-spatialised representation of the condition
of childhood (Tarulli & Skott-Myhre, 2006) is deeply rooted in a minority-world philosophical
legacy that portrays and effects humans as bounded, self-contained, and rational subjects that
are separate from each other and from their environments; the perfectibility of the individual
subject is defined in terms of autonomy and self-determination. The dominance of liberal
individualism underpins social, political, legal and economic structures and practices in the
minority world. However, the concept of the ‘individual’ is not an intrinsic aspect of human
nature but rather a specific material–discursive formation that has become increasingly
problematic (Braidotti, 2013). Processes of individualisation have gathered pace over the past
decades, a reflection of the increasing strength of neoliberal/globalisation forces (Miller & Rose,
2008). These unsatisfactory and contested terms warrant a more expansive and critical
investigation but within the limits of this piece they are taken to refer to a form of capitalist
governance based on principles of liberalisation, privatisation, individualisation and deregulation
(Harvey, 2005). These are often portrayed as global/macro forces but they are manifest in
multiple and singular forms from place to place and not predetermined at any scalar level.
Neoliberalism may be understood as historically and locally specific, unevenly developed,
contingent, and with hybrid patterns of organisation brought about by dominant structures of
economic and political governance systems (Brenner et al., 2010). Connections and encounters
crucial to people’s lives are often much more complex and dynamic than presented in a simple
dichotomy of local/global contexts.
While globalisation/neoliberalism forces are expressed in multiple ways across diverse
contexts it is possible to discern commonalities across these without reducing important
differences to a presumed universality (Peck, 2004). Every encounter of a child with their
environment is always constituted from more than local factors and undoubtedly forces of
economic globalisation and neoliberal politics are transforming childhoods (Ansell, 2009; Katz,
2004; Prout, 2005). Childhood is caught up in the struggle for future economic well-being
and is seen as an important site for intervention, one that has intensified and diversified in
modern times. Collectively these produce a particular reading of life that shapes forms of
governance, policies, institutions, taken-for-granted assertions and clichés to establish a ‘plane
of organisation’ (Deleuze & Guattari, 1988). It is a strategic coordination of the multiple and
entangled forces that make up life in the service of global capitalism (Anderson, 2012), marking
a state of complexity reduction that over-codes and limits desires to the demands of the market.
Life is ordered into closely related segments that aspire to achieve control over bodies and
processes of life and to construct and maintain a coalition of the willing (Amin & Thrift, 2013).
Strategic interventions are enacted according to the separation and value of certain forms of
life over others; judgements are made about what is normal and what might fall outside of this
regime. The plane of organisation operates partly pre-consciously on bodies and their desires
to create a humanist subject, an individual that is presumed to be free and have agency but
must be kept under control by the combined forces of external and self-regulation for fear of
becoming disorderly.
Not only do these forces shape childhood but also by inference determine what it is to be
‘adult’. Adult and child are constructed through dichotomy (Prout, 2005) and attributed with
opposing values e.g. rational/irrational, competent/not yet competent, independent/dependent
and so on, the first of these terms assuming dominance over the other. Children are a distinct
group ‘other’ than adult and in need of special and exclusive attention. Separation arises from

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difference, used in this context as a relative measure, i.e., different from, or not yet the same.
This is further developed by categorical differences such as gender, ethnicity, disability, and so
on. The purpose of growing up is to overcome irrationality, dependency and unruliness. This
has led to the formation of a State apparatus, a series of legal, policy, institutional and spatial
structures designed to support children’s progression to achieve the desired end-state. Models
of development (increasingly exported to the majority world, see for example Katz, 2004; Penn,
2005) present the period of childhood as an unfolding of biological material that follows a
universal pattern accompanied by the acquisition of the appropriate social/cultural skills
required to become a fully functioning and contributing member of society; it traces a journey
from simple to increasingly complex, to become ‘an ideal-typical citizen-subject who is
knowable, known, docile and productive’ (Burman, 2008, p. 26). This framework for progress
proposes scenarios in which the future is known and thus pre-exists the unfolding of life;
development becomes a process of ‘achieving full potential’. Life is a movement in which
openness is gradually filled up with capacities to reach a predefined destination and by doing
so other possibilities are closed off (Ingold, 2011). Given this perspective on life it is possible
to predict what each child needs to progress and it underpins the well-intentioned
legal–technical process that produces a categorical list of rights. The task is to elaborate these
inalienable rights by the production of Articles (with supporting General Comments, guidance,
NGO campaigns and so on) and State accounting and reporting systems to ensure children’s
needs are being protected and provided for. As noted in the introduction, the intention is not
to undermine these valuable systems but to consider the material–discursive effects of this model,
and the way it cuts the ‘child’ as individual, becoming-adult, and by doing so limits other ways
of thinking/acting.

Children’s Right to Play

Brief attention will now be given to the modernist/liberal relationship between children,
development and play and the ways in which these become entangled into a ‘right to play’
and associated spatial productions. It is generally accepted that playing is a universal, indeed
defining, feature of childhood while at the same time it is always contingently expressed. Children
will play anywhere and with anything (Ward, 1979), a profound statement and when taken
with Opie and Opie’s (1969) assertion that where children are is where they play presents
something of a dilemma for adults intent on protecting and making provision for children’s
play. When looking at children’s rights, play is something of an anomaly within the broader
articles of the Convention: it cannot be provided and lies beyond the preserve of adults.
The history of adult provision for play is shrouded in well-meaning attempts to protect
children from the dangers that may be present in any environment and/or from adult fears
that if children are not contained and channelled into purposeful activity they will present a
danger to themselves and others. In minority world accounts play is portrayed as a childish
pastime, often evoking an adult sense of romanticism, nostalgia and sentimentality that rein-
forces childhood as a state of innocence, creativity and naturalness. This is a legacy rooted in
Rousseau’s Romantic philosophy, manifest in the contemporary ‘natural childhood’ discourse
and associated popular minority world concerns of children’s growing disconnection with nature.
Natural childhood becomes a totem of childhood innocence and at the same time represents
adult utopic ambitions that by secluding children in pure, unsullied environments they will
grow-up with a deep respect for nature. This utilitarian and idyllic account continues the long
line of common-sense associations between play, learning and healthy development (Lester &

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Russell, 2010). Playing is appropriated as a means of ameliorating social problems whether in

terms of individual deficiency or overcoming childhood’s collective heteronomous state of
irrationality and impetuous emotional impulses (Lester & Russell, 2013b). A belief in progression
or advancement through play, what Smith (2010) refers to as the ‘play ethos’, has
material–discursive effects on the ways in which adults seek to organise, structure and control
children’s play experiences. It grants licence to adults to ensure that play is productive while
at the same time sanctioning those forms of play that do not appear to contribute to healthy
progress (nonsense, irrational, mischievous, risky and so on). Play becomes a commodity situated
in specific time and place and increasingly represented in neoliberal terms by updating the
claim that ‘play is the work of the child’ to emphasise qualities of freedom, autonomy, and
choice as the creative enterprise of children. Children’s playful desires are valued in the liberal
humanist project as they contribute to prized skills of innovation, adaptability and flexibility;
but to harness their potential for the future they must always be kept in check for fear that
they will disturb the axiomatic of capital. The intention is to encourage the ‘right’ choices, to
create individuals who do not need to be governed by others but will govern, master and care
for themselves.

Bringing Play to Life

The counter position presented in this chapter is that life is not an individual affair; individuals
are not subjects who follow a predetermined path as pieces on a chess board where the possibility
for movement is always internally contained and coded within the playing piece (Deleuze &
Guattari, 1988). Determining individual bodies and things through oppositions, classifications
and limiting situations roughly cuts life from a complex and dynamic milieu of multiple
formations and movements. For Deleuze and Guattari (1988) the process of life is exemplified
as pieces used in the game of Go. Each piece contains no intrinsic features; its identity emerges
through the relations that pieces enter, or assemble, with others on the board. Over the course
of a game the identity of the pieces changes; given that they contain no prefigured properties
counters are perpetually becoming through ongoing self-organising continuous and
discontinuous formations (Colebrook, 2005). Assemblages are composed of movement and
rest and the capacity to affect and be affected in a state of com-possibility. Emphasis is placed
on the processes and circumstances by which unique assemblages form without resorting to
breaking these apart and reducing to individual elements – a process of individuation rather
than individualisation. This overcomes the orthodoxy of ‘re-presenting something as just another
instance of a category or original’ (Stagoli, 2005, p. 73), e.g. classifying play according to a
universal template and in opposition to other identifiable forms of behaviour.
This unsettling of bodies, no longer stable and homogeneous, finds support from diverse
perspectives ranging across philosophy, physical, life, and social sciences. While the field of
what may be loosely termed post-human studies is far from unified, there is an acceptance that
bodies are porous and always open to the multiple forces that flow through surfaces rather
than bounded by an outer skin that creates an exclusive state of inside/outside. Human bodies
and subjects are not pre-existing states but are continuously and dynamically composed through
their ongoing movements and encounters with other bodies and materials in non-linear and
indeterminate ways. This overturns an anthropocentric and individualistic account by presenting
life as an emergent and open-ended process that is constituted from human, non-human, material,
and discursive forces. Barad (2007, p. 33) refers to this as an inseparable process of intra-action
or the ‘mutual constitution of entangled agencies’ in contrast to the common use of interaction

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that presupposes connections between entities that form a temporary alliance before returning
to a self-contained state. From an intra-active perspective agency is not a property of persons
or things but a collective enactment that forms and reconfigures assemblages. Everything is
caught up by a force or desire that is less specific and more indeterminate than binary
representations of subject/object allow. Agency is perpetual and cannot be exhausted; intra-
activity is a vital process that constitutes the exuberant creativity of life (Barad, 2007; Massumi,
2013).
In the context of this discussion, the period of childhood is an emergent experience, an
individuation of interweaving affective forces and flows (Manning, 2013). Increasingly, post-
human approaches are being applied to the study of children-in-relationship (see for example,
Olsson, 2009; Lenz-Taguchi, 2010). However, to date these concepts have largely bypassed
explorations of children’s play. This is somewhat surprising given that playing may be a prime
example of the multiple and contingent ways in which bodies and things can co-create moments
in which the limitations of the ‘real’ world are reconfigured to create more pleasurable states.
It is to this process the discussion now turns by pursuing an exemplary approach (Massumi,
2002) that works theory through an example that is always singular and with its own unique
set of circumstances that only relates to itself. Each example is a small story that acts as a way
of working concepts with practices in everyday contexts (Lorimer, 2003). The self-relations
of an example activate details; each minor moment matters as it opens up to more questions
and digressions, leading off to multiple and promiscuous possibilities.
Two children (boys, about 6/7 years old) are standing at a bus stop with an adult. One
child starts to walk around the adult, lightly holding her coat as he moves slowly in an anti-
clockwise direction; the other boy follows slightly behind, holding on to the child’s anorak
sleeve. As the coat becomes twisted around the woman, she shrugs the child off – he lets go,
but the other boy continues to hold his coat. The first child moves slightly away from the
adult and begins to pivot on one leg; the increasing speed of this movement also spins the
other child around. As the speed increases so too does the volume of laughter and giggles
before the child releases the sleeve and makes a grab for the hood of the anorak. The child
dodges the lunge of the other child and spins away in an almost balletic movement. At this
moment another person arrives at the bus stop and stands close to the first adult, slightly apart
from the children. There is a brief pause as both children become stationary before the second
child starts to balance along a very faint line/crack in the pavement tracing a move away from
the adults, walking with one foot in front of the other, and arms outstretched. The first child
follows this movement but then stops and turns his body so he is standing sideways on the
line. He traces a semicircle on the floor out from the crack with his right foot and returns to
the line, at which point his feet/legs are crossed; he lifts his left foot and traces a semi-circle
to the rear and back to the line to uncross his legs and carries on along the line, repeating this
sequence – after a couple of moves he is joined by the other child, who follows this pattern;
again the tempo increases and on a couple of occasions they lose balance and brush against
each other which provokes further bouts of giggling. Throughout this period the children have
not spoken directly to each other, but seem to communicate through giggles, look, nudges
and so on. A short while later the woman calls to the children that the bus is coming and they
meander over to where she is standing, and the child resumes a position of holding on to the
adult’s coat as they climb on board.
It should be highlighted this representation of the event misses or side-lines much of the
expression that constitutes this moment. Representations invariably produce a picture of
interactive self-sufficiency; always dependent on a self-contained body (I, she, he) that is

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distinguishable from other bodies and objects (Manning, 2013). Many accounts of playing would
prise this moment apart to attribute motivations and meanings to the individual players and
by doing so to reduce the complex and dynamic forces at play in the production of this
assemblage. This chapter delays such processes and attempts to keep things in motion by attending
to the ways in which bodies, materials, and their affects become entangled to produce a territorial
assemblage or milieu with its own unique rhythms and movements drawn from the
indeterminate openness of the world. This may be cautiously represented as ‘playing’
(pleasurable, spontaneous, unpredictable and so on) while recognising the limitations that such
classifications impose by fixing and segmenting movement. It is just one minor and
unremarkable example of the multiple ways in which participation in the world is always taking
place; a body does not pre-exist its movement and playing is more than an intentional act of
an individual human actor (McCormack, 2013). The performance establishes a temporary degree
of stability and consistency, grounded in familiar routines and locations that are always open
to improvisation and always more than one (Manning, 2013). The habits of everyday life may
appear mundane and repetitive yet at the same time they always contain within them the potential
for generating difference by ‘producing lines of thinking, feeling and perceiving that may allow
one to wander beyond the familiar’ (McCormack, 2013, p. 8). The possibility of novel
improvisation and rearrangement stems from the intra-active compositions between bodies and
things, from within the milieu and not outside it.
A post-human reading presents play as quintessentially the process of life going on in an
affirmative manner (Lester, 2015). The seemingly mundane event of wayfaring at the bus stop
matters as an affirmative expression of hopefulness and enchantment crafted from everyday
practices, desires and affects (Kraftl, 2008). It is a brief moment of simply coping with and
enlivening the practicalities of ordinary life; a minor revolutionary production that subverts
the limitations of existing social order and generates a sense that life is worth living. The argument
has previously been made (Lester, 2013; Lester & Russell, 2010) that co-created moments of
playing are minor acts of resourcefulness, taken here to mean ways in which the forces of
individualisation operating through multiple scales of organisation and influence are reworked
and redistributed to transform relations in more progressive ways (MacKinnon & Derickson,
2013). Playing is liberated from the orthodoxy of progress and associated claims of individual
freedom and agency (Sutton-Smith, 1997). The ubiquitous emergence of playful moments
counters traditional accounts of playing as a separate activity undertaken in dedicated timespace
with purposeful play materials and under the watchful gaze of adults. The focus falls on what
bodies can do rather than on who they are. It is, after Deleuze (1995, p. 176) a modest belief
in the world: ‘if you believe in the world you precipitate events, however inconspicuous, that
elude control, you engender new space–times, however small their surface or volume.’ But
such moments are also fragile; the desire of life to compose joyful assemblages constantly creates
continuous flows and formations that are inherently fragmentary and fragmented. Desire ‘causes
the current to flow, itself flows in turn, and breaks the flows’ (Deleuze & Guattari, 1984, p.
6) and it is here, particularly in the context of Article 31, that the notion of a universal set of
individual rights falls short. Returning to the example, there is every possibility that on some
occasions the attendant adult will casually say to the children ‘stop messing about’, ‘don’t go
near the road’ and so on. These are largely pre-conscious responses borne out of shared habits
and routines. In strict terms this could be portrayed as an infringement of a right to play. Such
a stark delineation and the ways in which this becomes expressed in statements of rights elides
the multiple ways in which adults and children negotiate their way together through everyday
life; they are stepping stones to sustainable ways of becoming (Braidotti, 2006). There is an

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irreducible ‘nonthematisability’ within these habits, routines and practices and the idiosyncratic
patterns in which adults and children get on together that unsettles attempts to classify into
schemes of universal moral obligations (Harrison, 2007). Even when it appears that the
potential for playful intra-activity is constrained, agency is never foreclosed:
Particular possibilities for (intra-) acting exist at every moment, and these changing
possibilities entail an ethical obligation to intra-act responsibly in the world’s becoming, to
contest and rework what matters and what is excluded from mattering (Barad, 2007, p. 235).
From this position a different conceptualisation of human rights that is both particular and
universal starts to emerge by extending an individual rights-based account with a form of post-
human ethics concerned with relations and the desires/obligations of due regard with and not
to other bodies, things, histories and futures. Deleuze’s philosophy proposes a relational but
robust form of ethical engagement, an approach that can provide an alternative and affirmative
foundation that works with the complexity of the times (Braidotti, 2012). The possible
implications for this are introduced in the remaining sections of this chapter.

An Ethical–Political Manoeuvre
To summarise the discussion to date: the idea that a single body might contain one life or even
that bodies are primarily human is contested and unsettled through a post-human lens. The
rebuttal of identity as a self-enclosed state and broader post-human materialist accounts seek
to de-centre human beings, no longer positioned outside of life processes. Playing from this
perspective is a movement that co-constitutes moments of joy marked by overlapping refrains
that denote ongoing participation in the world’s liveliness. They are compositions and
expressions of collective desire to produce a more pleasurable state. In this sense, affect is ‘a
distributed and diffuse field of intensities circulating within but also moving beyond and around
bodies’ (McCormack, 2013, p. 3). Intra-active processes generate diffractions and perturbations,
productions of difference (Barad, 2007); for example, the crack in the pavement at the bus
stop both intensifies and extends the possibility for movement and the dynamic rhythmic
adjustments and readjustments between bodies as they dance along the line.
The issue with grounding rights in terms such as freedom, rationality and choice are
presuppositions of a universal and abstract subject (Deleuze & Guattari, 1994), ‘irreducible to
any singular existent figure’ (Patton, 2005, p. 405). The dominant discourse of individuality
positions bodies as isolated and thus negating the movement of life as a process of continuous
variation that occurs through dynamic transformations in the myriad encounters of bodies and
things (Deleuze & Guattari, 1988). This is not an anti-rights gesture but preference for an
ongoing relational, open-ended, and creative process of rights formation that is always situated
and inventive in response to the prevailing conditions. Pursuing a philosophical line traced
from Spinoza through Deleuze (1988), the state of joy and the actualisation of this through
acts of playing is an active mode that sustains as long as a body’s powers continue to endure
and extend; it creates new possibilities that expand imaginations and increase capacities for
action and passion (Hardt & Negri, 2009). The bus stop is a specific milieu that could be said
to fashion bodies rather than the other way around. Life is not given but is always becoming
and coinciding with multiple actualisations of a virtual world; the emphasis is on the ways in
which these are generated and the contribution they make to ethical sustainability. In this context,
ethics is a practice ‘that cultivates affirmative modes of relations, active forces and vitality’
(Braidotti, 2012, p. 173) and ethical responsibility is concerned with establishing and sustaining
empowering relations between human and non-humans as well as transforming negative and

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constraining forces that inhibit the power to affect and be affected. At its most fundamental,
ethics is practice to bring about new and ever-increasing capacities towards happiness (Hardt
& Negri, 2009); rights are embodied and particular processes and practices concerned with
realising affirmative states of being (Tarulli & Skott-Myhre, 2006).
The conditions that support playing cannot be predetermined or universal given that the
entanglements that constitute empowering relations are always emergent and creative; a right
to play, as a universal statement, increases its power when ‘universal’ is taken as the recognition
of a universe composed of multiple particularities and always in the process of being created
rather than a normalising account that utilises existing frames of knowledge to classify and
categorise into the same. At the heart of the matter are ideas around ‘space’, no longer portrayed
as an inert backdrop against which individuals carry out their daily interactions but always the
product of intra-activity (Barad, 2007) brought about by the entanglements of bodies and things
in indeterminate and open-ended ways. The particular configuration of playing at the bus stop
is unique but the processes involved can connect with other particularities without recourse
to the identification of unity. In this way attention becomes drawn to the specificity of that
which is being created, while at the same time being open to the possibilities that might emerge
(Olsson, 2009).

Ethical Response-ability and Accountability

A relational approach acknowledges that rights are always situated and enacted in particular
timespaces; Ethics is reconfigured from a universal moral code to take account of the local,
contingent, relational and collective everyday practices that constitute environmental intra-
connections and the ways in which they enhance or diminish the capacities of bodies (Hickey-
Moody & Malins, 2007). The focus of attention falls on situated and constantly negotiated
processes/practices that are conducive to flourishing. Returning to the example, the movements
between bodies and things at the bus stop are generative of more movements and ways of
becoming different. The passivity of the adult plays a contributory role in the assemblage; it
is not a detached body but its mode of engagement in the composition increases the power
of the children to act out their desires and for the moment of play to endure. Post-human
ethics maintains focus on the entangled intra-actions in which adults and children are always
enmeshed and the possibilities they present for creating the world differently. It necessitates
an ethics of response-ability, to take account for one’s actions and to pursue practices that
enhance the possibility for intensive and extensive connections to be formed. Just as moments
of playing can generate an intensive anticipatory readiness to the environmental possibilities
for further playful compositions, adults may develop sensitivity to and act responsibly with
these movements.
But as previously noted, the flow and forces of life also contain powers that hinder
affirmative relations. This is manifest in the technologies of governance (policy, planning, control
systems etc.), architectures, habits and practices, and so on that organise, act upon and
choreograph bodies (McCormack, 2013).These forces weave power into the fabric of everyday
life through discourses, institutions, laws, regulatory decisions and so on to promote desired
movements while at the same time constrain others. The apparatus of control supports
homogenising processes that reduce the vitality of life, induce minimal difference and serve
‘the most nefarious enterprises of economic and political power’ (Lefebvre, 1991, p. 398). In
minority world countries, and increasingly a model for global urban development, there is a
trend in design and maintenance technologies that privilege particular interests and deny

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democratic publicness; public and institutional spaces are produced for rather than by the public
(Paddison & Sharp, 2007). Outcomes, consumption and production are valued over processes
of playful movement, indeterminacy, irrationality, frivolity and disorderliness.
As deregulated market forces increasingly dominate the shaping of the urban landscape there
is need to consider a counter perspective that prioritises those dimensions of spatial dynamics
that contribute to the enrichment of life, a different form of governance that admits the right
to the city (and beyond) for all citizens (Lefebvre, 1996). This includes the right to meet and
gather, to use space and objects according to desire rather than a unitary function, and to play.
It is here that attention switches from the provision of segregated play environments to the
spatial–relational features in which playfulness may thrive (Lester & Russell, 2010). Amin’s
(2006) account of a pragmatic ‘urban ethic’ offers a hopeful promise for the constituents of a
‘good life’ built on four interconnected registers of rights, relatedness, repair and re-enchantment
– themes that have resonance with this chapter. Amin’s four registers have been adapted to
consider qualities of a good environment for children and applied to the studies of the Welsh
Government’s initiative to support children’s right to play reviewed in the next section.
Rather than a grand utopian and teleological vision that reduces movement to universal pre-
existing schemes, Amin’s registers are concerned with the multiplicity of things in motion and
with ‘efforts to spin webs of social justice and emancipation out of the prevailing circumstances’
(Amin, 2006, p. 1010). As with the production of play spaces discussed to date, every
encounter is a singularity that can be accounted for in terms of the set of relations that constitute
each moment; while unique, there may be lines of connection between particular events that
reveal ways of becoming different rather than the same. The environments that children and
adults move through are dynamic and always open to more. The dominant approach to policy,
planning and their local enactments are for the most part seen as functional operations to make
the environment manageable. However a simple binary between the spatial demands of capital
and democratic public space conceals the multiple and generally mundane ways in which these
ideals are contested and continually negotiated, evident in children’s minor acts of playfulness
that often set to one side the limitations that others seek to impose on movement (Lester,
2013). These positions are not fixed and immutable. Dominant political and economic forces
seek to impose one form of environment but there is always room to manoeuvre by thinking
and acting the world differently in ways that are more open to multiple constituencies (Amin,
2006).

The Ethical Promise of General Comment 17: A Critical

Cartography
It is timely at this point to return to the substance of CRC General Comment 17 that alerts
States to the importance of Article 31 and children’s right to play and engage in rest, leisure
and cultural activity. The argument presented to date proposes that playing is an intra-active
indivisible process productive of particular ways of being and affiliation that enables life to
flourish; as such it is thoroughly entangled with all Articles of the CRC (Lester & Russell,
2010). GC17 is notable for reconfiguring the traditional provision of specific adult-designated
environments for play (while recognising the value of these in certain circumstances) to consider
in broader terms what might constitute favourable temporal–spatial conditions to support the
emergence of playful moments. The scope of GC17 provides the foundations for a greater
intensive and extensive appreciation of children’s entitlement to the ‘commons’ (Hardt & Negri,
2009) at a time when contemporary forces of capital accumulation are dispossessing the poorest

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and most vulnerable of the resources necessary for a ‘good life’. In this context, this refers
specifically to those resources necessary to support children’s capability to co-create moments
of play. Given the emergent and indeterminate nature of playing such resources are dynamically
entangled spatial/relational practices produced and reproduced in unique formations
GC 17 identifies a series of factors that constitute an ‘optimum environment’ (CRC, 2013,
p. 10) and outlines numerous interrelated State obligations. Particular attention will be given
to the requirement for States to legislate to establish Article 31 rights for every child and
that such legislation should be informed by the principle of ‘sufficiency’ – that is, ‘all children
should be given sufficient time and space’ to exercise their right to play (CRC, 2013, p. 19).
There are some fundamental issues with the expression of this requirement in the context of
the discussion to date; for example, the idea that time and space can be ‘given’ for playing
portrays play as something outside of life and in the preserve of adult largesse. However, as
previously discussed, the intention is not to dwell on these ambiguities but to look at the promise
of the ‘sufficiency’ concept for thinking differently about the relationship between play, space
and rights. In doing so it will draw on findings from a small-scale research project (Lester &
Russell, 2013a, 2014b) in Wales – the first country in the world to legislate for children’s play
through establishing a ‘Play Sufficiency Duty’ (Welsh Government, 2010) that places a statutory
responsibility on Welsh Local Authorities to assess and secure sufficient play opportunities for
children.
The genealogy of this development warrants a chapter in itself but suffice it to say that the
implementation of the Duty marks a long history of support for children’s rights in general
and an appreciation of the value of play in children’s lives (see for example the Welsh Assembly
Government, 2002). The radical framework for enacting this Duty requires Local Authorities
to take account of the temporal/spatial/relational conditions in which moments of playfulness
might emerge. Local Authorities must pay attention to the many aspects of community life
that influence children’s ability to negotiate time, space and permission to play in their
everyday environments. This encompasses both public and institutional spaces and ranges across
diverse and interrelated matters including, for example, adult attitudes, planning policies, street
design, workforce development, access, and so on. The Duty, accompanying Statutory
Guidance (Welsh Government, 2012) and implementation toolkits (Welsh Government and
Play Wales, 2012) offer the foundation for a pragmatic ethics that is able to work with the
particular in a series of particularities, to discern localised processes and patterns, and to take
account of their effects. Local Authorities have commenced to work with these materials to
compose ‘collective wisdom’ (Lester & Russell, 2013a), a process that acknowledges the complex,
multiple, situated, distributed and indeterminate material/discursive agents that intra-act to
produce moments of playing and ways in which adult’s (professionals, parents and the wider
community) can act responsibly with these conditions and capacities.
The details of approaches and actions by Welsh Local Authorities in response to the Play
Sufficiency Duty are discussed at greater length in Lester and Russell (2013a, 2014b). The
intention for the remainder of this section is to extend a post-human ethical reading of the
Duty and the broader themes of GC17 and the potential for creating favourable conditions
for moments of play to emerge. In doing so it will introduce the development and application
of ‘critical cartography’ (Braidotti, 2013) as a methodology that works with the emergent and
indeterminate processes of life rather than fixing things in place by reducing complexity to
definitive statements. Entangled forces of neoliberalism and globalisation do not operate in a
top-down linear fashion but are embedded in distributed meshworks and have differentiated
effects. Policies are mobile and operate across multiple scales, interests, actors and relations within

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and beyond state apparatus. Policymaking and enactment are emergent processes entangled
with all sorts of human and non-human materials and media. Cartography, in this context, is
not accurate representation between points but a more performative, affective, aesthetic and
embodied way of paying attention to the messy, indeterminate, multi-sensory lived experiences
of space. Lester and Russell (2013a, p. 2) provide an illustration of this process by recounting
a story from an adventure playground worker:

When the playground closes in the evening, the play and playworkers sometimes spill out
into the local community. The playworker tells the story of being with a group of children
where one boy was decked out in leopard skin wellies and a top hat and was carrying an
old vacuum cleaner hose, all items brought from the playground. This spill-over makes
playworkers and children highly visible in playful ways and the playworker said that since
they started working, first in the community prior to the opening of the playground and
then on the playground with this spill-over, local adults have become aware of children’s
play, and attitudes towards it have changed.

This is a singular example composed from a unique set of environmental/relational/historical

circumstances; people, policies, technologies and artefacts both near and remote collude in
idiosyncratic ways to produce this moment. These arrangements defy linear, causal, and
technical accounting systems. However, a cartographic approach is attuned and alert to what
may appear to be at first glance unspectacular by uncovering the strange juxtapositions and
movements of everyday life. As these discoveries are made bodies, become more attuned to
the possibilities of their existence everywhere and anywhere; they become more significant.
Starting from the middle of the event connections can be formed with innumerable supportive
conditions: for example, the presence of an adventure playground and playworkers who have
built positive and playful relationships with adults and children from the community, the
availability and accessibility of local public space, the provision of play priority signs, and a
desire by residents to make the estate more liveable for adults and children all make
a contribution to this moment (Lester & Russell, 2013a).
As such, cartography is an open-ended approach that discerns diffractive patterns, or
ongoing disturbances and perturbations that constitute daily life. It examines the processes by
which local environments are held together by a complex web of vital maintenance routines
and practices that simultaneously operate at different rates, intensities, speeds and scales (Amin,
2006; Thrift, 2008). These are necessary to make life liveable and to enable citizens to go about
their everyday lives; they run largely in the background unnoticed and unquestioned in a reliable,
regular and predictable manner. They are also systems that perpetuate segmented space and
carry with them a whole series of promotions, injunctions, prohibitions, intimidations and
exclusions that are targeted at the ‘other’, i.e., anything that threatens the stability of the system
by being different which in this particular case includes the not-yet-adult child. Maintenance
routines are complex, dynamic and contingent and have material–discursive effects, as Lester
and Russell (2013a, pp. 42–43) comment, ‘no-ball games signs, road arrangements, work patterns,
media influence, institutional timetables, layout and practices, adult attitudes and so on,
collectively structure the rhythms and patterns of children’s spatial lives’.
A critical cartography and associated methodologies subjects these multiple spatiotemporal
flows, connections and elements to scrutiny to reveal the ways in which dominant forces
constitute a plane of organisation that segments time–space and produces exclusionary spatial
practices that potentially dispossess children from the ‘common wealth’ (Hardt & Negri, 2009),

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i.e. the relational qualities of the human/non-human/material environment that constrain a

‘sufficiency of play opportunities’. It generates diverse material–discursive resources that
contribute to the formation of collective wisdom and act as the foundation for ethical account-
ability and response-ability i.e., ways in which adults and children act collectively to ameliorate
exclusive forces by producing ‘affective disruptions’ (Aitken, 2009) that open up greater possibility
for playful encounters. These may be small, local, environmental experiments such as rearranging
routines at school lunchtimes to ensure more equal distribution of time and space for playing;
temporary street closures that enable children to play close to home with their friends;
sensitively collecting children’s local wisdom to identify favoured environments for play, and
protecting these against economic forces. While these actions are particular, they are enmeshed
in Welsh Government’s broader commitment to socio-spatial justice by ensuring equitable
distribution of resources to support children and their families.
This section closes with an extract from an interview carried out with a Welsh local
government official as part of a follow-up study to the implementation of the Welsh Play
Sufficiency Duty, and leads to the concluding section of this chapter:

We shouldn’t just be dominated by cars and that adult control of the environment and
control of life, so it is a whole consideration of children, what’s important in children’s
lives and what’s important for their present and future happiness and well-being. So I
think there’s been a growing awareness and concern about it in all sorts of different
organisations and the media generally, saying we can’t just carry on the way that we did,
amassing vast debt and the whole disposable throwaway society, that sort of mindset, the
whole thing to do with climate change, just the way people live their lives. The idea
about play, the very free and open way, that it’s not to do with material things necessarily,
it’s to do with open space, the attitudes and some resources of course but, you know what
I mean, that fits well I think with the way hopefully society’s moving and people are
thinking at the present time.
(Lester & Russell, 2014b, p. 47)

Concluding Comment: A State of Enchantment

A critical cartography focused towards playing revitalises and fosters a sense of hope and generosity
that overcomes an atmosphere of misanthropy, vulnerability and fear (Thrift, 2008) that
currently prevails in contemporary discourses of childhood. The ways in which bodies and
desires are subjugated to political and economic imperatives has become a dominant force
of global capitalism and neoliberalism with profound consequences. But the disenchantment
and totality that such regimes present are not given and prefigured. Playing, as an event, may
be seen as a form of resistance and de-subjectification (Hardt & Negri, 2009) – children no
longer becoming-adult but forming other temporary possibilities for becoming different. It
contains micro-revolutionary possibilities by composing arrangements not fully constrained by
a plane of organisation – a playful force or de-territorialisation that disrupts constraining habits
and practices (Lester, 2013). The exemplary account of children at the bus stop is just one
minor moment of being enchanted with the world and acts as a constant reminder that it is
possible to become-otherwise. It is an affirmative mode of participation in the process of life.
Children do not rely on adults for play, but adults have a valuable role in supporting favourable
conditions in which momentary expressions of playfulness emerge. Spaces are co-produced
by adults, children, materials, and so on, with shared desires and ways of getting on that allow

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for new possibilities. These assemblages contribute to being human and a ‘stronger sense of
embeddedness in a larger field of life’ (Massumi, 2002, p. 214) rather than a normalising and
individual account of what life should be. Increasing attention to the ways in which playing
emerges anywhere and everywhere leads to the suspension of habitual ways of seeing children,
no longer incomplete and immature individuals progressing to adulthood but capable and
competent in co-creating favourable conditions that produce greater satisfaction in being alive
(Sutton-Smith, 2003).
CRC General Comment 17 is timely in bringing play from the margins to the middle of
considering what might constitute a good environment for children. But this is more than a
universal template for redesigning the physical environment and upgrading adult productions
of segregated provision. It offers promising foundations, in light of perspectives on play
developed in this account, for thinking differently about notions of development, space and
adult–child relationships. A post-human ethical pragmatics questions inclusionary/exclusionary
forces, subjects the habits and routines of everyday practice to critical scrutiny to see how else
they might be ordered in ways that encourage all life to flourish and not privilege the needs
of the few over the multitude. Playing at the bus stop, along with the innumerable playful
particularities that occur across the globe, is an innovative force composed from within the
milieu, displacing any notion of a prefigured teleological life. Too often events of playing are
valued and considered retrospectively. The ambition here is to emphasise the productivity and
vitality of the playful moment itself; cartographic practices recognise the event is inside
existence and brings focus to processes that play through the complex and entangled web of
relationships that produce them. The initiative established through the Wales Play Sufficiency
Duty is a bold and innovative step. It has facilitated the open-ended composition of collective
wisdom that intensifies understandings of the relationship between children’s play and space,
and at the same time generates extensive connections with multiple and interwoven networks
of practice that span from micro everyday relationships between adults and children to national
policy formulation and implementation (Lester & Russell, 2014b). The extract that concludes
the previous section suggests that is much more than traditional accounts and responsibilities
for children’s play at stake here.
This chapter tells a tale of enchantment, to be ‘struck and shaken by the extraordinary that
lives amid the familiar and everyday’ (Bennett, 2001, p. 43). This is not an expression of naïve
and romantic optimism, not so much an enchanted way of life but a life that is populated
with multiple moments of enchantment, wonder and enjoyment. Being enchanted does not
deny there are intolerable cruelties and injustices woven into the everyday. Being alert to these
and the possibilities that are always present for re-working these conditions reveals the world
to be a lively place where matter is animate and always has the potential to surprise beyond
the world presented by a totalising plane of organisation. To be enchanted is to ‘assent
wholeheartedly to life’ Bennett (2001, p. 159); that is not to deny the numerous challenges
that life presents, but an attachment to wonder enables an ethical, generous response and holds
off an overwhelming cynicism that is so prevalent in the clichés of neoliberalism’s dis-
enchantment. It acknowledges the possibilities of fluid ‘spacings’ open to vibrancy, liveliness
and disruption and by doing so calls attention to the possibilities they afford for more
democratic processes (Lester, 2013). Repositioning children’s play overcomes the binary of
rights as universal/relative by forging ethical attention to the details of the lived moment, the
here and now of existence as an ‘on-going practice of being open and alive to each meeting,
to each intra-action, so that we might use our ability to respond, our responsibility, to help
awaken, to breathe life into every new possibility for living justly’ (Barad, 2007, p. x).

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 20
Children with Psychiatric
Disabilities
Bioethical and Genomic Dilemmas
Maya Sabatello

Arguably, the world is changing for children with disabilities. After decades of being invisible
in their homes, communities, and countries, there is more impetus than ever to recognize
children with disabilities as subject of rights (Sabatello, 2013). National laws and international
policies are increasingly adopted to address many of the challenges children with disabilities
encounter in their daily life, from poverty to education, access to health care, and full social
inclusion. The Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities has played an instrumental
role in these developments (CRPD, 2006). The Convention’s shift from a medical, deficient-
based approach to disability, which centers on need for “fixing” individuals, to a social, barrier-
based model and its focus on abilities and supports rather than inabilities and individuals’
deficiencies brought to the fore the need for a societal-level recourse.
However, implementing these developments in medical contexts is challenging. There is
an inherent tension between medicine, a profession that aims to “fix” individual’s physical and
mental ailments, and the disability rights agenda, which emphasizes disabling environments
and calls for respect for difference and acceptance of persons with disabilities as part of human
diversity and humanity (CRPD, Article 3[d]). And while medical and assistive technologies
are invaluable to provide care and increase social inclusion of children (and persons) with
disabilities, other emerging scientific technologies, especially the rise of genomic testing
may also exacerbate stigma, and offer a “fix” that is more inherent to the individual than ever
before. The emergence of these technologies thus necessitates that we interrogate tensions
between the medical and social approaches to disability and how the interests and responsibilities
of stakeholders—children with disabilities, healthcare professionals, and society at large—are
to be balanced, exercised, and protected.
Children with psychiatric impairments constitute a particularly vulnerable group in these
discussions. Included in this category are primarily children with behavioral and psychosocial
disabilities; however, historically, and in the lack of a uniform definition today, it may encom-
pass also children with intellectual, developmental, and cognitive disabilities. Such children are

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subjugated to age (adult/child), ability (abled/disabled) and disability-based (physical/mental)

dichotomies that construct decisional incapacity as a starting point—a charge that is significantly
difficult to overcome (Alderson, 2007). The challenges are especially pronounced in the
intersection between psychiatry and genetics. Historically, not only did psychiatrists strongly
embrace the eugenics theories that were prevalent in the twentieth century (Lopez-Munoz
et al., 2007), but leading psychiatrists in the Third Reich were also the ones who spurred the
translation of eugenics theories, including its concept of “cleansing of the genes of the race”
into practice. Although contemporary genomics research in psychiatry is not identical to its
historical use, it equally raises questions about the medical and genomic-based determinations
of human value and requires consideration of its goals, scope, and implications for children
and people with disabilities, especially those with mental impairments.
This chapter comprises four parts. The first part provides a brief history of bioethics in the
context of children with disabilities, especially those with psychiatric conditions, and the associ-
ation thereof with contemporary principles of bioethics. The second part focuses on the bioethical
debates arising with regard to children with psychiatric conditions. It provides an overview of
the landscape of childhood psychiatric disorders and treatment, and suggests several explanations
to understand this phenomenon. The third part explores the relevance of new genomic
sequencing technologies for reproduction and precision medicine, and highlights their challenges
for (existing and future) children with psychiatric conditions. The fourth part summarizes the
major points and offers future areas for research.

A Brief History of Bioethics and Children with Disability

Modern principles of bioethics—autonomy, justice, and solidarity—developed on the back of
abuses of persons, including children with disabilities. The exposure of the horrific events that
occurred during the Nazi regime, particularly its sterilization and euthanasia programs, has played
a major role in the developments of these principles. Under Nazi Germany’s sterilization
program, thousands of individuals deemed unfit under the Law for the Prevention of Genetically
Defective Progeny (1933) were forcibly sterilized (Kevles, 2011), and 200,000 individuals
are estimated to have been killed under Germany’s extensive euthanasia program, initially by
gassing, and then by drug overdosing and lethal injection. The prime victims of these programs
were persons with disabilities in state institutions, especially those “diagnosed” as having schizo-
phrenia, epilepsy, dementia, encephalitis, and other chronic psychiatric or neurologic disorders
(US Holocaust Memorial Museum, 2015). Many of these patients also suffered hideous
experimentations and were tortured to death “in the name of scientific knowledge.” These
programmes preceded the genocide of European Jewry, Roma, and Gypsy populations, with
its well-documented mass killings and extensive experimentation on those who were perceived
as genetically inferior in concentration camps.
These atrocious events shocked the human consciousness and served as the bedrock for the
adoption of laws post-World War II pertaining to human rights, guidelines about research
with human subjects, and more recently, international standards relating to genetic data. These
include the International Bill of Rights (UDHR, 1948; ICCPR, 1976; ICESCR, 1976), the
Nuremberg Code, a non-legally binding document that established informed consent of
research participants as sine qua non for experimentation with human subjects, the subsequent
Helsinki Declarations promulgated by the World Medical Association, and other international
instruments that stipulate certain conditions for research with human subjects and genetic material

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in order to protect the welfare and interests of individuals over the an abstract public good
(for a list of relevant international instruments see www.unesco.org/new/en/social-and-
human-sciences/themes/bioethics/).
Less known, however, is that the Nazi’s extensive euthanasia program and use of body parts
of those killed for research began with a child. A father of a male infant born with severe
disabilities in late 1938 sent a letter to Hitler, requesting the latter’s permission for his child to
be killed (Hudson, 2011). As Dr. Karl Brandt, Hitler’s personal physician who was sent to
examine the child testified during his trial in 1946, the child “had been born blind, seemed
to be idiotic, and a leg and part of the arm were missing” (Hudson, 2011, p. 509). The father’s
request was granted and Dr. Brandt executed the death verdict. This decision was later translated
into a much broader child euthanasia policy. Since August 1939, all physicians, nurses, and
midwives were required to report on newborns and children under the age of 3 with signs of
severe mental or physical impairments, and parents were encouraged to send their children
with disabilities to Special Pediatric Clinics for “care” (US Holocaust Memorial Museum, 2015).
This policy was later expanded to children with disabilities up to age 16 or 17 who were deemed
as “beings unworthy of life” (Lopez-Munoz et al., 2007; US Holocaust Memorial Museum,
2015).
In approximately 30 state-run Special Pediatric Departments in the German Reich and Austria
children with physical and mental disabilities were experimented on during their lives and then
executed under the child euthanasia program (Dahl, 2002; Steger, 2006). In psychiatric
institutions for children, misuse of psychoactive drugs was pervasive, along with other
experimentations with drugs, electroshock techniques, and “brainwashing” trials where patients
were administered chemical compounds based on barbiturates and opiates (Lopez-Munoz
et al., 2007). Children with disabilities also served as guinea pigs in various other experiments.
In one documented instance, children with disabilities were given the vaccine for tuberculosis,
followed by deliberate contamination with tuberculosis bacteria and their subsequent murder
to examine the efficacy of the vaccine in their autopsies (Neugebauer & Stacher, 1999; Steger,
2006;). In another instance, Nazi scientists tested the impact of low oxygen pressure on children
with epilepsy, to find whether they have epileptic seizures under these conditions and whether
this test can be used to distinguish hereditary and non-hereditary epilepsy (Muller-Hill, 1999).
In yet another documented case, children with mental disability were subjected to
pneumoencephalographies (PEG) to assess the relationship between the morphology of the
brain and the impairment. In this procedure, air was introduced into the cavities of their brains
to drain the cerebrospinal fluid and allow better scanning of the brain’s structure on X-ray
image, clearly, with no therapeutic purpose for the children themselves (Neugebauer &
Stacher, 1999). Brain slides of children with disabilities who were “euthanized”—a program
that over time was enlarged to encompass acquired disabilities, including children who dis-
played antisocial behavior (however defined) (Hudson, 2011)—were sent to leading psychiatric
and neurologic departments for further research (Steger, 2006).
Meanwhile, other “genetically inferior” children, especially Jews, gypsies, and other political
dissidents were experimented on in concentration camps. Particularly infamous is the “research”
on twins, dwarfs, and those with congenital disabilities in the hands of Dr. Joseph Mengele,
much of which was carried out in Auschwitz (Barondess, 1996; Muller-Hill, 1999). These
studies included, for example, the infection of one twin with typhoid bacilli and the killing
of the other twin when the infected twin died to compare their organs (Barondess, 1996). As
part of his genetic research, Mengele similarly killed twins who had different eye colors using
hexobarbital injection, and sent their organs for continued research at the Berlin-Buch Kaiser-

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Wilhelm Institut (KWI) for Brain Research (Lopez-Munoz et al., 2008). Not uncommonly,
organs, body parts, and blood samples of these children were continuously used for research
purposes also post-1945, after the war ended (Muller-Hill, 1999; Steger, 2006).
Although Nazi Germany is most famous for its pseudoscientific research and implementation
of a racial hygiene ideology on a large scale, it was not alone. Rather, sterilization programs
to “purify” the genetic pool of the human race were prevalent in the 1930s and 1940s in other
countries around the world, among them the US, Britain, Scandinavian countries, and others
(Adams, 1990; Kevles, 1995). All these programs targeted especially those classified as
“feebleminded,” “imbeciles,” or with antisocial behavior (Allen, 2001), and highlighted the
special vulnerability of those with intellectual and psychiatric conditions. As the lessons of the
Nazi era (and its other counterparts) loom over bioethical debates, contemporary practices in
the treatment of children with disabilities and the rise of genomics research raise major
concerns about the potential repetition of these historical abuses (Barondess, 1996). The next
sections consider these issues.

Treatment of Children with Psychiatric Conditions: Contemporary

Debates
Worldwide, psychiatric disorders are recognized as one of the leading causes of disability (Murray
& Lopez, 2002). Studies show that most adult psychiatric conditions begin in childhood and
adolescence (Merikangas, Nakamura, & Kessler, 2009) and that the social, health-care, and
income costs associated with psychiatric disorders commonly endure beyond childhood,
persisting into adolescence and adulthood. The estimate that about 20 percent of children and
adolescents in the world have a psychiatric impairment (WHO, 2003) is thus significant.
The rise in diagnosis of childhood psychiatric disorders—especially, attention-deficit/
hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) (Boat, Buka & Perrin, 2015), autism, anxiety, depression,
behavioral or conduct problems, and substance use disorders (Lawrence et al., 2015; Perou
et al., 2013)—is particularly alarming in Western countries (Remschmidt & Belfer, 2005). It
is highest in the UK, where studies suggest that, annually, 20 percent of children have a mental
health problem (Halliwell, Main & Richardson, 2007), and in the US, where up to 22 percent
of the child population are estimated to have a psychiatric condition relating to cognitive, social,
and emotional development (Gearing & Mian, 2005).
There is also an upward trend in the number of children being prescribed psychotropic
medication, especially stimulants (Olfson, Blanco, Wang, Lage &, Correll, 2014). In the US,
the numbers are staggering: about 10 percent of school-aged boys (ages 6–17) have been or
are being prescribed stimulant medication, and about 20 percent are prescribed multiclass
psychotropic medication (Comer, Olfson & Mojtabai, 2010). Further, the number of preschool
children (younger than 6 years old) who are prescribed stimulant medication has increased
(Rappley, 2006; Garfield et al., 2015). Importantly, a similar trend exists also in Canada, Northern
Europe, Australia, Norway, and Belgium, with the UK showing the steepest rise from about
6,000 prescriptions a year in 1994 to over 450,000 by 2004 (i.e., 7,000 percent increase) (Timimi,
2010). Additionally, some populations of children are more likely than others to be diagnosed
and to receive treatment. Boys are more likely to be prescribed medication than girls (Lawrence
et al., 2015), white children more than other races (Perou et al., 2013), as well as those who
are in special education programs (Mattison, Rundberg-Rivera & Michel, 2014), and children
coming from poor families (Halliwell, Main & Richardson, 2007; Garfield et al., 2015;
Rappley, 2006).

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Scholars have posed several explanations for these phenomena; all of which elucidate the
fluidity of definition of disability. One suggestion is that these data do not reflect a real change
in the occurrence of childhood psychiatric conditions but rather in the awareness of children’s
vulnerabilities (Lundstrom, Reichenberg, Anckarsater, Lichtenstein & Gillberg, 2015), leading
to higher likelihood that children who experience psychiatric symptoms are diagnosed and
treated more than before. Some truth to this argument may exist. The international agenda
about children’s rights has developed only since the 1980s, when the Convention on the Rights
of the Child (CRC) and its reference to children with disability was negotiated and adopted.
Several recent studies on autism further support this argument, finding that administrative changes
in how psychiatric conditions are defined, reporting standards, and better monitoring affect
prevalence estimates of such conditions rather than an actual rise in the number of children
with symptoms (Baxter et al., 2015; Hansen, Schendel & Parner, 2015; Lundstrom et al., 2015).
However, this argument is limited in that it ignores the fact that many children without psychiatric
conditions are being prescribed medication (i.e., over-diagnosis), and simultaneously, that less
than 50 percent of children with severe impairment have had access to services at all, possibly
also due to under-diagnosis (Olfson, Druss & Marcus, 2015; Parens & Johnston, 2011).
Another explanation for the rise of childhood psychiatric disorders is that the data reflect
an actual change in the number of children who experience symptoms. According to this
account, although the claim for association between vaccines and autism has been scientifically
refuted (DeStefano, Price & Weintraub, 2013), environmental toxicants and viral transmission
can be important triggers in the development of psychiatric conditions (Liu, King & Bearman,
2010). This argument finds support in several studies showing that children’s pre- and post-
natal exposure to pollution (e.g., air pollution, tobacco) and other environmental toxicants
impact their risk of developing autism and bipolar disorder (Rossignol, Genuis & Frye, 2014;
Talati, Bao, Kaufman, Shen, Schaefer & Brown, 2013; Volk et al., 2013).
Emerging studies in epigenetics—a realm that explores the changes in organisms caused by
modification of gene expression rather than alteration of the genetic code itself (Zhang &
Meaney, 2010)—suggest that the relationship between the prevalence of childhood psychiatric
disorders and the environment is more innate. That is, that there is interaction between genetics
and the environment that begins prenatally and continues throughout pregnancy and childhood
to increase the risk for childhood psychiatric disorders. Studies found, for instance, an association
between prospective mothers’ stress, nutrition, and smoking before and during pregnancy and
the psychological and behavioral outcome of the resulting child (Boersma et al., 2014; Nielsen,
Larsen & Nielsen, 2014). Similarly, paternal older age has been associated with increase in
prevalence of autism and schizophrenia among offspring (Foldi, Eyles, Flatscher-Bader, McGrath
& Burne, 2011), and health-risk behaviors such as alcohol consumption have been linked to
other psychiatric conditions, such as ADHD, among the offspring (Finegersh, Rompala,
Martin & Homanics, 2015). The increased use of assisted reproductive technologies worldwide
may also partially account for this trend. Besides maternal older age—a known factor for reduced
quality of women’s ova—some studies suggest that the technologies themselves (Kallen et al.,
2011), and the epigenetic processes that occur throughout the process, especially in surrogacy
(Loike & Fischbach, 2013) may be linked with increased risk for various psychiatric and
behavioral conditions. While studies are ongoing to explore whether, and how, these epigenetic
processes indeed influence the increase in prevalence of childhood psychiatric disorders (Zhang
& Meaney, 2010), they cannot be dismissed.
A third explanation highlights societal factors that may elucidate the rise in diagnosis and
treatment of childhood psychiatric disorders. A study of children with autism in California,

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for instance, concluded that social diffusion process contributes significantly to the increased
prevalence of autism and for the spatial clustering of autism in certain neighborhoods (Liu,
King & Bearman, 2010). According to the researchers, it is the localized, person-to-person,
contact that increases awareness of symptoms and the benefits of treatment among parents and
leads them to seek professional help, diagnosis, and early interventions rather than a result of
viruses, environmental toxicity, or self-selection of high-risk parents into neighborhoods. Others
suggest socio-economic disparities as the culprit, highlighting that childhood psychiatric
disorders are more prevalent among children who are raised in poverty, single-head families,
and parents with lower education (Halliwell, Main & Richardson, 2007).
Still others blame deeply rooted problems with the existing socio-cultural and political systems,
especially the entrenchment of neoliberalism and capitalism in industrialized countries. As Sami
Timimi (2010) charges, what matters is the changing environments in which children are being
raised: the shift from communal to “individualist” and merely “nuclear” family environments,
the increase in “high speed” life, the commercialization and commodification of childhood,
and the subsequent reconceptualization of childhood and of children’s “normal” behavior in
ways that encourage more diagnosis and “quick fix” (what he termed, the “McDonalization
of childhood”) rather than an introspective examination of the society, families, and children
at stake (Timimi, 2010, p. 696–697).
Support for this argument can be found in studies comparing the psychological well-being
of children across cultures. Although certain psychiatric and behavioral traits have been
described across time and space (Helman, 1990; Jablensky et al., 1992; Renteln, 2003), studies
suggest that the rate of children with psychiatric disorders in politically stable developing countries
is considerably lower than in Western societies (Taimimi, 2010). Certainly, the findings of
such lower rates may be due to an array of reasons. These include scientifically grounded
explanations, such as the variability in methodologies used to study a particular condition (Baxter
et al., 2015; Merikangas, Nakamura & Kessler, 2009; Parens & Johnston, 2011), and more
socially oriented accounts such as stigma (WHO & WB, 2011), racial/ethnic differences in
parental conceptualization and preferences for treatment for their child’s mental disorders
(Chandra et al., 2009), and insufficient reporting and monitoring of psychiatric conditions to
official authorities, which have been a major obstacle in providing services to persons with
disabilities worldwide (Quinn & Degener, 2002). However, the lack of universally applicable
standards to make psychiatric diagnoses suggests that these findings are inherently culture-,
context-, and individual-dependent (Merikangas, Nakamura & Kessler, 2009; Parens &
Johnston, 2011). Indeed, it would be wrong to ignore the cultural constructions of children
and “normal” childhood behaviors that may account for the difference.
Eric Parens and Josephine Johnston (2011) suggest, for instance, that different “cultures of
parenting” may be the cause for higher rates of psychiatric disorders across countries. They
point to studies of parents in the Netherlands and the US showing that whereas the former
are focused on promoting children’s rest and regularity, the latter are in an ongoing search for
additional cognitive stimulation and high levels of arousal and activity for their children, which
may overwhelm the child’s development. Similarly, Barbara Woodhouse (2014) explains
differences in children’s well-being in Italy and the US by analyzing how children are
constructed. In Italy, children are held as a collective good, viewed as subjects of negative and
positive rights, and enjoy strong social solidarity, including greater acceptance of physical
and mental differences as natural. In contrast, children in the US are marginalized in the
constitutional scheme and embedded within nuclear families (rather than recognized independ-
ently as subjects). Moreover, unlike in Italy, children’s empowerment in the US remains a

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highly contested issue and parents have the prerogative—and expectation—that they control
their children’s education, behavior, and upbringing in a society that strongly holds age
(adult/child) and public/private divides. Besides the immediate implications of these differences
to how parents view “normal” childhood behavior, Woodhouse suggests that these differ-
ences may explain why the US consistently ranks near the bottom in objective measures of
child well-being worldwide (ranking 26 out of 29 developed countries in 2013), compared to
Italy’s ranking of 15 when children’s reports of their own life satisfaction were incorporated
into objective measures (Woodhouse, 2014).
But what is the role of the medical profession in this ever-growing group of children
diagnosed with, and treated for, psychiatric conditions? Traditionally, primary health-care
providers and medical specialists were those entrusted with the power to make childhood
psychiatric diagnoses and to prescribe appropriate treatment. This is the most fundamental
expectation of the medical profession. Currently, however, this expectation faces significant
challenges.
First, initial evaluation of the most common psychiatric conditions among children—
ADHD—are often made by non-medical professionals, especially educators, who then refer
children to a pediatrician’s treatment (Diller, 2011; Malacrida, 2004). Although it is impossible
(and not intended) to suggest that such referrals are made with bad intention, the reality is
that educators are not medical experts (and pediatricians commonly lack specialization in
psychiatry—see below). Studies indicate that educators often do not receive sufficient training
about ADHD, and that their support for—or disapproval of (Moldavsky, Pass & Sayal, 2014)—
stimulant medication for children with ADHD may be without sufficient knowledge about
the condition and implications of such drugs on children (Kasten, Coury & Heron, 1992; Mohr-
Jensen, Steen-Jensen, Bang-Schnack & Thingvad, 2015). Also among educators who receive
training about ADHD, findings suggest that gaps in knowledge remain, and that stigma and
misconceptions relating to ADHD are a lingering challenge (Moldavsky & Sayal, 2013). Further
concerning is that educators’ evaluations, referrals, and requirement that children use stimulant
drugs may be made not on the basis of individual assessment, but due to systematic issues,
including insufficient funding to provide needed supports and accommodations to children,
and in order to promote organizational interests in classroom order (Malacrida, 2004; Diller,
2011). Thus, the risk for over-diagnosis and missed diagnoses are a concern, as is the risk that
the everyday experience of childhood is increasingly being medicalized by non-medical
professionals, for reasons other than child-based interests, and with insufficient regard to the
broader social context (Conrad, 2011; Malacrida, 2004).
Parents are also non-medical professionals who may play a role in the rise of diagnoses and
treatment of childhood psychiatric disorders. Certainly, parents generally know their child best,
they are well positioned to assess their child’s needs, and they strive to make the “right” decisions
to promote their child’s well-being. However, societal pressures can trickle down to the realm
of childhood psychiatry, paradoxically, in contradictory ways. On the one hand, stigma related
to psychiatric conditions may lead to parents’ reluctance to seek help for their child although
treatment could benefit him/her (DosReis, Barksdale, Sherman, Maloney & Charach, 2010).
Conversely, as Timimi (2010) suggests, the pressure on parents to lead themselves, and to educate
their children to follow, an ever-increasing high speed and high-achievement life has
“medicalized” parenting, leading to an increased parental anxiety over their authority and success
as parents when a child’s behaviors “deviate” from these expectation, and subsequently, an
interest in diagnosis and a desire to find a “quick fix” of the child’s problem. This double-
edged sword of societal pressures is concerning.

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Concurrently, there are worrying trends in medical professionals’ discharge of their

responsibility. Although primary care providers view a role for themselves in the diagnosis,
treatment, and management of psychiatric conditions in children, they often lack confidence
in making a diagnosis, have difficulty in allocating the time necessary for in-depth evaluation
of a child, and have insufficient education and training to make treatment decisions (Power,
Mautone, Manz, Frye & Blum, 2008; Shaw, Mitchell, Wagner & Eastwood, 2002). A study
in the US found that family physicians were more likely than pediatricians to prescribe medication
for children with depression, although no differences in the training for childhood depression
in these two groups were found (Rushton, Clark & & Freed, 2000). It is therefore possible
that some primary health-care providers are too confident in prescribing medication that is
beyond their expertise.
Part of the problem could be the lack of universally applicable standards for psychiatric
diagnoses. Drawing the line between valid and invalid diagnoses is thus inherently subjective
(Baxter et al., 2015; Merikangas, Nakamura & Kessler, 2009; Parens & Johnston, 2011). Another
explanation may lie in the negative views that non-psychiatrist medical professionals hold towards
individuals with psychiatric disorders and psychiatry as a realm of medicine (Stuart, Sartorius
& Liinamaa, 2015). Viewing mental health issues as an individual weakness, and lack of
appreciation of psychiatrists as professionals, may contribute to the reluctance of primary health-
care providers to refer children to other mental health experts. Beyond these, the greater concern
lies in the mounting evidence of a strong association between medical professionals’ (including
psychiatrists’) practices of diagnoses and prescription of stimulant drugs, and pharmaceutical
companies.
Extensive studies since the 1990s have confirmed that the marketing strategy of pharma-
ceutical companies, which centers on promoting and providing samples of their products directly
to physicians, leads to increased prescription of that product compared to others (Sadler, 2011).
Pervasive financial ties between medical professionals and the pharmaceutical industry further
influence prescription practices. Studies in the US and Germany, for instance, found that over
80 percent of primary health-care providers, including pediatricians and psychiatrists, receive
gifts, research funding, and covered participation in symposia events hosted in hotels from the
pharmaceutical industry, and that these financial contributions increase the likelihood of
physicians’ campaigning and prescribing medical products of the respective companies
(Campbell et al., 2010; Lieb & Scheurich, 2014). Additionally, studies show that many of those
who developed the diagnostic criteria for psychiatric conditions (the Diagnostic and Statistical
Manual of Mental Disorders, or DSM) have had significant ties with the pharmaceutical industry,
including involvement with clinical trials of drugs that have been developed by such companies
(Cosgrove, Krimsky, Vijayaraghavan & Schneider, 2006; Cosgrove et al., 2014).
Neither of these findings ascertain that the medical diagnosis, treatment, or classification of
psychiatric conditions are inherently wrong. However, they suggest that medical professionals
may have a conflict of interest, and raise profound questions about the medical profession’s
responsibility—or, perhaps, the discard thereof—of making independent, neutral, and
individualized-based medical decisions when providing care for children. Although some children
may indeed benefit from treatment, including medication, it is discomfiting that health-care
professionals’ determination of “normal” childhood behaviors may be mobilized by financial
interest, rather than grounded in objective and contextual factors, and that their treatment
decisions follow the recommendations of pharmaceutical companies. Indeed, these companies
are in the business of making profit by expanding and managing (not curing) psychiatric disorders

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through drugs that they market (Parens & Johnston, 2011), and their interests are likely to vary
significantly from those of children–patients (however defined). The next section considers
how the history and present situation of childhood psychiatry may inform the emerging field
of psychiatric genomics, and their implications for children with psychiatric conditions.

The Geneticization of Psychiatric Disorders

The study of genomics is undoubtedly advancing in giant steps. Moving away from single-
gene testing for specific dominant heritable disorders, the development of high-speed and
powerful whole genome and exome sequencing techniques is likely to increase the available
genomic knowledge. This includes an expensive amount of genomic data about individuals’
proclivity for various conditions, including complex disorders that involve more than one
gene, information about disorders that are likely to emerge only at adulthood (some of which
may not currently have available treatment, nor are likely to have treatment in the foreseeable
future), and a large volume of genomic data (currently) of unknown significance. Combined
with increasingly reduced costs for genetic testing, there are high hopes—and expectations—
that a new scale of prediction, prevention, diagnosis, and treatment of genetic disorders will
occur.
Psychiatric disorders are prime candidates for this expansion. It is well established that
psychiatric disorders “run in families” and ample research shows the high heritability for such
conditions (Bigos & Hariri, 2007). Although genes alone are not determinative for the
development of psychiatric disorders, the huge monetary and psychological investment in
genomic-based health care suggest that the geneticization of psychiatric disorders is likely to
increase. Two main areas in which the increased knowledge of genetics is likely to significantly
impact medical practice are reproduction and precision medicine.

Reproduction
There is ample discussion about emerging reproductive technologies and the increasing
possibilities for parents to choose some of the traits of their offspring such as sex, disability-
free (mostly in cases of single-gene disorders) and “tissue-matching sibling” (Aulisio, May
& Block, 2001; Davis, 2009). Further debate exists on the limits of these technologies, that is,
whether parents have a right—or responsibility—to maximize their child’s future oppor-
tunities by choosing other characteristics such as height, athletic potential, or intelligence, and
how to distinguish between the use of technologies to cure an impairment and enhancement
of genetic traits (Savulescu, 2001). With psychiatric genetics, this debate is arguably more
distanced because prenatal “screening” for psychiatric conditions is currently mostly unavailable
(some exception are Fragile X, Alzheimer’s, and Huntington Disease). However, genetic markers
for psychiatric disorders may be identified in the future, and how the convergence between
reproductive technologies and psychiatric genetic data will impact medical practice will need
to be considered.
One way to do so is by reviewing the perspectives of stakeholders—clinicians, and potential
service “consumers,” especially patients with psychiatric conditions and family relatives—about
psychiatric genetics in reproduction. Although translating these views into concrete prac-
tices is impossible, such stakeholders often influence how medical practices evolve. Hereof,
several studies of physicians found that internists, OB/GYNs and especially psychiatrists are

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highly supportive of prenatal genetic testing for bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, depression
and obsessive–compulsive disorder (Finn et al., 2005; Milner, 1999). A study of psychiatrists
in the US found that over 70 percent of respondents would refer patients for pre-implantation
genetic diagnosis and subsequent selection of embryos or offer an abortion for Huntington
Disease; over 40 percent would do so for autism, and 37 percent for Alzheimer’s (Klitzman
et al., 2014).
Studies with persons with psychiatric disorders and relatives show less—but split—support
for genetic selection. Although variance exists across countries, several studies with varying
sample sizes found that about 40 percent of respondents expressed support or lack of support
for prenatal testing for mood disorders (depression, bipolar, and anxiety disorders; Lawrence
& Appelbaum, 2012). Concurrently, studies suggest that abortion may not be the prefer-
able option for patients with psychiatric conditions and their relatives, although such decisions
also depend on other factors, especially, one’s general views about abortion and on the
expected severity of a genetic condition (e.g., no response to medication; Lawrence &
Appelbaum, 2012).
However, these views must be considered in light of other important findings relating
to psychiatric genetics. First, studies consistently show that stakeholders’ understanding of
genetics, especially psychiatric genetics, is limited, including among health-care providers and
psychiatrists who expressed support for prenatal genetic testing and utilization of pre-
implantation genetic diagnosis (Finn et al., 2005; Hazin et al., 2013). Second, erroneous deter-
ministic views of genetics may exacerbate the trend towards prenatal and pre-implantation genetic
testing for psychiatric disorders. Such deterministic views overestimate the genetic influence
on the phenotype of a person and underestimate other biological, behavioral, psychosocial,
and environmental factors (UNESCO, 2015). Significantly, these views are common among
the general public and health-care providers alike. Indeed, studies suggest that physicians’
communication of genetic diagnoses often portray the child’s prospects in an overly (and
misinformed) pessimistic light (Parens & Asch, 1999; Skotko, 2005). Thus, physicians may
encourage pre-implantation genetic diagnosis and abortions without fully understanding
the implication of a given condition, and mobilize the market in a certain direction without
the perquisite of stakeholders being informed.
Psychiatric genetics is still more complicated because the multiple interactions between genes,
genes and the environment, and other epigenetic processes often mean that genetic combinations
have both benefits and disadvantages. For instance, bipolar disorder has been associated with
higher levels of creativity (Mertes & Hens, 2015)—a valued quality among executive directors
in large corporations in the US (Martin, 2009). Similarly, studies suggest that some persons
with autism have exceptional abilities relating to music, memory, numbers, and art (Mottron
et al., 2013). Although the great heterogeneity in the phenotype of psychiatric conditions and
the current scientific knowledge do not allow for prenatal determination whether a particular
fetus (or future child) with genetic proclivity for a psychiatric condition will have such
exceptional abilities, the risk in the shift toward genetic selection against psychiatric genetics
is that interventions may tamper the ongoing genetic processes in yet unknown ways and,
moreover, result in a loss of some characteristics that are important for the human fabric and
survival.
Second, preferences for genomic make-ups are relative and contextual (Aurenque, 2015;
Mertes & Hens, 2015). Besides debates about the existence and meaning of “disabled identities”
in psychiatry (e.g., Mad Pride, Autism identity), emerging empirical research suggests that genetic

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“vulnerability” is for better and worse: children with genetic proclivity for psychiatric disorders
(e.g., ADHD and depression) when faced with adverse environments may also disproportionately
benefit from supportive environments (Belsky et al., 2009; Ellis, Boyce, Belsky, Bakermans-
Kranenburg & van Ijzendoorn, 2011; van IJzendoorn & Bakermans-Kranenburg, 2012).
Decisions about reproductive technologies thus necessarily require consideration not only of
heritability and genetics (Bayefsky, 2015) but also of how to balance among various
environmental influences that impact individuals’ mental health. Given the multifold factors
that may be involved (see above), this goal is clearly highly complex to resolve.
Finally, there is debate about the resemblance of the use of genetic data in reproduction
and eugenics. Arguably, contemporary medical practices in reproduction are grounded in
individual informed consent rather than the “top-down” determination of “beings unworthy
of life” as was practiced under the Third Reich. However, the routinization of genetic screening
and its performance on a large scale, with the expectation (and societal and professionals’
pressures) that abortion will follow when increased risk for a genetic disorder is detected, have
raised the concern that a new form of “family eugenics” is in the making (Hampton, 2005).
As disability scholars have cautioned, genetic profiling to select for embryos deemed “most
fit” and to “breed out” what are considered “undesirable genes” (Kevles, 2011) may lead to
exceedingly narrow notions of normality, revert to an understanding of disability merely as a
biological and personal trait (and a problem), and exacerbate the stigmatization, exclusion, and
devaluation of “differences” among individuals as persons. Indeed, although international law
instruments and national policies pertaining to genetic data call for de-stigmatization of genetic
disorders (Pescosolido et al., 2010), the geneticization of psychiatric disorders has, to date,
achieved the opposite result (Phelan, 2005). This finding should serve as a warning sign for
the future, as we move towards an all-encompassing genomic-based medicine, which I now
turn to consider.

Precision Medicine
The second area in which the increased knowledge of genetics is likely to significantly impact
medical practice is the rise of “precision medicine.” Precision medicine builds on new DNA
sequencing techniques to develop a tailored approach for disease prediction, prevention, and
treatment by taking into account individual variability in genes, environment, and lifestyle
for each person. Precision medicine has an additional communal aspect: the hope that
advancements will be shared with society as a whole, provide better treatment outcomes, and
reduce the overall burden for specific diseases (e.g., cancer; UNESCO, 2015). Although efforts
to tailor medical treatment to a particular patient are not new (Downing, 2009), nor is the
effort to promote population-based health, precision medicine offers a new scale of health-
care opportunities—and ethical, legal, and social challenges to children with psychiatric
conditions.
There is currently a dearth of research on the implications of precision medicine to
persons, including children with disabilities. For instance, it is unclear how precision medicine
will impact the social constructions of disability as endorsed in human rights law (rather than
the medical lens), whether in the future, precision medicine will offer a “fix” not only to
diseases (e.g., cancer) but also to human impairments by editing and replacing individuals’ genes,
and how such interventions will impact notions of identity and personhood of persons with
disabilities.

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Children with disabilities are further particularly vulnerable to multiple socially constructed
dichotomies that, in effect, undermine their ability to exercise fundamental principles of bioethics
that guide research in and practice of precision medicine. In contrast to the prevalent emphasis
in ethical and legal scholarship on individual’s autonomous decision to be tested (UNESCO,
2015), children are not granted this opportunity. Parents are commonly entrusted to make
such decisions on behalf of their child. Despite the increasing recognition of children as bearers
of rights, including the CRC’s and the CRPD’s explicit requirement that children participate
in decisions relating to them (CRC, Article 12; CRPD, Article 7), and the guidelines of medical
professionals recommending involvement of children, especially adolescents, in medical and
genetic decisions (Hens et al., 2013; Knoppers, Avard, Senecal, & Zawati, 2014; Santelli et
al., 2003), children’s voices in genomic decision are mostly lacking. In the US in particular,
law and policy are tuned to the preferences of adults/parents/guardians and children have little
control over decisions about genetic testing or access to results (Clayton, 2015). Given the
lack of constitutional protection of children’s rights and philosophical endorsement of children
as separate individuals (Goodwin & Duke, 2010; Woodhouse 1999), this is concerning.
Besides the immediate issue of consent, this (lack of ) status risks the child’s right not to know
and the right to genomic privacy, as such children have no say about how, when, and with
whom their genomic data will be shared by their guardians.
Part of the challenge lies in the traditional construction of children as lacking decision-making
capacity. This is especially so for children (and adults) with psychiatric conditions, whose capacity
has historically been presumed to be impaired merely because of their diagnosis. Although
variance in children’s decision-making capacity certainly exists (indeed, it exists also among
adults), the starting point of incapacity—especially given that professionals commonly lack the
skills to compensate for children’s psychosocial and communicational challenges—is hard to
overcome (Alderson, 2007). Studies indicate that parents are often not the best judges of their
child’s maturity (Fortin, 2009) and that physicians, including genetic counsellors, commonly
lack the necessary skills to discuss genomic issues with this age-population (Duncan & Young,
2013). Moreover, as the ongoing debate about return of genomic incidental or secondary findings
to parents and children demonstrates, parents and health professionals may provide very
different interpretations of what the child’s best interests entail (Sabatello & Appelbaum, 2016).
Thus, there is a need to reconsider how precision medicine decisions for both paediatrics
treatment and research purposes should be made. However, with the lack of studies employing
large and diverse samples of children on these issues, it is impossible to develop sound policy
recommendations. A children- and disability- rights approach (CRC; CRPD) is invaluable for
developing these conversations. It compels a “best interests” analysis while recognizing children
as subjects of rights, including participatory rights, and requires respect and acceptance of physical
and mental differences inter alia through provision of supports and training of those involved
with children with disabilities. Thus, they also allow for broader conceptualizations of normal
childhood behaviours and reduce uncalled-for diagnoses and treatment of children.
The need to develop research programs that explore the implications of precision medicine
for children with psychiatric disorders is particularly important given that adverse reactions to
psychiatric medication (which are common) have shown to be detrimental to treatment
adherence (Gearing & Mian 2005). The hopes raised by pharmacogenomics—the realm of
study that aims to tailor the type, dosage, and timing of use of drugs to the particular patient
with psychiatric disorder (for instance, mood disorders (Klengel & Binder 2011; Keers 2012))—
may thus be particularly valuable for improved care for children with psychiatric conditions
(Bolonna, Arranz, Mancama, & Kerwin, 2004; Patel & Barzman, 2013).

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However, pharmacogenomics raises several challenges for children with disabilities. First,
for pharmacogenomics to be implemented for children, research with paediatrics subjects is
needed. In reality, due to ethical, practical, and regulatory challenges relating to paediatric
research (e.g., difficulties in obtaining parental consent, need to accommodate children’s physical
and mental developmental stage; Field & Behrman, 2004), most of the pharmacogenomics
research to date has been conducted with adult subjects, whose drug response may be
significantly different than the drug response of children (Stevens et al., 2013). Although this
is a recurring problem with psychotropic drugs for children (Zito et al., 2008), it is clear that
to develop a genetically tailored health-care plan, children’s brain, metabolic, and other bodily
developments must be studied and taken into account. Thus, notwithstanding the challenges
in research with children (as mentioned above), it is essential—and indeed, also expected under
a children and disability-rights approach stressed in the CRC and the CRPD—that children
are active participants in genomic studies.
Second, precision medicine and pharmacogenomics are not offered across the globe, nor
equally distributed within states. Affordability of these developments remains a challenge for
those with low economic status in developed countries, especially in the US where health care
is privatized, and indeed, precision medicine has not yet reached most developing countries
(UNESCO, 2015). Given that 80 percent of persons with disabilities worldwide reside in the
latter and that, globally, a disproportionate number of families with members with disabilities
live under the poverty line, there is a concern that the benefits of these scientific advances will
not reach those who are most in need. Furthermore, as public health scholars have cautioned,
unless the socio-cultural structures and determinants of health inequalities (e.g., race, gender,
socio-economic status) are addressed, the investment in precision medicine will likely distract
from the goal of achieving a healthier public (Bayer & Galea, 2015). How to ensure that the
bioethical principles of autonomy, justice, and solidarity (UNESCO, 2015) are upheld in
paediatric clinical care and genomic research should thus be central to future investigations of
the impact of precision medicine on children with psychiatric disorders.

Conclusions
Notwithstanding the impressive developments in national and international disability rights law,
much can be learned from the past as we move on to the future. Such a reflection is critical
for children with disabilities, especially those with psychiatric conditions. The historical abuse
of such children during the Third Reich and their classification as “beings unworthy of
life” have clearly influenced contemporary standards of medical and research practices. However,
as the number of young children who are diagnosed and treated for psychiatric conditions
continues to increase, there is an urgent need to consider not only why this trend has occurred,
but also to question whether the category of “normalcy” in childhood has become exceedingly
narrow. The role of health-care providers, families, and society at large in exacerbating or
reducing this trend should equally be explored—and better it is done before we move into
the era of genomically based health care.
New DNA sequencing technologies raise many hopes for improved care for children with
psychiatric conditions. These are important developments, and they will likely significantly
impact the way in which health care is practiced and delivered, especially in reproduction and
pharmacogenomics. Moving from theory to practice will take time—and research. Children-
and disability-rights approach provide an invaluable framework to guide such work and to
develop policy and practice. While exact measures to adopt are still not fully known, a rights-

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based approach requires, at a minimum, the recognition and acceptance of such children as
valuable subjects and a tailored provision of supports and accommodations to ensure meaning-
ful participation. In genomic contexts, some important issues to investigate include: how
children with psychiatric disorders (and children more generally) want to be involved in the
genomic revolution, the implications of precision medicine and pharmacogenomics on their
sense of identity, and the extent to which this shift would reduce—or exacerbate—stigma and
social exclusion. Moreover, notions of justice and solidarity require consideration of how, if
at all, these scientific advances will indeed promote the rights of children with psychiatric
conditions worldwide, and across socio-economic strata. As genomics and precision medicine
enter the doors of health-care provision, it is essential that we do not lose sight of other, non-
genomic factors (e.g., social determinants of health) that play a role in the development of
psychiatric conditions in the first place, and what sort of responsibility we as a society have in
this process.

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 Part IV
Global Perspectives on
Children’s Rights
 21
Children and Adolescents in
Street Settings
Rights and Realities
Marcela Raffaelli and Sílvia H. Koller

Unaccompanied children and adolescents can be found seeking their survival on city streets
around the world. They beg for spare change, juggle or perform magic tricks, work at street-
based jobs (e.g., selling candy, washing cars, carrying groceries), engage in illicit activities (e.g.,
dealing drugs, stealing, selling sex), or hang out with peers. These youngsters fall under the
umbrella term “street children,” used by the United Nations in the 1980s to describe “[A]ny
boy or girl . . . for whom the street (in the widest sense of the word, including unoccupied
dwellings, wasteland, etc.) has become his or her habitual abode and/or source of livelihood;
and who is inadequately protected, supervised, or directed by responsible adults” (UN Office
of the High Commission for Human Rights [UNOHCHR], 2012, p. 9). Because the label
“street children” is often considered pejorative, and does not reflect the diversity of connections
young people may have with the street (Thomas de Benitez, 2007), we use the term “street-
involved youth” in this chapter.
The exact number of street-involved youth is unknown. In the 1980s, the (often disputed)
figure of 100 million was cited in both United Nations and academic publications (Hecht,
1998; Thomas de Benitez, 2007). However, the UN Office of the High Commission for Human
Rights (2012) has stated that these global estimates have “no basis in fact” (p. 10) and that no
reliable estimates of the number of street-involved youth exist. As will be discussed later
in the chapter, the lack of reliable statistics stems from a range of factors, including definitional
discrepancies, the elusiveness of many street-involved youth, and methodological issues such
as differences in sampling approaches across studies (Hutz & Koller, 1999; Thomas de Benitez,
2007).
Although their numbers are unknown, one central fact is not disputed: street-involved
children and adolescents experience multiple violations of their basic human rights. These
violations occur both before and after youngsters begin spending time on the streets and often
originate within their families of origin (e.g., Panter-Brick, 2002; Rizzini, Baker, & Cassaniga,
2002; UNOHCHR, 2012). Most street-involved youth grow up in vulnerable families

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characterized by social exclusion, poverty, or other difficulties (e.g., displacement, parental illness
or death). In the absence of government supports, families may be unable to provide for their
children. Some children who go on the streets may have received inadequate care in state-
run institutions such as foster homes, orphanages, or other settings. Other children become
involved with the legal system, and are subjected to punitive measures such as juvenile deten-
tion without appropriate rehabilitation. Once they are in street situations, children experience
pervasive rights violations, including lack of access to basic services (e.g., health, nutrition,
shelter), exclusion from educational settings, and abuse at the hands of individuals and state
agents (including those who are supposed to protect them, such as the police).
Street-involved youth are entitled to the same rights guaranteed to all children and
adolescents under international and national treaties and policies. Yet reality falls short of this
ideal. We devote the remainder of this chapter to an examination of human rights issues among
street-involved children and adolescents. We first describe the situation of street-involved youth
from a historical and global perspective. We then consider human rights issues, with a particular
focus on international treaties relevant to young people in street settings. To ground this
discussion and illustrate how these global human rights initiatives are playing out in one specific
country, we use Brazil as a case study. This case study highlights how international law, national
policies, and local action are needed to promote the rights of street-involved children and
adolescents.

Street-Involved Youth in Historical and Global Perspective

The presence of children and adolescents seeking their survival on city streets is not a new
phenomenon around the world. Precursors of today’s street-involved youth can be found
throughout history and across societies in different forms, as evident in the labels that have
been used for unaccompanied youth seeking a living on city streets: waifs, gamins, urchins,
street Arabs, guttersnipes. These labels offer insight into how societal views of youth on the
street reflect a complex and contradictory mix encompassing pity for their plight, a romantic
view of their status as free-ranging adventurers, fear, and contempt.
Attention to the situation of street-involved youth can be found in newspaper accounts and
socially aware fiction of the last two centuries (Morais, Neiva-Silva, & Koller, 2010). For
example, in the novel Oliver Twist: The Parish Boy’s Progress (published in the 1830s), Charles
Dickens depicted the life of an orphan who grew up in a juvenile home and a workhouse,
was apprenticed to an undertaker, and eventually ran away to London where he fell in with
a gang of juvenile pickpockets operating under the auspices of an adult criminal. The British
journalist and editor Henry Mayhew is credited with first using the term “street children” in
the 1850s to describe poor children who worked on London’s streets as vendors, performers,
scavengers, and laborers (Williams, 1993). In the latter part of the nineteenth Century, U.S.
writer Horatio Alger published a series of juvenile novels describing street-involved youth,
such as Ragged Dick, or Street Life in New York (about a homeless boy who earns his living
shining shoes) and Tattered Tom, or the Story of A Street Arab (about a young girl who escapes
her abusive guardian and lives on the street). Visitors to the newly established Soviet state in
the 1920s were shocked by the large number of abandoned children—many of them war orphans
or offspring of families affected by epidemics or famines—struggling to survive in cities and
towns (Ball, 1994). Jorge Amado’s 1937 book Captains of the Sands (Capitães da Areia) describes
the lives of a group of orphaned and abandoned children living in a waterfront warehouse and
surviving on their wits in Salvador, Brazil. These diverse accounts of the lives of street-involved

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youth illustrate both the ubiquity of their presence around the globe and the multiple pathways
that may take children to the street.
During the second half of the twentieth Century, street-involved children became a focus
of interest among those in the media and international child welfare organizations. Public
awareness was stimulated by movies released in the 1980s, such as Pixote and Salaam Bombay
(which depicted street-involved youth in Brazil and India, respectively) and a growing
number of international media reports of violence against youth (Hecht, 1998). During the
same period, social scientists were conducting research with street-involved youth in different
countries around the world, generating descriptive information about this population (for
reviews, see Aptekar, 1994; Hecht, 1998; Koller & Hutz, 1996; Raffaelli & Larson, 1999; Rizzini,
1996). It was quickly recognized that “street youth” were not a homogeneous group, but rather
multiple, often overlapping sub-groups that differed along several dimensions (Raffaelli, Koller,
& Morais, 2013). For example, three groups of street-involved youth were identified in
developing nations: children and adolescents working at street-based jobs while attending
school and living with their families; children and adolescents living on the streets with their
homeless families; and youth who had left (or been abandoned or rejected by) their families
of origin and spent most of their time in street settings or programs for street youth (Koller &
Raffaelli, 2008).
As the global economic situation improved during the ensuing decades, these previously
developed typologies of street-involved youth became less applicable. In many developing
nations, poverty reduction programs led to improved standards of living and social policies
(particularly those that curtailed child labor and promoted universal primary education) reduced
the number of impoverished children and adolescents going to the streets. Consequently, other
pathways to the street may now be more important than poverty in many countries. For example,
in sub-Saharan Africa the increased numbers of street-involved youth has been attributed to
a growing population of AIDS orphans (Sauvé, 2003). In other countries, such as Cambodia
and Iraq, the presence of children on city streets is one of the legacies of war and displacement
(Thomas de Benitez, 2007).
In light of the dynamic and shifting nature of the phenomenon, it is not surprising that reliable
statistics about street-involved youth are lacking. As noted earlier, previous estimates of 100
million street youth are now acknowledged to be exaggerated, but no reliable estimate has been
generated to replace that number (UNOHCHR, 2012). Multiple factors contribute to the lack
of reliable statistics (Hutz & Koller, 1999; Thomas de Benitez, 2007). Definitional discrepancies
are one major issue: there is simply no shared agreement on exactly who “counts” as a street-
involved youth. For example, some early studies conducted in Latin America did not include
girls found on the street, considering them “prostitutes” rather than “street youth,” and thus
leading to undercounts of street-involved youth (see Raffaelli, 1999). This illustrates that being
“on the street” is typically just one characteristic of street-involved youth; other characteristics
(AIDS orphan, former child soldier, sex worker, drug user) may be seen as more salient depending
on the local context or the investigator’s perspective. Recent approaches to studying street-
involved youth emphasize the importance of assessing the connections children have with both
street and non-street environments as a way of clarifying the size and characteristics of this
population (e.g., Koller & Raffaelli, 2008; UNOHCHR, 2012).
The elusiveness and fluidity of the population also contributes to the lack of reliable estimates
regarding the number and characteristics of street-involved youth (Hutz & Koller, 1999; Thomas
de Benitez, 2007). For their own protection, these youngsters are typically highly mobile and
hidden—for example, they frequently change their hangouts and sleeping locations. They often

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circulate between the street, homes of relatives or friends, and institutions depending on various
factors (e.g., weather, seasonal money-making opportunities, police crackdowns). This makes
accurate sampling almost impossible. Moreover, researchers have used different approaches when
sampling street-involved youngsters. For example, some only count children actually
frequenting street locations at the time of the study whereas others include those in shelters
or institutions serving youth who have a history of street involvement.
Taken together, these factors make it extremely challenging to generate accurate statistics
and characterize the world’s street-involved youth. This challenge is compounded by the fact
that the main data collection tool for generating national statistical information on children—
the Multiple Indicator Cluster Surveys (MICS) sponsored by UNICEF—samples households,
defined as “a group of persons who live and eat together” (UNICEF, 2013, p. 1). The MICS
manual notes that household sampling “may exclude homeless persons and those living in
institutions or group quarters” (UNICEF, 2013, p. 21). As a result, statistics published in
international reports—including the influential State of the World’s Children and Millennium
Development Goals reports—exclude many street-involved youth and make it impossible to
conduct detailed analyses of their situation. The lack of reliable statistics about their numbers
can be seen as one among many forms of human right violations that street-involved youth
experience.

Street-Involved Youth and Human Rights

As noted in the introduction, street-involved youth typically experience human rights violations
that predate their spending time on the street. This is abundantly evident from research reports,
non-governmental and governmental agency analyses, and anecdotal case studies. A
comprehensive report drawing on papers from 69 countries concluded that street-involved
children around the globe experience high levels of physical, sexual, and psychological violence,
as well as deprivation or neglect (Thomas de Benitez, 2007). According to the report, violence
is pervasive in the lives of street-involved youth, and spills over to deprive them of multiple
other rights, including their right to grow up free from disease, illiteracy, and poverty:

Street children accumulate a range of experiences of violence from an early age. Evidence
is strong across countries: children survive abuse at home in fragile families; live in poverty-
afflicted, chaotic neighbourhoods; their access to educational and health services is erratic,
discriminatory and exclusionary; they confront risks in the street, experiencing violence
in their premature entry into the world of work; subjected to abuse and neglect in detention
centres and welfare homes designed to protect them, they are stigmatized and shunned
by mainstream society.
(Thomas de Benitez, 2007, p. 6)

The extensive violence experienced by street-involved youth has both short-term implications
(e.g., immediate survival and well-being) and long-term consequences (e.g., future health,
educational and work opportunities).
In light of the pervasive exclusion and marginalization street-involved youth experience, it
is perhaps surprising that the issue of human rights among this population has “not been a
direct focus of UN attention since the early 1990s” (UNOHCHR, 2012, p. 7). Abandoned
and street-involved youth were a powerful symbol for the international human rights
community in the period during which the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the

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Child (CRC; United Nations General Assembly, 1989) was being drafted in the 1980s.
However, they had given way to other “icons of victimhood” 20 years later, largely disappearing
from UN and NGO treaties, resolutions, and reports while child victims of violence became
the dominant icon of “stolen childhood” (Poretti, Hanson, Darbellay, & Berchtold, 2014).
This shift can be attributed to several causes. First, as noted by Thomas de Benitez (2007),
“[s]treet children are a powerful rallying cause, but enthusiasm wanes with the realization that
street children’s situations are complex and that quick fixes are rarely a helpful response” (p.
1). Moreover, street-involved youth are ambiguous victims, in that they experience often
egregious human rights violations, but may also engage in illicit acts as a means of survival;
thus, they may be seen by some as criminals to be punished whereas children who experience
violence are easier to present as “innocent” victims (Poretti et al., 2014). Finally, according to
the Consortium for Street Children (2014), “the issue of street children has been marginalised
in international development debates and national plans of action” as attention focused on global
intiatives such as the Millennium Development Goals.
The international instrument that is most directly relevant to the issue of children’s rights
is the CRC. The convention, adopted by the UN in 1989 and ratified by most of the world’s
countries (195 at the time of writing), marked the first time that children were recognized as
rights holders in an international treaty. As detailed elsewhere (see Chapters 4 and 6, this volume)
the CRC emphasizes fundamental human rights shared by all children. Three categories of
rights are recognized in the CRC (Diers, 2013). Survival and development rights include the
right to health services, formal education, leisure and cultural activities, and parental guidance.
Protection rights are those that protect children from abuse, violence, and exploitation. Finally,
participation rights recognize that children have the right to express their opinions and have
a say in matters that affect them. Two optional protocols were adopted in 2000 (one focused
on the “sale of children, child prostitution and child pornography” and the second on the
“involvement of children in armed combat”). In 2011, a third optional protocol was adopted
that established a procedure for children or their representatives to communicate with the UN
Committee on the Rights of the Child if their rights are being violated and they are unable
to obtain justice in their home country. (See Committee on the Rights of the Child, 2015,
for more information on these optional protocols.)
The CRC makes no explicit mention of street-involved children or related terms, such as
vulnerable or homeless children. However, nondiscrimination is one of the guiding prin-
ciples of the convention, and the CRC has resulted in increased consideration of the rights of
adolescents from stigmatized groups (Ruck, Keating, Saewyc, Earls, & Ben-Arieh, 2014),
including street-involved youth. The Committee on the Rights of the Child, an independent
body charged with monitoring implementation of the CRC, has highlighted the situation of
street-involved youth in responding to reports submitted by member states. Attention to street-
involved youth has also been evident in other documents prepared by UN agencies, most notably
UNICEF’s annual State of the World’s Children reports. For example, one report (UNICEF,
2006) focused on “Excluded and Invisible” children (a broad definition that included “street
children”); a later report on urban children discussed the situation of children living and work-
ing on the streets (UNICEF, 2012). These reports acknowledge that children living and
working on the streets are often overlooked or undercounted in international statistics (see
also UNICEF, 2014).
Street-involved youth have also been the focus of consideration at the highest levels of the
United Nations. At its 92nd plenary meeting, the UN General Assembly (1992) issued a
resolution on the “plight of street children.” The resolution expressed concern about the human

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rights violations street children experience, reminded governments of their responsibility to

protect children’s rights, and suggested that the Committee on the Rights of the Child issue
a general comment on street children. General comments provide interpretations of the rights
contained in a particular convention and clarify the responsibilities of states parties. The
Committee on the Rights of the Child has issued comments on different populations of youth,
including unaccompanied and separated children (Committee on the Rights of the Child, 2005),
children with disabilities (Committee on the Rights of the Child, 2006), and indigenous children
(Committee on the Rights of the Child, 2009). At least one of these general comments
mentioned street-involved children (e.g., the general comment on children with disabilities
noted that such children often end up on the street). The Committee did not, however, issue
a general comment specific to street-involved youth in response to the General Assembly’s
1992 request.
In 2011, nearly 20 years after the UN General Assembly resolution on the “plight of street
children,” the UN Human Rights Council adopted a resolution inviting “the Office of the
United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights to conduct a study on challenges, lessons
learnt and best practices . . . to protect and promote the rights of children working and/or
living on the street” (UN Human Rights Council, 2011, p. 6). In response to the resolution,
a report was prepared by the UN Office of the High Commission for Human Rights
(UNOHCHR, 2012). This report noted that the CRC applies to “all children in all
circumstances” and that although the convention does not refer specifically to street-involved
children, they are covered under its umbrella. The report also identified several additional UN
conventions that are particularly relevant to street-involved children, such as those relating to
child labor, trafficking, and juvenile justice. In this way, the UN Office of the High Commission
for Human Rights affirmed that street-involved youngsters are guaranteed their rights under
the CRC and that states parties must be held accountable for promoting those rights.
At the same time, the authors of the report noted that children in street situations are often
not seen as “rights holders” by those charged with protecting their interests. Instead, street-
involved children and adolescents are typically viewed as either victims to be rescued or
delinquents to be controlled. While reflecting very different perspectives, both approaches may
result in youngsters being denied their rights. For example, the goal of removing a child from
the street can be accomplished by placing her in a shelter (welfare approach) or by detaining
her in a juvenile facility (repressive approach). Unless the child’s interests are consulted, however,
both responses will likely violate her rights (UNOHCHR, 2012). After analyzing the situation
of street youth and their rights, the report closes with a recommendation that the Committee
on the Rights of the Child develop a general comment on children in street situations. Such
a comment would provide an authoritative interpretation of how the CRC, and related
international conventions, should be applied to street-involved youngsters. The Committee is
in the process of developing the comment, which is expected to take several years and involve
a widespread consultation process (Consortium for Street Children, 2015).
In summary, progress has been made toward ensuring that street-involved youth are
included in international discussions of children’s rights. However, there is typically a large
gap between ratification of a treaty such as the CRC and full implementation by states parties.
This is particularly likely to be true when a treaty involves a population that has experienced
systematic denial of basic rights. Integrated changes are required across multiple sectors of a
society to ensure that street-involved youth benefit fully from the provisions of the CRC. To
illustrate the complexities of this process, and ground our discussion in a specific context, we
turn next to a case study of one specific country.

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Street-Involved Youth: Case Study of Brazil

Brazil is a complex and dynamic country. It is a continent-sized nation, with the world’s fifth
largest population and fifth largest land mass. Its five major regions are marked by different
geographies, climates, histories, economies, and population characteristics. Like many other
Latin American countries, Brazil had a long (300 year) colonial past that shaped its national
identity and concentrated wealth and power in the hands of the elite, with the majority of
the population (including agrarian workers and enslaved Africans) being excluded. Brazil
declared independence from Portugal in 1822 and established a republic in 1889. Around this
time slavery was abolished, and European migration swelled. The ensuing decades were
characterized by democratic governance interrupted by military intervention and turbulence.
Of greatest relevance to this chapter, events in Brazil’s recent history affect the situation of
street-involved children and adolescents, and shape efforts to promote their rights (Koller,
Raffaelli, & Carlo, 2012).

Before the CRC: State Violence and Repression

In 1964 a military dictatorship replaced Brazil’s democratically elected (left-leaning) government
and ushered in 20 years of military rule that had long-lasting impacts on the country’s political,
economic, and civil institutions. The military government—with the support of international
allies and funders—set about building a modern market economy that benefitted the elites.
For a number of years, Brazil had the world’s highest levels of income inequality (Gasparini
& Lustig, 2011). During the same period, rural-to-urban migration swelled city populations
and (in the absence of investments in housing, schools, and other basic infrastructure) resulted
in large increases in the share of the population living in poverty. Many children and adolescents
worked in the “informal” (street) economy as a way of helping their families, and the street
population grew. Under the military regime, measures designed to preserve order and discourage
expressions of discontent were implemented (Diversi, Moraes, & Morelli, 1999). Most relevant
to youth, the 1979 Código de Menores (Minors’ Code) was introduced to address the situation
of children and adolescents in “irregular situations”—a broad categorization that included youth
who gathered in public spaces for work and play, as well as those involved in criminal activities
(Rizzini & Klees, 2000). Youngsters were subject to intimidation and violence and could be
incarcerated in closed reformatories for indefinite periods for infractions ranging from vagrancy
to theft and violence. The legacy of these converging events lasted long after the restoration
of democratic government in 1985.
Attention to issues of the rights of street-involved youth emerged during the period of the
dictatorship (Oliveira, 2010). During the 1970s and 1980s, the large numbers of children and
adolescents living and working on the streets became a matter of increasing concern, giving
rise to several movements involving professionals and members of the civil society. Examples
include the emergence of street outreach and education movements, and the formation of
the National Movement for Street Boys and Girls (Movimento Nacional dos Meninos e Meninas
de Rua), a non-governmental organization advocating for the rights of street-involved youth
(Moura & Noto, 2010). Drawing on Brazilian social and liberation theorists, the National
Movement emphasized that children were citizens who could play an active role in the struggle
for rights (Oliveira, 2010). The National Movement had its first national meeting around the
time civilian rule was restored in 1985. At the same time, international agencies were taking
note of children’s rights issues in Brazil.

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These various efforts to promote children’s rights came together in the late 1980s, and in
July 1990, Brazil passed a comprehensive law, the Estatuto da Criança e do Adolescente (Statute
for Children and Adolescents), known by the acronym ECA (Brasil, 1990). Like the CRC,
the ECA does not explicitly mention street-involved youth; rather, it represents an attempt to
codify the full set of rights to which children (under age 12) and adolescents (ages 12–18) are
entitled. The strategy of focusing on ensuring that all children’s rights are protected, rather
than passing legislation on specific issues or subsets of youth, is consistent with a growing
movement toward approaching child protection from a systems perspective (UNICEF,
UNHCR, Save the Children, & World Vision, 2013). The ECA spells out the responsibilities
of the family, community, and society in ensuring all Brazilian children and adolescents are
guaranteed certain basic rights including the right to health, respect, freedom, dignity, education,
culture, leisure, and job training. The ECA recognizes children’s rights to a family (biological
or substitute), and contains a detailed set of provisions regarding alternatives to family care. It
also protects children against abuse and exploitation of all kinds. The ECA is a model document
for preserving the rights of children and adolescents, and it is consistent with the CRC. In the
same year the ECA was passed, Brazil signed and ratified the CRC.

Establishing Structures for Implementing the ECA and the CRC

The passage of the ECA and CRC marked the beginning of sustained action at different layers
of Brazilian society. Starting in 1990, federal, state, and local laws were passed to implement
the ECA, and existing laws amended to ensure they complied with the provisions of the ECA.
We will not attempt a comprehensive review of these actions; instead, we discuss a selection
to illustrate how Brazil moved from a country that routinely violated youngsters’ rights to one
that is striving to uphold them. In doing so, we highlight those that are most pertinent to
street-involved children and adolescents.
A year after passage of the ECA, Law 8.242 created the National Council for Children’s
and Adolescents’ Rights (Conselho Nacional dos Direitos da Criança e do Adolescente), known as
Conanda (Brasil, 1991). Conanda is a federal-level agency composed of 14 representatives from
various ministries and 14 representatives of non-governmental organizations operating at the
national level. Conanda is charged with (among other things) establishing national guidelines
for promoting children’s and adolescents’ rights; monitoring implementation of the ECA;
supporting state, municipal, and non-governmental agencies working with children and adoles-
cents; and conducting educational campaigns to inform Brazilian citizens about the provisions
of the ECA. One line of action taken by Conanda is sponsoring national conferences on the
rights of children and adolescents every two years. These conferences provide opportunities
for debate and construction of common ground regarding human rights issues.
At the state level, each of Brazil’s 26 states and the federal district was required to establish
a State Council for Children’s and Adolescent’s Rights (Conselho Estadual dos Direitos da Criança
e do Adolescente). State councils are charged with developing and monitoring policies and laws
affecting children and youth, and ensuring that they are consistent with federal law (including
the ECA). In addition, each municipality (the smallest administrative unit in Brazil, typically
equivalent to a city) was required to establish a Municipal Council for Children’s and
Adolescent’s Rights (Conselho Municipal dos Direitos da Criança e do Adolescente) and at least
one Guardianship Council (Conselho Tutelar). The Municipal Council is charged with moni-
toring government and community actions pertaining to children’s rights, and for register-
ing governmental and non-governmental agencies working with children and adolescents.

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The Guardianship Council, which consists of five elected community members, is an auton-
omous civil entity that responds to reports of right violations (e.g., allegations of abuse or neglect)
or requests for help (e.g., from parents or youth themselves). The role of the Guardianship Council
and its individual members is to identify ways of connecting children and adolescents to existing
services (e.g., child protection, shelter), and to advocate for their rights. Together, these
measures created a structure to defend and promote children’s and adolescents’ rights in Brazil.

Refining the ECA

The ECA represented a rupture with previous approaches based on the Minors’ Code,
substituting a comprehensive system of protection with defined rights and responsibilities. During
the last 25 years, a series of changes and alterations have been made to the ECA to clarify
articles (e.g., a law explicitly prohibiting physical punishment in schools), refine specific
provisions (e.g., setting a time limit for how long children could remain in institutional care),
and reaffirm basic rights (e.g., to health services). Through these refinements, the intentions
of the ECA have been clarified and mechanisms to attain its goals established. These alterations
have also allowed the ECA to remain relevant and respond to emerging needs. Again, we
review some of the modifications that are most applicable to street-involved youth.
In 2006, the National Plan on Promoting, Protecting, and Defending the Rights of
Children and Adolescents to Family and Community Life was launched (Brasil, 2006). The
plan was a partnership between Conanda and several other government agencies (the National
Council for Social Welfare, Department of Human Rights, Ministry of Social Development
and Fight Against Hunger). This plan represents a landmark in Brazilian public policy in that
it attempts to break with the culture of institutionalizing children and adolescents whose families
are perceived as “inadequate” and instead seeks to strengthen and preserve family and
community bonds as envisioned in the ECA (Brasil, 2006). Subsequently, the New Adoption
Law was aimed at improving the provisions of the ECA regarding children’s rights to live with
a family (Brasil, 2009a). One change was to update the term “parental rights” (pátrio poder) to
“family rights” (poder familiar) in recognition of new family configurations. The law also explicitly
recognized that children and adolescents may have close ties with extended (non-nuclear) family
members. In addition, the law emphasized that state intervention should be aimed at supporting
and strengthening the family’s ability to remain together, except in cases where a judicial
determination had been made for removal. The New Adoption Law defined the maximum
period during which children and adolescents should remain in institutional care (2 years, with
evaluations of their situation at 6 month intervals).
A number of additional laws and actions that are particularly relevant to street-involved
youth are worth highlighting as a way of illustrating the scope of action involved in pro-
tecting vulnerable youth. Several addressed the problem of missing youth. In 2002, the
National Network for Identifying and Locating Missing Children and Adolescents (Rede Nacional
de Identificação e Localização de Crianças e Adolescentes Desaparecidos—ReDESAP) was created.
In 2005, Law 11.259 mandated immediate investigation in cases of child or adolescent
disappearance, whereas previously a 24 hour waiting period was typical (Brasil, 2005) and in
2009 a law was passed establishing a central registry for missing youth (Brasil, 2009b), including
an official website (www.desaparecidos.gov.br/). This set of actions centralized information
about missing youth and created a forum for sharing information and statistics.
Under the ECA, youngsters who come in conflict with the law are entitled to special
provisions, with deprivation of liberty being acceptable only in specific circumstances. These

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policies are in stark contrast to past treatment of juvenile offenders, and many jurisdictions
have struggled to implement them. To resolve differences in how young offenders are treated,
the National System of Socio-Educational Services was created (Sinase; Sistema Nacional de
Atendimento Socioeducativo; Brasil, 2012). Sinase is under the auspices of the National Ministry
for Promoting Children’s and Adolescents’ Rights, and establishes a coherent set of principles,
rules, and criteria that regulate how juvenile offenders can be treated. It spans multiple
agencies, including justice, state and local governments, and ministries of education, health,
social services, work, culture, and sport. Because many street-involved youth find themselves
in conflict with the law, Sinase has the potential to have a profound effect on their lives.
It is also worth noting that national programs have transformed the lives of impoverished
youngsters living with their families, including programs to eliminate child labor, achieve
universal primary education, and eradicate hunger. Many of these programs involve direct
assistance (e.g., nutrition assistance) or conditional transfers (e.g., some programs provide family
assistance if children attend school, receive vaccinations, etc.; Gasparini & Lustig, 2011). In
the last 10 years, Brazil’s signature poverty reduction program, Bolsa Familia (family grant), has
reached nearly one quarter of the total population and is credited by the World Bank with
increased literacy rates, reductions in school dropout, improvements in health, and lower levels
of child malnutrition and infant mortality (Wetzel, 2013). These programs have also changed
the landscape of the streets in recent decades.
Taken as a whole, the laws and structures implemented during the last 25 years have gone
a long way to ensuring that the rights of street-involved children and adolescents are recognized
and protected in Brazil. It is evident, however, that the mere existence of a law on paper does
not guarantee that its provisions are fully implemented. In the next section, we discuss the
(perhaps inevitable) gap between rights and realities.

Rights vs. Realities: Challenges to Children’s Rights

This case study illustrates the challenges governments face when they take seriously the goal
of promoting the rights of children and adolescents. As we described in the previous section,
Brazil has undertaken a series of independent and coordinated actions across and between various
levels of government (local, state, regional, federal) to begin to reverse long-standing legacies
of neglect and abuse of the country’s most vulnerable citizens, including street-involved youth.
Although in many ways Brazil has done an exemplary job of establishing systems of protection
and articulating a coherent set of policies and laws designed to protect the rights of children
and adolescents, a number of factors continue to hamper those efforts.
One challenge is that changes in a country’s social and political climate may lead to setbacks
in efforts to promote young people’s rights. Indeed, as we wrote this chapter, politicians,
advocacy groups, and members of civil society were mobilizing to fight a proposed constitutional
amendment that would lower the age of criminal responsibility from 18 to 16 years for certain
violent crimes (Bill 171/1993). On March 31, 2015, in a session that was dubbed by a human
rights advocacy group as a potential “landmark setback for human rights,” the proposed
amendment was passed by the Constitution and Justice Commission in Brazil’s lower house
of Congress (Conectas Human Rights, 2015). In August 2015 the proposal passed the lower
house and proceeded to the Senate for consideration. If enacted, this amendment would
contravene both international and national laws regarding the rights of children and adolescents.
The amendment is widely regarded as directed toward impoverished youth and can be seen
as a modern incarnation of the dictatorship-era Minors’ Code. The introduction of this

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amendment vividly illustrates how shifts in the political landscape can disrupt decades of progress
towards ensuring the rights of disenfranchised young people.
In terms of structural factors affecting efforts to promote young people’s rights, Brazil has
long been characterized by marked economic and social disparities across regions that have
resulted in greater challenges to implementation of the ECA in some parts of the country.
These disparities are illustrated in a report from Brazil’s census bureau (IBGE, 2010). For example,
in 1991 one fifth (20.1 percent) of Brazilians over age 15 were classified as illiterate. This rate
had dropped to 9.6 percent in 2010, but illiteracy rates still varied markedly across regions,
from a low of 5.1 percent in the South to a high of 19.1 percent in the Northeast. In 2010,
two thirds of private residences in the nation (67.1 percent) were connected to a sewer or
septic system, but rates varied from 86.5 percent in the (mostly urban) Southeast to around
one third (32.8 percent) in the (mostly rural) Northern region. It is likely to be easier to
implement a comprehensive system of protection in a context where basic infrastructure is
established and the population is literate.
This issue is further compounded by the fact that the economic situation in Brazil has
fluctuated dramatically since the restoration of civilian rule. After experiencing an economic
slowdown during the “lost decade” of the 1980s and hyperinflation in the early 1990s, Brazil
went through a period of strong economic growth starting in the mid 1990s that occurred
concurrently with the implementation of far-reaching social programs (described in the
previous section). These two trends combined to lift millions of people out of poverty. As a
result, Brazil saw decreased income inequality between 1990 and 2010, with its Gini coefficient
declining from 60.4 to 52.7 (Mújica et al., 2014). A Gini coefficient of 0 represents absolute
equality in income distribution and 100 absolute inequality. Despite the decline, Brazil still
has higher levels of income inequality than most of the world’s countries; for comparison, Gini
coefficients are around 25 in Sweden and Norway, 33 in Canada, and 41 in the US and Israel
(World Bank, 2015). It is unlikely whether inequality will continue to fall given the recent
global economic slowdown, which is affecting Brazil’s economy. Since 2011, Brazil has
experienced an economic turndown that has led to the first increase in the number of people
living in extreme poverty since 2003 (Economist, 2014).
A final issue is that there has been a tendency to prioritize certain rights over others. Given
Brazil’s history of structural violence against youth, it is not surprising that considerable
attention has been devoted to dismantling or changing institutions identified as actively
infringing on children’s rights (e.g., widespread youth detention, ubiquitous violence against
youth, child labor). And because local and state governments are working on providing basic
infrastructure in many regions of the country (e.g., expanding access to health care, sanitation,
and other necessities), competing priorities often exist. It is noteworthy that no modifications
have been made to sections of the ECA focused on children’s rights to education, culture,
sport, and leisure (Article IV). This may suggest either that the structures foreseen under these
articles are already in place, or that they are perceived as less urgent. To achieve full
implementation of the ECA and CRC, however, attention must be paid to the full set of
rights to which young people are entitled—survival and development, protection, and
participation (Diers, 2013).

Conclusions
Children and adolescents growing up in street settings are a visible symbol of a society’s inability
to promote and protect its citizens’ fundamental human rights. These young people are not a

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modern phenomenon—our historical analysis illustrated the long-standing presence of

impoverished youth on city streets around the globe, as well as the diverse pathways that lead
children to the street. Unlike at previous points in history, however, street-involved children
and adolescents must now be viewed within a larger human rights framework. These youngsters
typically experience numerous violations of their basic rights, often from an early age. They
grow up without adequate adult care and support, lack basic necessities (e.g., food, a safe place
to live) and are excluded from services that would prepare them for full participation in society
(e.g., medical care, education, job training). Many youth also experience direct and indirect
violence perpetrated by individuals and agents of the state, such as physical abuse or unlawful
detention.
Despite the recognition that street-involved youth experience sustained human rights
violations, there is no international human rights treaty that specifically addresses their situation.
Instead, street-involved youth fall under the umbrella of the CRC and related international
(and national) instruments. Our analysis of international rights documents indicated that the
general focus on children’s rights in recent decades has benefited street-involved children and
adolescents. And although street-involved youth have not received focused attention in general
discussions of human rights, agencies within the UN have repeatedly affirmed that they are
entitled to the same rights guaranteed to all children and adolescents under international and
national treaties and policies, including the CRC and related instruments. In recent years there
has been increased notice of street-involved youth at the highest levels of the UN, raising the
hope that targeted action may soon follow. We believe that such action is warranted: given
the abundance of threats street-involved youth confront, explicit efforts are needed to address
their situation and create structures to ensure their rights are protected.
At the same time, individual countries do not need to wait for UN action to begin addressing
the situation of street-involved youth. Our case study of Brazil illustrates how one country
went about building an integrated system to protect and promote the rights of children and
adolescents, with many components directly addressing the situation of street-involved youth.
Brazil can be considered a transformative example of how a country can move away from
systematically denying young people their rights. After passing the ECA and the CRC, Brazil
engaged in sustained efforts at multiple levels of government to set up a holistic and integrated
system for promoting and protecting the rights of children and adolescents. At the same time,
Brazil took action to address what many have identified as the factor underlying the presence
of youth on the street—family fragility. For example, laws broadened the definition of family
to recognize multiple configurations and include non-nuclear kin, and emphasized that the
state should strive to keep families together wherever possible. We acknowledge that passing
laws and setting up commissions do not guarantee that human rights will be protected, but
they represent a necessary first step. In this respect, despite the challenges it continues to confront,
Brazil can serve as a model for action. Given gaps between rich and poor nations around the
globe, and disparities in wealth and opportunities within nations, children and adolescents are
likely to continue seeking their survival on the streets of the world’s cities. As nations work
to promote and protect the rights of street-involved youth, it will be important to do so from
a holistic and integrated perspective, avoiding piecemeal approaches that do not recognize the
underlying complexities of their situation or address multiple areas of rights. As our case study
illustrated, effective solutions are likely to require both international treaties and policy actions
at different levels of a society. National policies must be based on a firm understanding of the
multifaceted structural and historical inequalities that shape the phenomenon of street-involved
youth in a particular context. Therefore, policies and laws should be developed in consultation

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with various sectors of society, including governmental and non-governmental organizations,

as well as street-involved youth themselves. Ultimately, fundamental changes will be needed
to protect and promote the rights of street-involved children and adolescents around the globe.

Acknowledgment
Manuscript preparation was supported in part by a grant from the Jacobs Foundation
(to S. H. Koller and M. Raffaelli).

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 22
Children’s Education Rights
Global Perspectives
Laura Lundy, Karen Orr and Harry Shier

Introduction
Education is recognised both as a right itself and an important means for the realisation of
other human rights, ‘enhancing all rights and freedoms when it is guaranteed while jeopardizing
them all when it is violated’ (Tomaševski, 2003, p. 7). Although it is not a right that is exclusive
to children, it is enjoyed mainly by them and is crucial to their development and in many
instances their survival and safety. Although similar provisions were laid down in the 1966
International Covenant on Social Economic and Cultural Rights (‘CESCR’), the Convention
on the Rights of the Child (CRC; United Nations General Assembly, 1989), in articulating
bespoke rights for those under the age of 18, provided a fresh platform that built on agreed
global aspirations for education with a specific focus on children. What emerged was a unique
and extended articulation of the rights that children have in relation to their education in not
one but two lengthy Articles – Articles 28 and 29. These, along with a range of other provisions
in the CRC, combine to form a series of interrelated entitlements that cannot be captured
adequately by the singular term ‘the right to education’. In this chapter, ‘education rights’ has
been chosen in place of the ‘right to education’ in an attempt to be true to the complex and
multifaceted ways in which these provisions have evolved and been articulated in international
human rights law and in particular in the CRC.
The chapter examines and reflects on the implementation of children’s education rights
from a global perspective. It begins by locating children’s education rights within the CRC
and the wider international human rights framework before summarising the recognition that
has been given to the importance of rights in this area by the world’s governments, not only
within the United Nations (UN) system but also in regional human rights frameworks and
national laws and constitutions. This is followed by an assessment of global progress in
implementation of the CRC, drawing on international data and the concluding observations
of the UN Committee on the Rights of the Child (‘the Committee’). In light of the CRC’s
recognition of the importance of children’s right to be heard on matters that affect them, we
present the findings of a recent global study (Lundy, Orr, & Marshall, 2015) that sought the
views of children in 71 countries on the aspects of their lives, including their education, that

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require further investment to ensure the realisation of their rights. The chapter concludes with
an account of some of the approaches that have been adopted internationally to further secure
progress in implementation. An overall picture emerges of ‘universal’ rights that enjoy significant
global endorsement and visibility yet are characterised by diverse national practices and varying
levels of commitment, posing ongoing challenges for their realisation. The topic of children’s
education rights is also addressed in Chapter 18 of this volume.

Global Recognition
Support for human rights and education has a long history in the UN human rights treaty
system, being one of the few rights with a socio-economic character to make it into the Universal
Declaration on Human Rights and receiving an extensive articulation in Article 13 of CESCR
(Beiter, 2006). Adaptations of the latter have been included in the Convention on the
Elimination of Racial Discrimination (1965), Convention on the Elimination of Discrimin-
ation Against Women (CEDAW, 1979), and more recently the Convention on the Rights of
Migrant Workers (CRMW, 1990) and the Convention on the Rights of Persons with
Disabilities (CRPD, 2006). However, the most comprehensive articulation of education rights
is undoubtedly the one that applies exclusively to children in the CRC (Hammarberg, 1998;
Hodgson, 1996).
In fact, the drafters of the CRC found one article insufficient to capture all aspects of children’s
education rights, resulting in two different articles: Article 28 focuses primarily on issues of
access to education while Article 29 addresses its goals. This elaboration and extension of the
rights into two separate, dedicated articles of the CRC is novel and underlines the enhanced
significance of the provision to children, allowing for the inclusion of a number of new clauses.
Article 28, in addition to reiterating rights of access to primary, secondary, vocational and higher
education, includes new provisions requiring discipline to be administered with dignity and
for states to take measures to promote regular school attendance. Article 29 defines the aims
of education to include high quality education as well as tolerance, equality and respect for
human rights. Notably, it expands the aims of education in Article 13 of the CESCR to include
two entirely new themes: one on respect for identity and culture (29 [1][c]) and the other on
respect for the natural environment (29[1][e]).
The CRC has been drafted in a way that acknowledges the realities and particularities of
education in individual national contexts. So, although there is a requirement to implement
the rights progressively (that is, striving for continuous improvement), Article 28 in particular
contains several qualifications and limitations that reflect the actual rather than the ideal situation
in many of the signatory states. For example, only primary education has to be free, and States
are only obliged to ‘encourage’ secondary and vocational education and ‘take appropriate
measures’ that include the introduction of free education and offering financial assistance in
case of need. In spite of these somewhat muted aspirations, politically negotiated compromises
that reflect local realities in many countries, other provisions in the CRC have a distinctly
global feel. For example, Article 28(3) requires states to ‘promote and encourage international
cooperation in matters relating to education, in particular with a view to contributing to the
elimination of ignorance and illiteracy throughout the world and facilitating access to scientific
and technical knowledge and modern teaching methods’.
Moreover, while much of the text of Article 28 reads like a lowest common denominator
that falls short of the levels of provision many states make in relation to education, Article 29,
in contrast, includes a very broad and ambitious account of the goals of education, addressing

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many current national and transnational dilemmas. For example, Article 29(1) requires education
to be directed to ‘the national values of the country in which the child is living, the country
from which he or she may originate, and for civilizations different from his or her own’ as
well as the ‘preparation of the child for responsible life in a free society, in the spirit of
understanding, peace, tolerance, equality of sexes, and friendship among all peoples, ethnic,
national and religious groups and persons of indigenous origin’. Together these provisions
underscore the importance attributed to the role of public education in supporting key
international objectives such as encouraging respect for different cultures and tolerance of diversity
and the links between that and national and international peace and security.
Other parts of the CRC address education for certain groups of children (children with
disabilities, child workers and children in detention) and on certain topics (health education
and the use of illicit drugs). Moreover, the Committee has emphasised that students do not lose
their rights when they pass through the school gate (United Nations Committee on the Rights
of the Child, 2001). For instance, children should enjoy their civil rights to freedom of conscience
and privacy as well as protection from abuse, neglect and cruel, inhuman and degrading treatment,
including corporal punishment. Moreover, all of this must be provided without discrimination
and the child’s best interests should be a primary consideration. As such, the Committee has
emphasised the ‘need for education to be child-centered, child-friendly and empowering’ and
for educational processes to be based upon the very principles the CRC enunciates (United
Nations Committee on the Rights of the Child, 2001, para. 2). Central to this is respect for
the child’s own views about the matters affecting their education in compliance with Article
12 of the CRC (Lundy, 2007). In many respects, the most innovative contribution of the CRC
to children’s education rights could be argued to lie in the fact that they are located squarely
in a panoply of other dedicated rights for children, thus reinforcing implicit and explicit links
between access to education, the quality of education and the child’s treatment in education.
This is not simply due to the fact that children might be more likely to show up for and engage
with schooling that is respectful of their rights, but that school is many children’s first and most
enduring encounter with the state and a crucial opportunity for learning about respect for their
own rights and those of others including their parents and their peers (Lundy, 2005).
The CRC provides a globally agreed blueprint for education that emphasises its intrinsic
worth and importance for the child’s future as well as its wider contribution to society and
the world more generally. The unprecedented speed and scale of the CRC’s adoption by the
world’s governments is thus noteworthy (McGoldrick, 1991), particularly in relation to
education. While Articles 28 and 29 were much discussed and debated during the drafting
process, this was almost always in order to secure ways of extending their remit (hence the
split into two provisions). The US, the one UN member state that is infamous for its failure
to ratify the CRC, was actively involved in and did not disagree overtly with the education
provisions (Cohen, 2006). Moreover, specific reservations (country-specific limitations to all
or specific provisions in human rights treaties) to the education provisions are minimal. Apart
from the Holy See (which has observer status at the UN) stating that it interprets both Articles
28 and 29 in ‘a way which safeguards the primary and inalienable rights of parents’, other
reservations are very general (e.g. Kiribati, Malaysia) or recognise the challenges in providing
universal free primary education (e.g. Samoa reserves ‘the right to allocate resources to the
primary level sector of education in Western Samoa’ on the basis that schools in the area are
not in the control of the state).
Further indication of the significance and global recognition of the need for education rights
is the fact that the area has a dedicated UN Special Rapporteur (independent experts appointed

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by the Human Rights Council to examine specific human rights themes). The first Special
Rapporteur on the Right to Education, Katarina Tomaševski (1998–2004) gained a reputation
as a fierce champion of education rights, often in conflict with the UN bureaucracy she reported
to, as well as those governments she accused of violating education rights (Tomaševski, 2005).
She is known for her influential ‘4-As’ framework for education rights (education must
be Available, Accessible, Acceptable and Adaptable) (Tomaševski, 2004), and as the founder
of the International Right to Education Project (www.right-to-education.org). One of her
major concerns was the growing privatisation and ‘marketisation’ of education, an issue on
which one of her successors, Kishore Singh (2010–2016) continued to advocate strongly (Singh,
2014).
Education rights also feature in a range of other regional human rights instruments as well
as national constitutions. All of the regional human rights treaties refer to education, albeit in
ways that are tailored to the specific social and cultural context: the African Charter on the
Rights and Welfare of the Child includes within the aims of education, ‘the preservation and
strengthening of positive African morals, traditional values and cultures’ and ‘the preservation
of national independence and territorial integrity’ (Article 11); Article 13.2 of the Protocol of
San Salvador, an additional protocol to the American Convention on Human Rights,
supplements the areas covered by Article 13 of the CESCR with a statement that education
should enable everyone to ‘achieve a decent existence’; and the European Convention on
Human Rights gives parents a right to have their children educated in accordance with their
religious and philosophical provisions (Article 2 of the First Protocol). Given the high level of
global recognition, it is not surprising that many national constitutions also include specific
education rights and that this is on the increase: in a 2011 study of national constitutions,
Heymann, Raub and Cassola (2014) found that half of all constitutions introduced in the 1960s
guaranteed or aspired to a right to primary education, compared to two thirds of those passed
in the 1970s, three quarters in the 1980s, 95 per cent in the 1990s and 97 per cent in the
2000s. While the authors attribute this trend to Education for All and the Millennium
Development Goals (see below for more on these) rather than the CRC, the specific impact
of the CRC on some post-1990 constitutions such as the South African Final Constitution is
clear (Woodhouse, 1999).

Global Progress and Challenges

In spite of the long history and widespread endorsement of education rights, global data paint
a telling picture in relation to the ongoing challenges of implementation. In 2012, there were
58 million primary-school-aged children worldwide who were out of school (UNESCO,
2015b). Certain groups of children are particularly vulnerable to exclusion from education,
such as those living in poverty/less developed countries and girls, with the intersection of the
two proving to be even more problematic. For example, worldwide, the data highlight that
92 per cent of primary-school-aged boys and 90 per cent of primary-school-aged girls are enrolled
in school, compared to 83 per cent and 79 per cent respectively in the least developed countries
(UNICEF, 2014a). Additionally, on a global level, adolescents are nearly twice as likely to be
out of school compared to children who are primary-school-aged (UNESCO, 2015b).
The barriers to access education vary across country and context. For those living in poverty,
the cost of education is a major barrier, even though primary education is supposed to be free
(Dakar Framework, UNESCO, 2000). Establishing an accurate cost of educating a child across
countries is difficult, first because the level of school fees is inconsistently monitored across the

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globe (Global Partnership for Education, 2012). Additionally, it is important to consider not
only the direct costs of education (e.g. school fees, uniforms, resources etc.), but also the indirect
costs, such as loss of family income and the effect of the child’s absence from domestic duties.
Cultural practices, such as early marriage for girls, can also create barriers: UNICEF. (2014a)
reports that 11 per cent of girls are married before the age of 15. Also many children receive
their education in languages they do not speak or understand (Save the Children, 2009). Children
with disabilities also face significant barriers to the realisation of their rights throughout the
world. There are large discrepancies in terms of those with and without a disability reporting
primary school completion: 51 per cent of males with a disability compared to 61 per cent of
those without and 42 per cent of females with a disability compared to 53 per cent of those
without (World Health Survey, World Health Organization, 2011). Furthermore, these
problems are exacerbated by poverty, and the intersection of poverty and disability generates
further disadvantage (UNICEF, 2013a). Finally, the threat of violence and physical harm is
another barrier prohibiting young people from accessing their education rights. UNESCO
(2015b) suggests that 50 per cent of the world’s out-of-school children are from conflict-affected
societies. Furthermore, for many of the world’s children accessing education poses a real physical
threat, with schools being targets for attacks carried out for ideological, military, political and
religious motives (Global Coalition to Protect Education from Attack, 2014).
The lack of access to education, exacerbated by poverty, appears to be having a consequent
impact on educational attainment. For example, a review conducted by the World Health
Organization (2011) highlights that those with disability have lower educational attainment
and employment rates. Additionally, with regard to poverty, only 76 per cent of boys and 67
per cent of girls in the least developed countries were able to read, write and understand a
simple statement (on their everyday life), compared to 92 per cent and 87 per cent of boys
and girls worldwide (UNICEF, 2014a). Social disadvantage also affects educational attainment
in the developed countries belonging to the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and
Development (OECD), with children from disadvantaged backgrounds consistently under-
performing compared to their more affluent peers (Kerr & West, 2010).
While accessing education and overcoming the numerous barriers faced by the world’s
children is a clear concern and priority, so too is the safety and well-being of children while
in school. Research shows that millions of children face threats of violence, in the forms of
bullying, sexual harassment and corporal punishment, at school. For example, a report by Child
Helpline International (2013) shows that 18 per cent of the 126 million calls to the world’s
child helplines were about abuse and violence, almost a quarter of which were on the topic
of bullying. Additionally, 88 per cent were instances of school-related bullying, most of which
were perpetrated by the victim’s peers (62 per cent), with 21 per cent of bullying globally also
being at the hands of teachers. Sexual abuse and harassment, including by teachers, remains
rife for many children (UNICEF, 2014b) as does the use of corporal punishment. Figures
published by The Global Initiative to End All Corporal Punishment of Children (2015) indicate
that, although physical punishment in school is prohibited in the majority of the countries of
the world, there are still 73 states in which corporal punishment in education settings is not
fully prohibited, despite 22 of these having policies that state that such punishment should not
be enforced. And finally, with regard to well-being in school, the OECD (2012) average
percentage of children reporting being happy in school is 80 per cent. Korea ranks the lowest,
at 60 per cent (OECD, 2012), despite being near the top of global school rankings in terms
of performance on international achievement tests (Singapore in first position, followed by
Hong Kong-China, then Korea) (Hanushek & Woessmann, 2015).

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A final challenge in the implementation of education rights in many global contexts is the
need to reconcile parents’ rights and wishes with the rights of the child in the context of the
education on offer at state schools. With more global migration resulting in societies that are
increasingly diverse, some parents find that elements of the education on offer in state schools
(such as the curriculum, disciplinary rules or even the school-leaving age) will conflict with
their own deeply held convictions or beliefs (Evans, 2008). Objections vary considerably
with the social and political context: in education systems that are secular, religious parents
may want a curriculum and/or rules (the teaching of evolution and dress codes are recurring
sites of conflict) that respect their faith. Where state education follows a particular religious
tradition, parents who have no religion or are of a different or more fundamental version of
religion may request exemptions and adaptations (Craig, 2003; Niens, Mawhinney, Richardson
& Chiba, 2013; Perry-Hazan, 2014). Other parents may reject the state system altogether and
want their child to be educated at home or in a private faith-based ethos, a response that requires
the state to determine the level of monitoring and intervention appropriate to ensure the child’s
rights (Monk, 2009). In each case there is a tension between the right to education which
places emphasis on the value of equality of opportunity (ensuring that children are not
disadvantaged vis-á-vis their peers) and the parents’ and child’s right to respect for culture which
emphasises plurality (the protection of minority identities and avoidance of assimilation)
(Cullen, 1993). States that have ratified the CRC face the challenge of reconciling the potential
conflicts that arise in ways that respect the child’s rights, including their right to have their
views given due weight on the issue (Lundy, 2005).

The Committee on the Rights of the Child and Education Rights

Insight into the state of implementation of the CRC globally can be gleaned from the ongoing
commentary of the UN Committee on the Rights of the Child in its concluding observations
on the progress of states parties. For education, the Committee asks for relevant and updated
information on the:

Laws, policies and their implementation, quality standards, financial and human resources,
and any other measures to ensure the full enjoyment of the respective rights from early
childhood to tertiary and vocational education and training, in particular by children in
disadvantaged and vulnerable situations.
(United Nations Committee on the Rights of the Child, 2015, para. 8)

Specific issues to be addressed by the states parties are: the right to education, including vocational
training and guidance (Article 28); the aims of education (Article 29) with reference also to
quality of education; the cultural rights of children belonging to indigenous and minority groups
(Article 30); and education on human rights and civic education. Given that states report
to a common set of reporting guidelines and the Committee reports in a common format, all
of which is guided by the standards in the CRC itself, it is not surprising that there is a set of
recurring themes in the reports, including most commonly: access to education; children with
disabilities; minority rights issues; and protection from abuse at school (Lundy, 2012).
While the themes that emerge during periodic reporting are common, the reality of the
experience underpinning the identified breaches is often markedly different across regions of
the world. Recent Concluding Observations from one country in each of the five recognised

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regions of the UN are summarised below to illustrate the varied challenges to the realisation
of children’s education rights that emerge in varied geographical, social and political contexts:

• Asia Pacific (Indonesia) – Education excludes children who do not have a birth certificate,
refugee children and children of migrant workers; a significant number of children stop
going to school owing to high education fees or other costs such as books and uniforms;
pregnant girls are expelled from schools or discouraged from continuing; a high occurrence
of violence at school, including on the part of the teaching personnel; a large number of
teachers do not have the minimum qualifications and teachers often do not go to work.
• Eastern Europe (Croatia) – Roma children continue to be segregated in school; lack of
systematic human rights education; insufficient support for children outside the educational
and vocational training system; need for pluralism in the design of educational programs,
with a view to encouraging child-centred learning and the active participation of children.
• Latin America and Caribbean (Venezuela) – The persistent challenges for children from
rural areas, indigenous and afro-descendant children; high incidence of adolescent mothers
not attending school; the military approach that permeates the educational programs of
regular schools; administrative obstacles to the inclusion of refugee and asylum-seeking
children in the educational system.
• Africa (Congo) – School fees and charges; restricted access to education for indigenous
and poor children, girls and children with disabilities; the quality of education is low, primary
school dropout rates are high; vocational training is lacking; schools for indigenous
children are dependent on external funding, are unsustainable in the long run; there are
disparities in terms of access, affecting in particular children in remote and poor areas, and
reflected in shortages of teachers and the low level of teachers’ skills and knowledge, as
well as in poor facilities.
• Western Europe (Germany) – School system is divided into lower, intermediate and
academic track schools. Choice has to be made at a very early age and it may be difficult
to change tracks later; children from ethnic-minority backgrounds have a significantly
weaker record of school achievement.

Cutting across the diverse experiences of the world’s children and the challenges to the realisation
of their rights are common themes of inequality and exclusion, often exacerbated for
marginalised groups such as ethnic minorities, children with disabilities and those experiencing
poverty. At a time of global financial crisis, these issues are even more pertinent as education
is an area that inevitably requires public expenditure for the full realisation of rights. In the
next section, we summarise the results of a recent study that sought the views of children across
the world on the use of public expenditure for the realisation of their rights, including their
education rights.

Children’s Views on the Realisation of Their Right to Education

Tomaševski (2001) observed that, ‘what happens in schools is seldom examined through the
human rights lens, the most important reason being that the notion of rights in education is
new. Evidence of abuses of education and in education is not systematically collected’ (p. 43).
Rarer still are studies that look at the issue of children’s rights and education from the perspective
of children themselves. Key exceptions are the national children’s reports to the Committee
on the Rights of the Child many of which raise issues related to education and schooling

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(Simeunovic Frick, 2011). A recent study (Lundy, Orr & Marshall, 2015) of over 2,500 children
from 71 different countries (categorised regionally, according to the United Nations Regional
Groups of Member States1), offered insight into the views of children from across the globe
on the areas of their lives that they considered required additional funding and resources in
order for children’s rights in their country to be fully realised. This study, which involved
face-to-face workshops/focus groups and an online questionnaire, revealed that for many children
(although not all) education is a priority. Among a selection of key areas offered in the online
questionnaire, 56 per cent of children chose education as one of the rights on which their
government is not spending enough. Moreover, when offered free space to highlight one area
of particular concern, 25 per cent identified educational matters. However, it is important to
recognise some regional variations that emerged. For children in some regions (Eastern Europe
and Latin America and the Caribbean) education was among their top priorities, but for others
it was not; for example, the priority for Asia-Pacific was play in safe places. With regard to
those who did select education as an area requiring greater spend, explanations offered involved
recognition of education as an investment in society and the role of education in facilitating
the realisation of other rights.

I think education is everything. Most of the children don’t know which rights they have.
(Girl, aged 16–17 years, Western Europe and others, questionnaire)

If you are not educated you will not know that you have the right to health care.
(Africa, focus group)

Education comes before Protection because if you are educated you will be informed on
how to protect yourself.
(Asia-Pacific, focus group)

Educated people have knowledge such that any violations of their rights they would
stand up.
(Girl, 16–17 years, Africa, questionnaire)

For many children in the study, the biggest challenge was the cost of education, in part
exacerbated by privatisation. Challenges included access and attendance fees, and the prohibitive
expense of resources such as books, uniforms and transport:

There is a big number of children whose parents fail to get means to take them to school
and hence drop out (of ) school.
(Latin American and Caribbean, focus group)

Just because I can’t afford a lot of money for school fees that means I’m not getting the
same education as someone else who’s got thousands which is not exactly fair.
(Africa, focus group)

There is a high school dropout especially among girls due to lack of school fees.
(Girl, 10–12 years, Africa, questionnaire)

Because books are expensive and some families can’t afford it.
(Male, 13–15 years, Eastern Europe, questionnaire)

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The challenges faced by working children and the impact of working on their education
was also a common theme:

Since it’s the culture that children should look after the cattle instead of going to school,
they also urge government to look into how best they can address this to parents and the
community because they do not want to violate their culture.
(Africa, focus group)

I mostly come to school very late or miss class when my mother asked me to go with her
to sell beans to the market. When I tell her about missing class or going to school late,
she responds that this is where we get everything that helps you to be in class . . . your
pen, your book and everything you use at school, if you don’t support me, you will drop
out of school.
(Africa, focus group)

In some areas, school facilities were unacceptable, with physical danger, health hazards and
poor sanitation presenting risks to children’s safety.

Many girl children drop out of school because of lack of toilets and running water facilities
in toilets in schools. Every school should have adequate number of toilets with running
water.
(Asia-Pacific, focus group)

Because our school walls are damaged.

(Girl, 13–15 years, Eastern Europe, questionnaire)

There is a big difference of school equipment among schools. For instance, sometimes
heaters are malfunctioning. Please expand education budget!
(Asia-Pacific, focus group)

Some suggested investment in training more teachers to remedy the short supply. Many
children voiced concern about how they were treated by teachers and their capacity for
upholding respect for and the dignity of the child.

Teachers should earn a good salary. They should teach and treat us with love. They should
not scold me for small insignificant things (they should encourage me to be in school).
(Latin America and Caribbean, focus group)

Others felt that more money should be dedicated to increasing teachers’ salaries, in order to
encourage more people to enter the profession and increase the motivation of those already
in the profession.
The research highlights the challenges faced by children across the globe in their attempts
to enjoy their education rights to the fullest, represented not only by global statistics, but also
from the perspectives of children themselves. What is apparent throughout is the high value
children place on education not just for their own good but for the societies in which they
live; their specific insights into their own diverse realities and sense of what needs to change

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for them to enjoy their rights to the full; and their willingness and capacity to be involved in
the decisions that impact on their lives and futures:

We are our first defence; we have the right to be heard. If adults listen to us their planning
will become more realistic and achievable.
(Asia-Pacific, focus group)

Global Initiatives
The UN has developed a number of international activities that use mechanisms other than
the treaty bodies to further the realisation of education rights for the world’s children. For
example, in 2012 UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon launched a Global Initiative on
Education (‘Education First’), and appointed former United Kingdom Prime Minister Gordon
Brown as his Special Envoy for Global Education. The initiative’s three basic priorities are:
(1) Put every child in school; (2) Improve the quality of learning; and (3) Foster global citizenship
(United Nations, 2012). Another well-established initiative is ‘Education for All’ (EFA), an
ongoing global process led by UNESCO in partnership with other UN agencies, which was
launched in 1990 with a ‘World Declaration on Education for All’ (UNESCO 1990), followed
by an international ‘Framework for Action’ in 2000 (UNESCO 2000). Annual Education for
All Global Monitoring Reports provide data that are intended to inform and motivate
stakeholders in pursuit of these goals (UNESCO, 2015d; see also previous UNESCO reports
each year from 2002).
As human-rights-based approaches gained influence in international cooperation and
development in the 2000s (United Nations, 2003; UNDP, 2006), concern was expressed that
the EFA process was taking the global education campaign away from its human rights base
and regressing to needs-based thinking (Beiter, 2006; Tomaševski, 2001). To address these
concerns, UNESCO and UNICEF produced a new framework document entitled ‘A Human
Rights-Based Approach to Education For All’ (Lansdown et al., 2007) based on three key
education rights: (1) The right of access to education; (2) The right to quality education; and
(3) The right to respect in the learning environment. More recently, a new Declaration was
agreed, and draft Framework for Action proposed, at Incheon, South Korea, in May 2015,
both of which express the UN agencies’ and participating states’ shared commitment to move
towards ‘inclusive and equitable quality education and lifelong learning for all’ by 2030
(UNESCO, 2015a, 2015c).
In a separate development, eight Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) were agreed
upon at the UN Millennium Summit in 2000, where all UN member states agreed to work
towards achieving them by 2015. These goals cover various aspects of human development
besides education, but the most relevant to this chapter are Goal 2: ‘Achieve universal primary
education by 2015’, and Goal 3: ‘Promote gender equality and empower women’ (Hulme,
2009; Jones, 2008). As the MDGs expired at the end of 2015, the UN launched a new process
to develop ‘Sustainable Development Goals’ (SDGs), agreed by the world’s governments as
new targets for 2030. Goal 4 of the SDGs is to ‘Ensure inclusive and equitable quality education
and promote lifelong learning opportunities for all’. Since the EFA goals and MDGs/SDGs
are often no more than restatements of legal obligations the same governments have already
acquired when they ratified the CESCR and CRC, and a monitoring mechanism is already
in operation, the question arises of why these additional processes are needed. Colclough (2005)
points out that the EFA goals and MDGs do not represent legal obligations on governments

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like the provisions of human rights treaties, but are expressions of political will and commitment.
States that have not successfully met their obligations, instead of being named and shamed as
rights violators, can be recognised as, and supported in, working on an agreed plan to achieve
firm targets by fixed dates. The legal and political processes are thus intended to be comple-
mentary and mutually supportive.
Besides these global education initiatives undertaken by the United Nations and its agencies,
many other initiatives have been taken by governments (national and local), NGOs and
partnerships between the two. Some are global in scope, others regional or national, and a
few, though operating at local level, have achieved wider impact through effective dissemin-
ation. Of the many groups and organisations promoting the right to education, two with high
global profiles are the Johannesburg-based Global Campaign for Education,2 which focuses on
the right of all to free, quality public education; and the London-based Right to Education
Project,3 concerned with promoting mobilisation and accountability. The latter project, as part
of the drive for accountability, has encouraged the monitoring of education rights, and
developed a comprehensive set of education rights indicators to enable this (Right to Education
Project, 2013), as traditional education indicators based on development targets are seen as
inadequate to monitor the realisation or violation of human rights (Beeckman, 2004; de Beco,
2013). There are also a number of important regional initiatives including CLADE in Latin
America;4 ANCEFA in Africa;5 and ActionAid’s ‘Promoting Rights in Schools’ programme,
implemented widely in Africa and Asia (ActionAid, 2011).
Considering the promotion of Human Rights Education (HRE), it is worth noting that,
as with education rights generally, this has been the subject of various UN global initiatives,
including the UN Decade for HRE (1995–2004), the World Programme for HRE
(2005–ongoing), and the UN Declaration on Human Rights Education and Training (United
Nations, 2011; Gerber, 2011). Gerber (2013) has provided a detailed account and critique of
this process and suggests that the UN sees HRE as a tool to prevent human rights abuses. She
concludes, however that, ‘the UN’s attempts to use prophylactic measures to prevent human
rights violations have not been as successful as the medical profession’s use of prophylactics to
combat diseases’ (Gerber, 2013, p. 2).
Many countries have distinctive national HRE initiatives; more than can be listed here, but
the following are interesting examples: the Cambodian Child Rights Foundation’s ‘Child Rights
Mainstreaming’ model (Child Rights Foundation, 2004); the Indian Institute of Human
Right’s Education’s ‘Schooling for Justice and Rights’ model (People’s Watch, 2008);
Colombia’s ‘Education for the Exercise of Human Rights’ programme (Ministerio de Educación
Nacional, 2010); and the UK Ministry of Justice’s ‘Right Here Right Now’ initiative (Bowring
2012; Hunter & Evans, 2010). Despite such initiatives, a recent UNICEF-sponsored
investigation of Children’s Rights Education in 26 more developed countries found that in
only 11 of them did children have a legal entitlement to learn about their rights as part of the
school curriculum, and in many countries they were not taught about the universal human
rights they held under the CRC, but were led to believe that rights were a kind of reward
for fulfilling certain responsibilities ( Jerome, Emerson, Lundy & Orr, 2015, p. 8).
Finally there are ‘whole school approaches’ to human rights. There is no established
definition of what constitutes a whole-school approach, but a central idea is that: ‘Schools
“practise what they teach” by modelling the . . . knowledge and values taught in the formal
curriculum in actions in their institutional, social, community and evaluative practices’
(Shallcross, Loubser, Le Roux, O’Donoghue & Lupele 2006, p. 286). Implementation of this

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concept often requires radical transformation of the school, covering everything from curriculum
and pedagogy to school ethos, governance and environment (physical as well as socio-cultural),
and above all the nature of human relationships among and between the actors involved: students,
teachers, non-teaching staff, managers, governors and parents. Other core elements have been
identified as strong leadership buy-in, and engagement of all the actors who make up the ‘school
community’ (Henderson & Tilbury, 2004; Shallcross et al., 2006).
Though there are many innovative and inspiring education rights projects to be found around
the world, there are only a few that meet these criteria. One of the best known is the UNICEF
UK ‘Rights-Respecting School Award’ (UNICEF UK, 2010, 2013b). Another influential
scheme, also in the UK, is Hampshire County Council’s ‘Rights, Respect and Responsi-
bility’ (RRR) programme (Covell & Howe 2008; Hampshire County Council, 2009). Though
operating in just one English County, its influence comes from being extensively reported
and cited in the academic literature (it is also unique in being managed and implemented by
local government, whereas all the others are promoted and run by NGOs). Published
independent evaluations of both programmes (Sebba & Robinson, 2010; Covell and Howe,
2008) are overall very positive, having found improvements in pupils’ levels of engagement,
behaviour, participation, well-being, belonging, relationships, enjoyment of school, and under-
standing of rights and responsibilities, as well as teacher related benefits, such as increasing their
sense of achievement and reducing risk of burnout. However, Trivers and Starkey (2012) suggest
that some of the schools involved were in fact watering down human rights principles, and
teaching children to understand rights as privileges dependent on good behaviour. Children
were learning to be ‘responsible’ in the sense of being conformist, but not how to organise
and challenge rights violations; thus human rights talk was being used to engender conformity
rather than emancipation. In a similar vein, Howe and Covell (2010) critiqued their own earlier
work on RRR, showing how deficient implementation had in some cases led to ‘mis-educating
children about their rights’ (Howe & Covell, 2010, p. 91). Thus, while these whole-school
approaches should be the way forward for children’s rights education, this evidence suggests
there is still some way to go to overcome the barriers that hinder their effective delivery.

Conclusions
Egregious breaches of children’s education rights have come to the fore in recent times. The
shooting of Malala Yousafzai in Pakistan, the abduction of over 270 girls from their school in
Nigeria by Boko Haram and the bombing of a UNICEF school in Palestine are among the
latest events that have received significant global attention and condemnation. Enabling
children to attend schools where they are safe to learn continues to be a critical step in the
realisation of children’s education rights. However, the CRC also recognises that getting children
to school does not in itself achieve the realisation of their rights to, in and through education
and provides an international legal framework that guides ‘both the end and the means of
education’ (Tomaševski, 2001, p. 3).
What is apparent from the international data, the work of the Committee on the Rights
of the Child, and the recent study of children’s views discussed here is that there is no country
in which all children receive acceptable education in safety and security, with equal access to
good quality teaching and learning and in an atmosphere that respects their identity, culture
and values. Moreover, there are some groups of children (e.g., those in detention, children
with disabilities and many indigenous children) who experience fundamental and persistent

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disadvantage, and some contexts (such as conflict, forced migration and extreme poverty) that
pose significant challenges for implementation. Eleanor Roosevelt, one of the architects of the
UDHR, asked:

Where, after all, do universal human rights begin? In small places, close to home—so close
and so small that they cannot be seen on any maps of the world. Yet they are the world
of the individual person; the neighborhood he lives in; the school or college he attends;
the factory, farm, or office where he works. Such are the places where every man, woman,
and child seeks equal justice, equal opportunity, equal dignity without discrimination. Unless
these rights have meaning there, they have little meaning anywhere.
(cited in Black, 2010)

The challenges of implementation of universal rights are as diverse as the ‘small places’ in
which children live their lives and receive an education. In a context where resources are scarce,
the main issues may be ensuring that children receive a minimum quality of basic education
in safe buildings with properly trained teachers (Wilson, 2004a). In countries with significant
resources, the quality of education for many may be undermined by discrimination and/or
threats to children’s safety in the form of bullying (Greene, 2006). The curricula that children
follow must be relevant to and reflect their life circumstances: the emphasis on tackling
obesity in health education in affluent contexts is irrelevant to children who walk miles to
school and may be too hungry to learn when they arrive. In a similar vein, delivering the aims
of education in a context that is relatively homogeneous is quite different from situations where
there is a disadvantaged minority or children from many different cultures and languages. In
particular potential conflicts between parents’ values and/or beliefs and what is offered in state
schools can vary considerably from region to region and often religion to religion (Lundy,
2005; Wilson, 2004b).
The fact that global consensus was achieved on education rights in the CRC at all is notable
given the scale of the challenge and the diversity of the nations and cultures that embraced it.
It is arguable that, in its formulation, ambition (in Article 28) and precision (in Article 29)
were sacrificed for the sake of global consensus: Article 28 guarantees access to limited
educational opportunities while Article 29 defines the aims of education in the broadest of
terms. While states are afforded considerable discretion as to how they respond to implementing
education rights in practice, the existence of a worldwide accord on the need for and content
of children’s rights and education is an achievement in and of itself, irrespective of patchy,
unsatisfactory or reluctant implementation. Much progress has been made in education through
rights-based advocacy and monitoring, and it appears that there continues to be a high degree
of support for education rights not just among NGOs but also the world’s governments. The
challenges in this area mirror those in other areas of human rights, and the proposed solutions
remain the same. Education rights will only be realised in situations where states parties embrace
them in law and policy and allocate sufficient expenditure; where they are understood and
accepted by educationalists; and where children are aware of their rights and in a position to
claim their rights when they are ignored, and seek redress when they are breached. Few countries,
if any, can claim to be in this position. While the starting points and the route to be travelled
vary in different national contexts, the CRC provides a consistent and clear destination, the
point at which all children are able to develop to their fullest potential through education that
is respectful of their rights.

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Notes
1 www.un.org/depts/DGACM/RegionalGroups.shtml.
2 www.campaignforeducation.org.
3 www.right-to-education.org/.
4 www.campanaderechoeducacion.org.
5 www.ancefa.org.

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 23
Governance and Children’s Rights
in Africa and Latin America
National and Transnational Constraints
Richard Maclure

Introduction
To examine the relation between governance and children’s rights across two continental regions
as diverse as sub-Saharan Africa and Latin America is to step into a minefield of generalized
assertions that can be easily confounded by numerous exceptions. Both regions are
extraordinarily diverse. Sub-Saharan Africa, which for purposes of brevity I henceforth refer to
as Africa, consists of 52 nation states and hundreds of different ethnic groups, many with their
own languages or dialects and unique cultural distinctiveness (United Nations Statistics Division,
2013). The total population of Africa is estimated at over 949 million, of whom approximately
43 percent (408 million) are under the age of 15 years (Population Reference Bureau, 2015,
p. 11). In Latin America (excluding the Caribbean) there are 21 countries and some 587 million
people who are differentiated by a variety of ancestries, cultural attachments, languages, and
socio-economic backgrounds. Twenty-seven percent (157 million) of Latin America’s populace
is below the age of 15 (Population Reference Bureau, 2015, pp. 12–13). In view of these
extensive demographic differences, and the corresponding diversity of national histories and
political systems, a discussion of the governance of children’s rights across these two large
continents risks generating broad claims that gloss over the many cultural, political, and legal
particularities of children’s rights that prevail from one country to another, as well as within
each country. And yet, in light of a shared legacy of colonialism and post-colonial political and
economic volatility, it is worthwhile to consider the issue of governance broadly as it relates to
the status of children’s rights across both continents. In this chapter, therefore, I examine the
role of African and Latin American governments in following through on their obligations as
articulated in the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC; United Nations General
Assembly, 1989). Overall, despite constitutional changes and child rights legislation that have
been undertaken in most countries, a combination of internal constraints and external pressures
has limited the effectiveness of governments in promoting and protecting children’s rights. This
has led to an expanding role of civil society organizations (CSOs) in maintaining support for

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the welfare and the rights of children. As I will conclude, CSO engagement has stimulated the
emergence of a transnational field of child rights advocacy that is now essential if children’s rights
are to remain an issue of state governance throughout Africa and Latin America.

States Parties and the CRC: Limited Progress

Over the last 30 years, the discourse of children’s rights has gained considerable international
attention. Although the ideals underlying children’s rights were propounded early in the
twentieth century and were increasingly acknowledged in succeeding decades through the
promulgation of a number of international declarations,1 the passage of the CRC in 1989 signaled
a momentous watershed for children’s rights. The most widely and quickly ratified of
international human rights treaties, the CRC has become the major standard setting protocol
for the treatment of children. As stipulated in its 54 articles, the role of governments is central
to the implementation of children’s rights. In the language of the CRC, “States Parties shall
undertake all appropriate legislative, administrative, and other measures for the implementation
of the rights recognized in the present Convention” (Article 4). To be sure, as also indicated
in the CRC, governments can expect assistance from “specialized agencies” and “other
competent bodies” (Article 45), notably CSOs and international bilateral and multilateral aid
organizations. Nevertheless, the language of the CRC is clear: for signatory states, children’s
rights constitute a priority of governance.
Accordingly, African and Latin American governments have undertaken to uphold children’s
rights through the passage of legislation and related social policies. On the surface such
measures would suggest that states are committed to propagating and reinforcing children’s
rights by law and by the extension of multiple social services for children. In addition, as the
central discourse of the CRC represents a departure from many longstanding attitudes and
practices related to children, the introduction of child rights laws and policies also presupposes
that national governments have assumed a role as catalysts of progressive social change. Indeed,
by formally accepting an extensive set of ethical, legal, and social responsibilities designed to
foster fundamental changes in the treatment of children in all spheres of public and private life,
governments are deemed to be officially responsible for a long-term process of social
transformation. This, however, has proven to be a major stumbling block, largely because the
notion of states parties as key agents of social change, as insinuated in the language of the CRC,
is far from corresponding with the inherent nature of state governance in Africa and Latin
America.
In the decade following the ratification of the CRC and the subsequent creation of
transnational modalities of monitoring and reporting, the flaws of governance with regard to
children’s rights were not especially evident. Most national governments undertook measures
to bring legislation into line with the CRC (UNICEF, 2014c). In Brazil, for example, key
precepts of the CRC have been incorporated into law, and the constitution provides for the
protection of the rights of all children. Youth courts have likewise been established with the
purpose of emphasizing rehabilitation over prolonged incarceration (McLennan, Rigato, &
Bordin, 2011), and several municipal governments have created children’s parliaments that are
mandated to deliberate on and influence policy issues considered to be relevant to children
(Cabannes, 2005). In Mexico the constitution stipulates the responsibility of the central
government to promote respect for the dignity of all children and to provide fully for their
health, education, and safety. This has been reinforced though the enactment of several laws

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to ensure implementation of these principles, of which the Law on the Protection of the Rights
of Children and Adolescents is considered most significant (Guerra, 2007). In Nicaragua, besides
proclaiming the articles of the CRC as a constitutional mandate, the government has passed
legislation to protect specific children’s rights—laws guaranteeing children’s right to education
and comprehensive health care, amendments to the Penal Code protecting children, and the
Labour Code that specifies the minimum working age and protection against the exploitation
of young workers (Gutiérrez, 2007). In Argentina, the National Law for the Integral Protection
of Children and Adolescents stipulates protections from abuse and exploitation, and has
established directions for juvenile justice reforms that emphasize education, rehabilitation, and
social reintegration of young offenders (Viego & Manciavillano, 2014). These exemplify the
various forms of child rights legislation that most other Latin American governments have
likewise undertaken (O’Boyle, 2014; Cabannes, 2005; Maurás, 2011; UNICEF, 2014a).
In sub-Saharan Africa, soon after ratification of the CRC, the Organization of African States
adopted the African Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child (ACRWC, 1990). Entered
into force in 1999, the Charter has been endorsed by 41 countries as the basis of national
legislation concerning the treatment and welfare of children. Retaining the overall thrust of
the CRC with regard to child protection and the non-discriminatory provision of social services
for children, the ACRWC also highlights specific issues that are deemed to have unique regional
and cultural implications. These include the roles and responsibilities of the family, special
arrangements for children displaced by conflict, and the protection of girls against harmful
practices such as genital mutilation (ACRWC, 1990). In accordance with both the CRC and
the ACRWC, most African governments have consolidated the key principles of these charters
into law. The government of Nigeria, for example, approved the national Child Rights Act
in 2003. Other countries in West Africa, notably Burkina Faso, Ghana, Senegal, and Gambia,
have passed constitutional affirmations of children’s rights. In Eastern and Southern Africa,
Kenya’s Children’s Act received assent in 2001, Tanzania’s Law of the Child was passed in
2009, and South Africa’s Children’s Act was approved in 2005 (Achilihu, 2010).
Alongside these constitutional and legislative actions, most governments in Africa and Latin
America have announced social policies and allocated resources for improvements in some key
aspects of children’s welfare. This has been particularly evident in the expansion of national
systems of education. In line with the world-wide Education for All (EFA) campaign first
annunciated in the Jomtien Declaration of 1990 and subsequently in the Dakar Declaration of
2000, African governments have allocated an average of 18.4 percent of annual public
expenditures for education, higher than any other continental region in the world (UNESCO,
2015a, p. 242). By 2012 the number of African children enrolled in primary schools was 75
percent higher than in 1999 and, although female enrolments have lagged behind male
enrolments in almost every country, the overall gender parity gap in primary school access has
been halved across the continent in the last 15 years (UNESCO, 2015c, pp. 3–6). In Latin
America virtually all children now have access to primary school, and in more than half the
countries universal or near universal lower secondary school enrolment has been achieved
(UNESCO, 2015b). Similarly, while access to health care varies from one country to another,
as well as within countries, overall maternal and child health services throughout both
continents have steadily increased. The effect has been across-the-board reductions in child
mortality. Between 1990 and 2012 under-5 mortality rates for every 1,000 live births in Africa
and Latin America fell from 170 to 98 and from 54 to 19 respectively (UNICEF, 2014c,
p. 23). These trends are indicative of a range of interventions that have included comprehensive

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immunization and access to oral rehydration therapy, and more availability of antibiotics, potable
water, and community sanitation (UNICEF, 2014c, p. 29).
Yet despite these improvements in children’s access to basic education and health care, in
many other respects progress towards the realization of children’s rights has foundered. Socio-
economic stratification and inequitable distribution of resources in both continents have long
undermined the quality of education in many regions. In Africa schools located in low-income
and rural communities often lack adequate infrastructure and teaching materials, and are
frequently staffed by under-trained and poorly paid teachers (UNESCO, 2015c). Despite
increasing female enrolment rates, gender discrimination in schools is commonplace (Leach &
Mitchell, 2006; World Bank, 2015) and girls from the poorest families are far more likely to
not attend school at all, or to withdraw well before completing primary school (UNESCO,
2015c). Similar educational disparities exist in Latin America where, despite high initial school
enrolment rates, many impoverished children (a disproportionate number of whom are
indigenous or of African descent) drop out before completing the primary school cycle
(UNESCO, 2015b). Despite perennial discussions concerning education as a basis for social
mobility and poverty reduction, governments in Africa and Latin America have demonstrated
little capacity or incentive to alter the detrimental effect that widespread poverty has had on
the quality and quantity of education (Bonal, 2007; Colclough, 2012; Tikly, 2004). In the
realm of basic health care, while disparities are not as overt, under-resourced clinics and higher
incidents of child illness and mortality tend to correspond with high levels of poverty across
both continents (UNICEF, 2014c; United Nations, 2015, p. 53).
Even more grievous is the general paucity of services for children’s safety and protection.
Despite laws forbidding assaults on children, restraints on the physical and psychological abuse
of children are seldom in place or even invoked (Pinheiro, 2006), and corporal punishment is
widely regarded as a legitimate means of maintaining discipline in schools and homes (Harber,
2004; UNICEF, 2014c). As children grow older the prospect of violence rarely diminishes,
particularly among girls for whom the risk of sexual assault is ever-present. In the view of
many critics, commonplace violence against girls highlights the gendered nature of violence
and the impunity of patriarchal power structures throughout Africa and Latin America (Dunne,
Humphreys, & Leach, 2006; French & Bliss, 2007). Equally arduous have been the adversities
of conflict and mass migration across national borders that have exacerbated children’s lack of
protection and left many with no official identification and consequently prospects of becoming
stateless non-citizens (UNICEF, 2013).
In light of these conditions, it is evident that beyond the formulation of child rights legislation
and the expansion of social services for children, mainly in education and health, states parties
in Africa and Latin America have generally fallen far short of “guaranteeing and promoting
the rights set forth” in the CRC (Article 18). This raises questions about national governance
and the factors that undermine the obligations of states to fulfill their formal commitments as
guarantors of children’s rights within their own territorial boundaries. It also necessitates
consideration of the extent to which other nongovernmental actors—“specialized agencies”
and “other competent bodies” referred to in the CRC—have undertaken actions to protect
and promote children’s rights, either independently or in defiance of governments, or by
advocating for greater compliance of states to their own legal commitments. To address these
questions, in the next section I will briefly examine the nature of post-colonial states in Africa
and Latin America, and the constraints that inhibit effective governance in relation to children’s
rights.

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Internal and External Constraints on State Governance

In view of the diverse political histories of African and Latin American states, it is important
to reiterate the innumerable differences that exist among national governments across the two
continental regions. Nevertheless, it is reasonable to argue that four common structural
constraints have hampered the capacity of all these states to advance children’s rights: (a) the
consolidation of power among governing elites; (b) the intransigence of widespread and deep-
seated cultural norms related to the socialization of children; (c) the conflicting tendencies of
the so-called “inflation” of international rights; and (d) the corrosive effects of organized crime
and insurgent violence.

Power, Legitimacy, and the Hegemonic Adjustments of Governing Elites

Despite widely varying historical and ideological antecedents, systems of governance in Africa
and Latin America have been rooted in skewed distributions of power. Through a combination
of shared social identity, financial advantage, and coercive might, loose associations of political,
military, entrepreneurial, and traditional or large landholding elites have maintained considerable
influence or outright control over the organs of the state (Méndez, Pinheiro, & O’Donnell,
1999; Rotberg, 2013; Tordoff, 2002). By virtue of such concentrations of power, governing
elites have presented themselves as the legitimate representatives of their larger societies, both
nationally and in international forums. Yet power is never assured. In Africa and Latin America
it is subject to ongoing constraints and adversity, sometimes the result of in-fighting among
those who control the machinery of the state or of resistance from those in opposition, and
sometimes due to various forms of international pressure (Crawford & Lynch, 2011; Panizza,
2000). The retention of power, therefore, requires both struggle and adaptation. For decades
efforts to retain state power in most African and Latin American countries have occasioned
frequent instances of armed suppression and the formation of regimes that were heavily
dependent on military force and oppressive policing. In such circumstances the rule of law,
loosely defined, was imposed by autocratic decree and partisan enforcement. Yet following
the end of the Cold War in the 1990s, and in the wake of a series of global economic shocks,
domestic policy failures, and the growing prominence of civil societies, in many countries the
adroitness of ruling elites to counter opposition through unilateral force and intimidation has
diminished (Diamond, 2008). Increasingly, through a judicious blend of legislation, political
opportunism, and negotiation with international financial institutions and aid organizations,
those who have presided over governments in Africa and Latin America have adopted more
astute ways to mollify challenges to their authority.
Two such international challenges have tested the capacity of governing elites to accom-
modate change while simultaneously minimizing its impact on established structures of power.
The first emerged from the decline of support for state-monopolized economic development
and the corresponding imposition of structural adjustment measures aimed at reducing public
sector deficits, liberalizing markets, and decentralizing the mechanisms of governance. Some
of these goals have been achieved. Decentralization and the surge of civil society are testament
to the growing diffusion of responsibilities for the administration of social services to local
governments and CSOs (Heidhues & Obare, 2011; Weyland, 2004). Yet by the early 2000s,
it was also clear that the selective rollback of statist economies had done little to alter the
established foundations of privilege or to significantly improve the livelihoods of impoverished
populations. In part this was due to the capacity of governing elites to position themselves

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advantageously in private enterprises or to secure public resources for their own purposes
(Rotberg, 2013; Villalon, 2007). In part as well, it was due to the continuing fragility of African
and Latin American economies that emanated from fluctuating global commodity markets and
corresponding barriers to investment brought on by bureaucratic constraints, limited
diversification, and graft (Economist, 2015b; World Bank, 2013).2 These structural weaknesses
have led to high levels of unemployment and inequality, and consequently undermined the
capacity of governments to enhance the social and civic rights of children.
Parallel to externally imposed structural adjustment measures, over the last three decades
African and Latin American governments have also been confronted with a second divergent
set of pressures emanating from UN and bilateral aid organizations, and from myriad national
and international CSOs. Adhering to a vision of social as well as economic development,
these organizations have advocated the need for poverty reduction and the advancement of
social justice. In response, governments in both continents have assented to international accords
concerning the amelioration of human rights and improvements in the livelihoods of margin-
alized and vulnerable populations.3 The CRC has been one of many such agreements.
Ironically, in contrast to structural adjustment measures that were designed to curtail the perceived
inefficiencies of extensive state intervention, this second set of international pressures has had
the effect of enhancing the legitimacy of governments as putative agents of progressive social
reform. Yet given the contradictory nature of these pressures, formal state assent to the principles
of social justice and human rights has generally not led to the socio-economic realignments
that these principles necessitate. Just as superimposition of the forms of democracy on autocratic
systems of governance rarely alter prevailing arrangements of power (Tordoff, 2002; Villalon,
2007), likewise the passage of child rights legislation and corresponding policy pronouncements
have seldom been matched by the allocation of financial and administrative resources necessary
to improve the rights of disadvantaged children on a broad and sustainable scale (UNICEF,
2014c). In the face of international influence, government endorsement of children’s rights
throughout much of Africa and Latin America has entailed acquiescence to the language of
rights as a form of state-managed hegemonic adjustment. At the point of implementation,
however, children’s rights generally remain a peripheral focus of mainstream policy (Aufseeser,
2014; De Milliano & Plavgo, 2014; Maclure & Sotelo, 2003).

The Intransigence of Culture and Class

Enactment of children’s rights throughout much of Africa and Latin America presupposes
fundamental socio-cultural changes and the necessity of ensuring the implementation of these
changes through political, legal, and educational means. This is suggestive of what some have
characterized as social engineering of the relationships with children (Eekelaar, 1994). Yet, the
past two decades have revealed, most governments have shown little interest in attempting to
generate transformations that could unsettle deep-seated cultural sensibilities and provoke a
popular backlash. Although reiterated in national child rights laws, the CRC did not stem
from grassroots African and Latin American perspectives or concerns, nor did it reflect an over-
riding predilection among ruling elites to alter and improve the prevailing status of children.
Instead, it emerged from international humanitarian concerns regarding the treatment of children
worldwide and became associated with the advent of “a new sociology of childhood”
emphasizing the agency and social uniqueness of children (Imoh, 2014; Matthews, 2007; Prout,
2011). Accordingly, notwithstanding its concession to the “traditions and cultural values of
each people for the protection and harmonious development of the child” (Preamble), the

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CRC insinuates the imperative of changes in many culturally grounded norms pertaining to
children. Yet cultural norms are extraordinarily difficult to dislodge, and throughout Africa
and Latin America nothing lies at the heart of cultural sensibilities more than the socialization
and treatment of children and adolescents, especially when reinforced by perceptions of
economic necessity. With its core premise that children are to be accorded many of the same
rights as their parents, a rights-based approach to child rearing has thus garnered little popular
attention across both continents (Nsamenang, 2013; Quennerstadt, 2011).
Without discounting the many cultural differences that exist throughout Africa and Latin
America, children’s socialization has generally served as the basis of long term family
interdependence and gender differentiation. Girls’ identities have usually been determined by
their reproductive potential and the expected transfer of their productive capacity to the families
of prospective husbands. For boys the traditional trajectory has been the attainment of
patriarchal status as productive heads of family (Cannella & Viruru, 2004; Punch, 2002). In
recent years, however, a combination of mass education, the socio-cultural impact of
globalization, and high rates of rural–urban and transnational migration have unsettled these
norms of socialization and the impenetrability of the patriarchal structures that have sustained
them (Ansell, 2005; Jeffrey, 2012). Adolescents increasingly look to peer relations for support
and are prone to resist or to negotiate with social ties that they perceive as overbearing or no
longer relevant (Brown & Larson, 2002). Yet adult conventions regarding children’s subordinate
status are not easily shaken (Freeman, 2007). As noted above, corporal punishment of young
people who question or challenge figures of authority is widely regarded—in households and
in schools—as a legitimate means of ensuring order, respect, and cultural continuity. From this
perspective, children who offend are the appropriate objects of reprimand, not those who inflict
punitive assaults on them (Leach & Mitchell, 2006).
Alongside the natural markers of age and gender, additional categories of difference—notably
wealth and ethnicity—continue to reinforce discriminatory perceptions and treatment of
children. In Latin America the differentiated status of children was legitimized for decades by
a normative discourse generally referred to as the “doctrine of irregular situations” (García-
Méndez, 1998). Through its prejudicial lens, los niños (children) were regarded as the progeny
of customarily defined “mainstream” nuclear family households that were assumed to be fully
capable of raising children responsibly. Altogether differently, los menores (minors) was the
appellation of youngsters who were deemed to be growing up in “irregular situations” of poverty
and “non-conventional” (often indigenous) forms of kinship. Rather than accommodating ethnic
diversity and addressing the penurious conditions in which many so-called minors were
growing up, governments tended to focus on containing the potential or perceived unruliness
of los menores through arbitrary forms of detention and “re-education” (García-Méndez, 1998).
Following ratification of the CRC, Latin American states officially renounced the doctrine of
irregular situations. Yet international accords and the passage of national legislation have not
led to precipitous abandonment of longstanding perceptions and practices. The differentiated
treatment of children as encapsulated in the doctrine of irregular situations remains prevalent
throughout the region (Aufseeser, 2014; Ungar, 2009). In Africa socio-economic distinctions
have not been as deeply embedded as in Latin America, nor have policies towards different
strata of children been so deliberately crafted (Nsamenang, 2013). Yet in contexts where
incremental privatization of social services and unequal distribution of funding for education
have become commonplace, the emergence of class distinctions has strongly favored children
of affluence and hindered the possibilities of social mobility among millions of African children
growing up in poverty (De Milliano & Plavgo, 2014; Economist, 2015a).

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From the perspective of ruling elites, there is scant political gain from attempting to transform
established socio-economic structures or to alter widely held perceptions that perpetuate
children’s subjugated status. Although governments have passed child rights legislation, the
application of laws and corresponding policies does not occur axiomatically as a result of top-
down directives, but rather through:

[A]n assemblage of diverse components—persons, forms of knowledge, technical procedures

and modes of judgment and sanction—a machine for government only in the sense . . .
[that it] links the regulation of public conduct with the subjective emotional and intellectual
capacities and techniques of individuals.
(Rose, 1996, p. 38)

While the formal articulation of children’s rights is couched in terms of directives regard-
ing “what ought to be,” the meaning of these directives (assuming that they are effectively
disseminated at all) tends to be interpreted and subsequently appropriated by government officials
and field-based practitioners on the basis of their “practice wisdoms”—experiential knowledge
attained within the cultural and institutional environments in which they work on a daily basis
(Levinson & Sutton, 2001). Personal and professional experiences, and long held cultural norms
within institutions and broader social contexts, therefore figure prominently as counterweights
to the prescriptive intent of officially framed child rights discourse (Aufseeser, 2014; Nsamenang,
2013). Confronted with these obstacles, governments have generally had little capacity or political
wherewithal to promote the cultural and ideological metamorphoses necessary to foster
widespread civic understanding and approbation of children’s rights (Daiute, 2008; Viego &
Manciavillano, 2014).

The Proliferation of International Rights

In contrast to the articulation of political ideologies and policy choices that are open to
contestation and debate, the presumption of rights conveys an aura of universality and consensus
(Donnelly, 2003). Viewed in this light, rights can be regarded as constituting the core ethical
and legal foundations of good governance. Yet since the signing of the UN Declaration of
Human Rights in 1948, the field of international law now encompasses an array of rights that
range from those related to the basic needs for life to a host of other civil, economic, social,
and cultural rights. Alongside the protection of individual rights, states are also enjoined to
protect the collective rights of historically disadvantaged social groups such as persons with
disabilities, indigenous peoples, and other vulnerable minorities. In the view of some critics,
a veritable “rights inflation” has created a conundrum for governments that are beset by pressing
and sometimes competing demands for the fulfillment of diverse rights (Ignatieff, 2001, p. 90;
see also Alston, 2005). This is particularly evident in Africa and Latin America where the upsurge
in international rights discourse has paradoxically further constrained the function of governance
as it relates to children’s rights.
The CRC itself exemplifies this difficulty. In some forty articles, the CRC specifies rights
that encompass ethical, civil, legal, and socio-cultural dimensions. This eclectic set of rights
has led scholars to identify sub-categories of children’s rights, the most common of which are
the nominal “3Ps”: provision of services; protection from harm; and participation in decisions
directly affecting their well-being (Bardy, 2000). Others, however, in questioning the
terminology of 3Ps as a weak representation of the CRC, refer to its articles in terms of children’s

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civil, social, and political rights (Freeman, 2007; Quennerstedt, 2010). For governments in
Africa and Latin America, regardless of nomenclature or classification, children’s rights have
progressively become subject to considerations of their practical and political import. The
worldwide campaign for increased girls’ education, for example, which has clearly had a major
accelerating effect on government support for heightened female school enrolment rates, has
been but one strand of the much more extensive children’s rights agenda (Plan International,
2015; UNESCO, 2003). Elsewhere children’s rights are contingent on ideological interpreta-
tion. Emphasis on the protection of children, for instance, has served as a justification for assert-
ing control and containment of children while simultaneously minimizing their freedom of
movement and expression (Aufseeser, 2014; Viego & Manciavillano, 2014). Increasingly,
therefore, more than two decades after the promulgation of the CRC, the notion of universally
endorsed rights as foundations of good statecraft has gradually been superseded in Africa and
Latin America by political and ideological calculations that impinge on the nature and extent
of support for specific rights.

The Corrosive Impact of Organized Crime and Violence

An especially pernicious set of forces further eroding the capacity of states in Africa and Latin
America to fulfill their commitments to the cause of children’s rights has been the expanding
reach of organized crime and violence. Stimulated by immense profits from the transnational
trafficking of drugs and armaments, and by multiple forms of corruption and financial laundering
that have penetrated state institutions at all levels, organized crime has become a significant
barrier to effective transparent governance (Glenny, 2008; McDermott, 2014). In the Western
Hemisphere the transportation and sale of illicit drugs is conducted through a vast con-
voluted network that stretches across the Americas and generates annual revenues estimated
to be approximately $150 billion (Organization of African States, 2013). Drug money invariably
finds its way into the machinery of governance, undermining the rule of law and enabling
criminal gangs in some parts of Latin America to metamorphose into de facto local govern-
ing bodies (Grillojan, 2016; McDermott, 2014). Competition for control of Latin America’s
drug trade has in turn fueled the sale and circulation of small firearms which, as a former
editor of the NACLA Report on the Americas declared in the mid 1990s, “is one of the most
distinctive features of contemporary Latin American society” (cited in Morales, 2008) and has
led to levels of gun-related homicide that are the highest in the world (McDermott, 2014).4
In Africa, although drug trafficking is not as widespread, parts of coastal West Africa have become
major transit points for the sale and shipment of illicit drugs. As a recent report by the West
African Commission on Drugs concluded, the corruption and violence that this has fostered,
and the subsequent erosion of public trust in law enforcement and systems of criminal justice,
have “compromised . . . decades of development efforts” (West African Commission on
Drugs, 2014, p. 9).
The expanding web of transnational crime and violence has had a catastrophic impact on
countless impoverished children across both continents. Besides the inevitable physical and
psychological effects of victimization, vulnerable children are soft targets who can often be
lured or dragooned into orbits of exploitation and conflict (Boyden & de Berry, 2004). The
proliferation of light assault weapons that are easy for children to handle, along with the frequent
availability of hallucinogenic drugs, has led large numbers of youngsters (most, but not all,
male) to become active perpetrators of violent crime and armed insurgencies. In several Latin
American countries the phenomenon of youth gangs has become a major force of destabilization

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(Council on Hemispheric Affairs, 2012; Jones & Rodgers, 2009), and in both continents the
use of child soldiers has become commonplace among rebel and nihilistic movements. Armed
groups such as the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, Boko Haram in northern Nigeria,
and militarized insurgents in South Sudan, the Democratic Republic of Congo, and the Central
African Republic have routinely abducted children and coerced them into roles of active combat,
domestic labour, and sex slavery (UN General Assembly Security Council, 2015). When states
attempt to counteract forces of organized violence, the usual strategy has been to undertake
military retaliation or to rely on heavy-handed policing and forms of retribution that are often
themselves arbitrarily violent. Such actions are generally counter-productive and often imperil
the lives of children and the stability of the communities in which they are growing up
(Economist, 2014). Recounting the organized violence inflicted on millions of children
worldwide throughout 2014, the Executive Director of UNICEF stated, “Never in recent
memory have so many children been subjected to such unspeakable brutality” (UNICEF, 2014b).

Social Assistance and Advocacy: CSOs and Children’s Rights

Twenty-seven years after the promulgation of the CRC, it has become clear that the issue of
governance is both a critical linchpin and a dilemma for children’s rights in Africa and Latin
America. Governance is a complex political process that entails decisions and management of
resources conducted by those who collectively possess power. If governance is conducted
democratically and subject to constitutionally guaranteed checks and balances, this may bode
well for the advancement of human rights. Throughout Africa and Latin America, however,
the predominant orientation of national systems of governance has been to maintain established
socio-economic arrangements that are largely beneficial for those sectors of society that control
or exercise influence over the state. For children’s rights this is a drawback, for as Freeman
(2007) has observed, “For the powerful . . . rights are an inconvenience” (p. 8). Consequently,
as discussed above, despite the passage of laws and constitutional amendments that have enhanced
the symbolic legitimacy of children’s rights (Freeman, 2007), and the expansion of social services
for children, notably in education and in health, governments in both continents have failed
to marshal the resources and political capital needed to ensure the enhancement of children’s
rights on a broad societal scale.
In these circumstances the advancement of children’s rights implies a process of collective
struggle against the prevailing use—or more often, misuse—of power. Indeed, historically
improvements in human rights have emerged from political struggle, most commonly through
the mobilization of marginalized social groups. Sustained by effective leadership and organ-
ization, mobilization for rights is a protracted process that requires the ability to withstand
reprisals, often from the state itself. For children, however, the salience of power and struggle
is fraught with irony (Lavan, 2012). While young people are often capable of voicing protest
and organizing for social change (Ginwright, 2010; Wilson, 2011), mobilization for their rights
in Africa and Latin America generally necessitates leadership and support from adults who possess
the organizational means to facilitate the sustainability of struggle and to navigate the risks of
retaliatory violence. This reference to organizational capacity underscores the significance of
nongovernmental activity—in effect, the array of CSOs that endeavour to improve the welfare
of children and cajole governments into maintaining children’s rights as a key policy issue.
Occupying what has been described as a “third space” that is distinctive from, yet interacts
with, the state and the private sector, CSOs vary considerably in size and mandate. In Africa
and Latin America, thousands of CSOs, ranging from community associations to international

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NGOs, provide services for children in multiple spheres—in education, health, and the work-
place; in family and community environments; in systems of criminal justice and youth
rehabilitation; and in the more fluid contexts of homelessness and street life (Šahović, 2010).
Subject as they are to the conditionalities of state accreditation and oversight, CSOs generally
work collaboratively with government institutions (Melber, 2014). In addition, because many
of them are well established locally and depend on external sources of funding, they often
function as quasi-autonomous partners of international donor agencies (Šahović, 2010). Not
surprisingly, this has led to concerns regarding the seemingly apolitical stance of many of these
organizations. With governments monitoring their activities and retaining the power to
intimidate their personnel and curb or terminate their programs, CSOs are generally reluctant
to challenge the authority of the state or to appear politically antagonistic by drawing public
attention to systematic barriers to children’s rights ( Jones & Thomas de Benítez, 2014). This
cautionary approach is likewise practiced in local contexts where power dynamics and cultural
sensitivities may be resistant to change. As critics have suggested, by centering their activities
on the dispensation of services and material aid for children, CSOs often appear to be
acquiescent to a neoliberal agenda that is oblivious to structural inequities and fails to distinguish
children’s welfare from children’s rights (Hearn, 1998; Kamat, 2004). From this perspective,
CSO interventions may often prove to be merely “episodic moments . . .with little program-
matic, strategic, or political coherence” (Ratner, 1997, p. 275).
In fact, however, the overall role of CSOs in relation to governance and the struggle for
children’s rights in Africa and Latin America is more complex and penetrating than pre-
suppositions of their subordination to the state or to a neoliberal paradigm would suppose (Smith,
2010). Alongside service delivery, many CSOs have undertaken initiatives designed to foster
incremental improvements in children’s rights in diverse social settings. Much of this activity
has focused on lobbying for safer social environments and augmenting the capacity of young
people to participate in actions that directly affect them (Berents, 2014; Vanner, 2014). Others
have engaged in child rights education, training, and advocacy work, much of it directed towards
local media and community-based organizations (Lavan, 2012; Šahović, 2010). By focusing
on incremental advances in child-centered equity and empowerment, these forms of CSO-
sponsored activism are almost always non-confrontational. Less conciliatory, however, are CSOs
that monitor the status of children’s rights and the relative performance of governments in
adhering to their commitments to promote and protect these rights. Coalitions such as the
Child Rights Information Network (CRIN), linking over 2,000 organizations in 150 countries,
the NGO Group for the CRC, and the National Human Rights Institutions that have been
established in 35 African and Latin American countries have all undertaken responsibilities for
investigating and reporting on child rights violations (Šahović, 2010). As indicated by the 18-
member Committee on the Rights of the Child which is charged with tracking progress and
setbacks among CRC signatory countries, CSO monitoring reports are considered to be “often
the strongest source of information on CRC implementation,” frequently providing more
detailed information than official state reports (Šahović, 2010, p. 17). International organizations
such as Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International, and publications such as New
Internationalist, likewise monitor children’s rights on a regular basis.
As the sites and forms of child-centered CSO engagement have expanded across Africa and
Latin America, civic activism for the rights of children has generated a transnational field of
endeavor that extends across established institutional and socio-cultural divisions. By virtue of
a common discourse that animates various forms of engagement with governments, it is a field
that renders the goal of children’s rights as an everyday political, social, and economic struggle.

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This reinforces a central argument of contemporary social movement theorists: that the impetus
for social change consists of multiple and interconnected civic actions that are capable of
penetrating and subsequently altering the systems and priorities of governance (Melucci, 1989;
Ratner, 1997). For this to occur, however, those in power must themselves be drawn into the
field of child rights discourse. As yet this is a tall order throughout much of Africa and Latin
America where governing elites have been adept at accommodating the language and symbolism
of change while minimizing alterations to the structural status quo.

Conclusion: Whither Governance and Children’s Rights in Africa

and Latin America?
The question of governance is central not only to an understanding of the obstacles to children’s
rights, but as well to the way forward. As I have argued in this chapter, governments in Africa
and Latin America have been generally disinclined to alter prevailing power arrangements that
would generate the transformations necessary for major progress in children’s rights. This is
discouraging for those who are deeply concerned about the current plight of millions of children
in these two continents. Yet systems of governance are not immutable, nor are manifestations
of power fully immune to fundamental change. Barring rare sustainable revolutions, the
dimensions of political and economic power that lie at the heart of governance are like massive
ships that are capable of changing direction, but only very slowly, and only with sustained
pressure. There is, therefore, a prospect of hope for the advancement of children’s rights. The
field of child rights activism, which is embedded in legions of national and international CSOs,
retains the potential to influence systems of state governance. Much depends on the activities
of these organizations, and on their capacity to expand their alliances and to penetrate political
parties, the corporate world, and units of government such as ministries of education, justice,
employment, and finance.
In addition, two strategies may be particularly salient for purposes of prodding systems of
governance. The first, somewhat ironically, pertains to actions of states themselves. As indicated
at the outset of this chapter, because my purpose has been to portray the general pattern of
governance and children’s rights across two vast continents, I have not considered the
exceptions within this broad canvas. Such exceptions do occur, however, particularly at municipal
and community levels where state initiatives often first appear. An important task for child
rights activists, therefore, is to identify state interventions that yield positive benefits for children,
and to disseminate the descriptions of these “best practices” and the lessons gleaned from them.
An example familiar to the author is that of community policing in Nicaragua (Maclure, Cruz,
Aviles Sotelo, & Sevilla, 2015). In contrast to the prevailing mano dura (‘heavy hand’) approach
of intimidation and punitive force that police forces throughout much of Latin America have
used to counter urban youth crime, in some low-income neighbourhoods in Nicaragua the
police have adopted a prudent and more cost-effective crime prevention approach. Through
dialogue with community associations, periodical recruitment and training of young men and
women from within troubled neighbourhoods, and a focus on restorative justice and the
rehabilitation of young offenders, the police have gained levels of community confidence that
have been helpful in reducing youth gang activity and incidents of youth crime (Economist,
2014; Ungar, 2009). Likewise in Brazil, the creation of youth parliaments as part of local
government (Cabbanes, 2005) has exemplified the possibility of young people participating in
policy-oriented deliberations and decision making at municipal levels. Instances of discrete
government initiatives of this sort demonstrate the potential for child rights discourse to infuse

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specific actions of the state. There is substantial merit, therefore, in broadcasting such initiatives
and encouraging consultation among units of government that have revealed evident ability
to connect statecraft with children’s rights.
A second comprehensive strategy for augmenting the connection between the field of child
rights advocacy and systems of governance relates to schooling and the agency of children.
Education and participation are widely accepted as fundamental rights for all children, not only
as sine qua non for their long-term well-being, but as well because of the potential for social
transformation that these processes convey. Too often, however, children’s education and their
right to participate remain disconnected. On the one side, education–most commonly
schooling—functions overwhelmingly as a system of ‘deliverables’ that entails the provision of
infrastructure and material, the transmission of officially prescribed curricula, and the distribution
of certificates to those who succeed in achieving satisfactory examination scores (Maclure, Sabbah,
& Lavan, 2009). On the other side, while children’s participation in dialogue and decision
making can be an emancipatory form of agency, it is often a fairly circumscribed process that
is bestowed upon children by adults for purposes of enhancing specific social programs and
services (Cockburn, 2005). In contrast, a more visionary view of children’s participation is that
of an unfolding process of collective empowerment that occurs through experiential learning
(Ginwright & James, 2002; Third, Bellerose, Dawkins, Keltie, & Pihl, 2014). As scholars and
educators have long argued, good quality education entails learner-centered agency, with learners
functioning as active participant discoverers and practitioners of knowledge rather than as passive
repositories of information delivered to them (Emslie, 2009). This symbiotic connection between
children’s education and participation has significant implications for child rights activism and
for the gradual transformation of systems of governance. If children can routinely “learn-by-
doing” the principles and practices of participatory democracy and respect for human rights,
it is reasonable to assume that they will more readily adopt these principles and practices in
their adult lives (see chapter by Couzens in this volume for a consideration of children’s
participation in local governance).
The expansion of children’s rights throughout Africa and Latin America depends to a great
extent on the emergence of more democratic and transparent processes of governance that
convincingly adhere to the core principles of human rights. These are processes that cannot
be imposed from outside; nor can they be expected to emerge swiftly from the current structures
of power. Democracy and transparency are modes of genuinely representative governance that
must be learned over time. In Africa and Latin America the dissemination of exemplary models
of state initiatives designed to enhance and protect children’s rights, coupled with the
mobilization of children through a concerted emphasis on the interconnectedness of education
and participation, are assuredly key strategies for generating long term improvements in both
governance and children’s rights.

Notes
1 Close to a hundred years ago (in 1924) the League of Nations adopted the Geneva Declaration on
the Rights of the Child.
2 A recent World Bank report (2013) indicated that fifteen of the twenty countries where business is
most difficult to conduct are in Africa.
3 Among the most prominent have been the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of
Discrimination against Women (1979), the Jomtien (1990) and Dakar (2000) ‘Education for All’
Declarations, the UN Millenium Development Declaration (2000), and the Paris Declaration on
Aid Effectiveness (2005).

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4 According to the WHO an estimated 73,000 people are shot to death each year in Latin America
(cited in Council on Hemispheric Affairs, 2009).

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 24
Independent Children’s Rights
Institutions
Linda C. Reif

The implementation obligations of the Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC)
(Convention on the Rights of the Child, 1989, Art. 4) do not expressly require CRC states
to use independent state institutions to implement their CRC obligations. However, the CRC’s
treaty committee, the Committee on the Rights of the Child (CtRC), issued General
Comment No. 2 on the role of national human rights institutions (NHRIs) in the promotion
and protec-tion of the rights of the child (CtRC, 2002). In General Comment No. 2 the
CtRC “welcomed the establishment of NHRIs and children’s ombudspersons/children’s
commissioners and similar independent bodies” in CRC states, noting that the establishment
of independent NHRIs falls within their implementation commitments (para. 1).
Ombudspersons or commissioners for children are thematic children’s rights institutions.
They are one type of domestic state institution for improving children’s rights (Flekkøy, 1996,
1991). Children’s ombudsperson institutions predate the CRC: the first was Norway’s
Barneombudet, established in 1981 (Flekkøy, 1990; Melton, 1991; Norway, 1981a). Over the
same time period that the CRC treaty regime developed, there was a parallel evolution in the
international human rights community’s commitment to establish and strengthen NHRIs
in accordance with the Paris Principles, the international minimum standards for NHRIs (1993).
National level human rights commissions/institutes and human rights ombudsman institutions
are NHRIs (Reif, 2012).
Today, thematic children’s rights institutions, NHRIs with a children’s rights focus, and
subnational human rights institutions with a children’s rights focus are collectively referred to
as “independent children’s rights institutions” (ICRIs) or “independent human rights institutions
for children” (Linnarsson & Sedletzki, 2014; Reif, 2015; Thomas, 2011; Thomas, Gran, &
Hanson, 2011; UNICEF Office of Research, 2013). ICRIs usually have jurisdiction over
children under the age of 18.
This chapter will provide a map of ICRIs that exist worldwide. It will review the economic,
political, functional, and normative forces affecting ICRIs that may pressure or permit states to
avoid using a thematic children’s rights institution in favor of a general-purpose NHRI with a
children’s rights focus. This chapter will address the international standards for ICRIs contained
in General Comment No. 2 as applied by the CtRC, which in turn are affected by the Paris
Principles as interpreted by the Global Alliance of National Human Rights Institutions

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(GANHRI), formerly called the International Coordinating Committee of National Institutions

for the Promotion and Protection of Human Rights (ICC) (ICC, 2015a; GANHRI, 2016a).
These standards have additional weight for national level ICRIs. This chapter will provide case
studies of four ICRIs—the thematic institutions in Norway and Ireland, Australia’s NHRI, and
Catalonia’s subnational human rights institution (SHRI). These ICRIs will be assessed primarily
against the core General Comment No. 2 standards applied by the CtRC over a six-year review
period and the level of engagement of the ICRIs with the international human rights system.

ICRI Definition
The UNICEF Office of Research defines an ICRI as:

[a] public body with independent status, whose mandate is to monitor, defend and promote
human rights and which has a focus on children’s rights, either as specialized institutions
[sic] or because it carries out activities specifically focusing on children, with an identifiable
department. It can be established at national or sub-national level.
(2013, p. xi)

The European Network of Ombudspersons for Children (ENOC) applies a similar definition
in its membership requirements (ENOC, 2015b).
Based on the UNICEF and ENOC conceptualization of ICRIs, I sub-classify ICRIs as
follows:

1. NHRIs—national level human rights commissions/institutes and national level human rights
ombudsperson institutions that protect and promote children’s rights within their broader
human rights mandates, as long as they have a legislated or operational children’s rights
focus that results in the appointment of a commissioner or deputy ombudsperson for
children’s rights and/or the designation of an internal unit or department for children’s
rights;
2. Thematic children’s rights institutions such as children’s ombudspersons and children’s
commissioners at national and subnational levels of governance; and
3. SHRIs—found at provincial, community, municipal, etc. levels such as human rights
commissions and human rights ombudsman institutions, that protect and promote children’s
rights within their broader human rights mandates, as long as they have a legislated or
operational children’s rights focus that results in the appointment of a commissioner or
deputy ombudsperson for children’s rights and/or the designation of an internal unit or
department for children’s rights.

Some states may have multiple independent institutions that qualify as ICRIs, such as federal
states and countries that maintain both a NHRI and a national thematic children’s rights
ombudsperson. In contrast, there are still some states that do not have any independent state
institutions that qualify as ICRIs.

ICRI Mapping
National level thematic children’s rights institutions exist in over 20 countries (CtRC
Concluding Observations, July 2014-Feb. 2015; ENOC, 2015a; Reif, 2015, pp. 442–445;

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UNICEF Office of Research, 2013, pp. 317–327). Many are found throughout Europe, such
as the children’s ombudsperson institutions in Finland, Iceland, Norway, and Sweden; Ireland’s
Ombudsman for Children; Luxembourg’s Ombuds-Committee for Children’s Rights; Malta’s
Commissioner for Children; Poland’s Ombudsman for Children; Lithuania’s Ombudsman for
Children’s Rights; and Croatia’s Ombudsperson for Children. Other national thematic children’s
rights institutions are found in Guyana, Jamaica, Mauritius, India, Indonesia, and New Zealand.
There are approximately 65 thematic children’s rights institutions at subnational or devolved
levels of governance in over ten countries (CtRC Concluding Observations, July 2014-Feb.
2015; ENOC, 2015a; Reif, 2015, pp. 445–447; UNICEF Office of Research, 2013 pp.
317–327). These institutions are found inside European countries such as Belgium and the
United Kingdom, and in other nations such as Australia, Canada, USA, and Japan. However,
it is rare to find a country with thematic children’s rights institutions at both national and
subnational levels of governance. Thematic institutions are found only at the subnational level
in most federal states.
NHRIs have proliferated in the past 25 years as the UN human rights system, regional
human rights systems, NHRI networks, and human rights NGOs have pressured states to
establish or strengthen NHRIs in conformity with the Paris Principles (Cardenas, 2014). By
August 5, 2016, 117 national institutions had applied for and received GANHRI accreditation,
of which 75 NHRIs complied fully with the Paris Principles (GANHRI, 2016b). There are
over 50 NHRIs around the world that prioritize children’s rights to the extent that they can
be classified as ICRIs (ENOC 2015a; Reif, 2015, pp. 447–450). They include: France’s Defender
of Rights, Greece’s Ombudsman, Estonia’s Chancellor of Justice, Ecuador’s Defender of the
People, and the Australian Human Rights Commission. However, while not all NHRIs
prioritize children’s rights to the degree that they can be characterized as ICRIs, many still
address children’s rights to some extent. In contrast, there are only approximately six SHRIs
that have been classified as ICRIs, including Catalonia’s Síndic de Greuges (ENOC, 2015a; Reif,
2015, pp. 451–452).
Thus, at the national level, a larger percentage of ICRIs are NHRIs compared to the number
of thematic children’s rights institutions, while at the subnational level thematic children’s rights
institutions form a much larger proportion of ICRIs.

ICRI Structure: Countervailing Domestic Forces on States

While several thematic children’s rights institutions have been established in recent years, different
forces appear to have led some states to reconsider their use. In particular, at the national level
these forces can induce states to establish or strengthen a NHRI with a broad human rights
mandate that includes children’s rights rather than use a thematic children’s rights institution.
While the establishment of thematic children’s rights institutions was relatively popular in the
1990s–2000s, the last decade has seen relatively more countries rely on a NHRI for children’s
rights protection and few thematic children’s rights institutions have been established.
The economic crisis, budgetary pressures, and political attitudes towards children’s rights
have threatened the existence of thematic children’s rights institutions, and in a few cases have
led to their closure or merger with a NHRI. In 2010, New Jersey’s Child Advocate was
shuttered, in 2011 France’s Defender of Children was collapsed into the country’s new
Defender of Rights institution, and in 2012 Madrid permanently closed its Defender of Children
institution (Reif, 2015, pp. 452–453). However, threats to the existence of thematic children’s
rights institutions were avoided in Ireland, UK, Sweden, and Croatia (Reif, 2015, p. 454).

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Although Italy recently created a thematic children’s rights institution, other states have added
or attached explicit children’s rights mandates to their NHRI or classic ombudsperson
institution, for example, NHRIs in Australia, Hungary, Moldova, and Georgia, and the
national ombuds institutions in Denmark and Netherlands (ENOC, 2015a; Reif, 2015, p. 455).
Constitutional enshrinement can protect a human rights institution. However, only a few
children’s commissioner/ombudsperson institutions enjoy such protection, for example, Poland
and Guyana, compared with the larger number of NHRIs that have constitutional foundations
(Reif, 2015, pp. 456–457). In contrast, the politico-legal heritage of the country or region in
which a thematic children’s rights institution is found may protect it. For example, since the
birthplaces of the ombudsperson and children’s ombudsperson models are in Scandinavia, it is
possible that the children’s ombudsperson institutions in this region have the broad support to
ensure their continuation. There may also be strong popular support for a thematic children’s
institution.
Commentators also debate the functional advantages and disadvantages of institutional
structures, with some in favor of one all-purpose NHRI and others in favor of a separate thematic
children’s rights institution (Carver, 2011; UNICEF Office of Research, 2013, pp. 80–83).
Those supporting thematic institutions argue that children’s rights are their sole focus so that
all of the institution’s efforts are directed at children and their rights whereas a NHRI may
not give children’s rights top priority (UNICEF Office of Research, 2013, pp. 80–83).
Further, and not surprisingly, many representatives of thematic children’s rights institutions see
the value of their institutional structure (Thomas et al., 2011, p. 445). Those supporting one
NHRI argue that the indivisibility and interdependence of rights require one institution to
address all human rights, and that one NHRI is more efficient and has a higher profile and
greater influence, whereas multiple institutions can lead to marginalization of some rights and
public confusion over institutional jurisdiction (Carver, 2011).

ICRI Structure: Effects of International Human Rights Law

Standards

Paris Principles and ICC General Observations

My previous research has shown that the Paris Principles as interpreted by GANHRI exert
normative pressures on states to use one NHRI with a children’s rights focus at the national
level (Reif, 2015, pp. 463–471).
The Paris Principles require that a NHRI must have: a broad mandate to protect and promote
human rights in the constitution or legislation, independence from government, a pluralist com-
position, adequate funding, a variety of human rights promotion and protection responsibilities,
and the ability to cooperate with international organizations and other NHRIs (2003). The Paris
Principles are based on an advisory human rights commission template so that a NHRI does
not have to be given a complaints investigation mandate. The GANHRI (formerly the ICC)
has issued General Observations that flesh out the meaning of the Paris Principles (de Beco &
Murray, 2015; ICC/GANHRI, 2013, Annex III).
While GANHRI, as an association of NHRIs, is technically independent of the UN and
the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR), in practice the OHCHR
provides it with administrative and financial support (GANHRI, 2016a; ICC, 2015a). GANHRI
applies the Paris Principles and its General Observations to accredit applicant institutions as A-
status (fully compliant with Paris Principles), B-status (partial compliance), or C-status (non-

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compliance or no status) (GANHRI, 2016; ICC, 2013, 2014). GANHRI accreditation

decisions are relied on by the UN as a gatekeeping mechanism: only A-status NHRIs receive
full participation rights in UN human rights procedures (Pegram, 2014; Reif, 2012). Pegram
argues that NHRI A-status accreditation provides “significant reputational rewards” for a NHRI
and its state in the international human rights community, with access and reputation
incentivizing states to establish and strengthen a NHRI (Pegram, 2014, p. 13).
The Paris Principles call on NHRIs to consult with “other bodies” responsible for human
rights protection and promotion, but the Principles contain little detail on the identity of these
other bodies (Paris Principles, 1993). However, GANHRI General Observation 1.5 includes
thematic institutions and statutory SHRIs as other bodies, thereby precluding them from being
classified as NHRIs (ICC/GANHRI General Observations, 2013). GANHRI has allowed
national thematic rights institutions to apply for accreditation in the past, but the few that did
apply (none are children’s rights institutions) have received B- or C-status (GANHRI, 2016).
Held up against the Paris Principles (which do not apply to thematic institutions or SHRIs
according to GANHRI), thematic institutions can never achieve full compliance with the
Paris Principles because of their limited focus on children and/or jurisdiction only over one
subnational territory.
The result is that, while national level human rights commissions/institutes and human rights
ombudsman institutions are considered to be NHRIs and are capable of full compliance with
the Paris Principles, thematic ICRIs and subnational ICRIs are not considered to be NHRIs
and are incapable of full compliance with the Paris Principles as they stand (Reif, 2012, 2015).
Accordingly, at least at the national level, the UN Paris Principles/GANHRI regime exerts
pressure on states to establish one NHRI with a broad human rights mandate that includes
children’s human rights rather than establish a separate thematic children’s rights institution.

CtRC General Comment No. 2

While CtRC General Comment No. 2 strongly encourages CRC states to establish ICRIs, it
does not require that the institution take a particular form (CtRC, 2002). It does not require
the establishment of a thematic children’s rights institution as long as an “independent human
rights institution” is utilized that can effectively monitor, promote, and protect children’s
rights (paras. 2, 6–7). General Comment No. 2 states that NHRIs should comply with the
Paris Principles, and when a broad-based NHRI is used as an ICRI it should have a specific
focus on children, including within its framework “either an identifiable commissioner
specifically responsible for children’s rights, or a specific section or division responsible for
children’s rights” (para. 6).
General Comment No. 2 also provides standards for the responsibilities and powers of ICRIs.
Many of these are congruent with the Paris Principles and include: constitutional protection
if possible; a legislative framework; a broad mandate to protect and promote the rights of all
children under the state’s jurisdiction; rights protection based on the CRC regime and other
relevant international instruments; a range of powers enabling the ICRI to fulfil its mandate;
jurisdiction over public authorities and all relevant public and private entities; reasonable funding
levels and freedom from financial control; a pluralistic composition; the right to report directly
and independently to the legislature and the public; and accessibility to all children (CtRC,
2002, paras. 8–12, 15, 18, 25). While the ICRI’s independence is a core requirement,
appointment of ICRI leaders by the legislative branch rather than the executive is not expressly
required in General Comment No. 2 (CtRC, 2002). Similarly, neither the Paris Principles nor

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the GANHRI General Observations require that NHRI leaders be appointed by the legislature
(ICC/GANHRI General Observations, 2013; Paris Principles, 1993). Unlike the Paris
Principles, which specify that individual complaints-handling is not required of NHRIs,
General Comment No. 2 stipulates that ICRIs must have the power to investigate individual
complaints made directly by or on behalf of children (CtRC, 2002, para. 13; Paris Principles,
1993; Rees, 2010). ICRIs are also required to communicate and consult with children, and
involve them in their work through vehicles such as children’s advisory councils and cooperative
relationships ICRIs can form with independent youth groups such as Funky Dragon, the
Children and Young People’s Assembly for Wales (CtRC, 2002, paras. 15–16; Funky Dragon,
2015; United Kingdom, 2015, para. 4.14).
General Comment No. 2 provides a non-exhaustive list of activities that ICRIs should
undertake to implement children’s rights including: complaint-based and own-motion investiga-
tions; conducting inquiries; publishing reports and recommendations; reviewing the adequacy
and effectiveness of laws and practice; encouraging the state to ratify relevant human rights
treaties; providing advice on effective implementation of the state’s relevant international obliga-
tions; public awareness-raising, research, and education; and participating in court actions
affecting children’s rights (CtRC, 2002, para. 19). ICRIs should also make independent
contributions (called supplemental or shadow reports) when their state reports to the CtRC
and other relevant human rights treaty committees (CtRC, 2002, para. 20). ICRIs should also
cooperate with relevant international, regional, and national institutions and NGOs on
children’s rights (CtRC, 2002, paras. 26, 28).
Also, while the CRC Optional Protocol on a Communications Procedure distinguishes
NHRIs from thematic children’s rights institutions, it appears to allow all ICRIs to submit
communications on behalf of child victims (OPCP, 2011, Preamble, Art. 5). ICRIs can also
assist OPCP complainants in other ways such as providing advice and monitoring state
compliance with the CtRC’s views (Smith, 2013).

Application of General Comment No. 2 in CtRC Concluding Observations

Based on my previous research updated to February 2015, CtRC Concluding Observations
issued over a six-year period show that the CtRC followed a uniform approach to ICRIs.1
The CtRC always recommended that the state establish an ICRI but in most cases did not
call for a separate thematic children’s rights institution as long as the state had established a
NHRI or “independent monitoring mechanism” with some focus on children’s rights (Reif,
2015, pp. 477–483; CtRC: Gambia, 2015, para. 18, Switzerland, 2015, para. 19, Turkmenistan,
2015, para. 15). The CtRC frequently recommended that states that use a NHRI as their ICRI
establish or strengthen a children’s rights unit/department inside the NHRI and/or appoint a
commissioner or deputy ombudsperson for children’s rights (CtRC: Morocco, 2014, para. 19,
Fiji, 2014, para. 17, Colombia, 2015, para. 6, Dominican Republic, 2015, para. 14, Tanzania,
2015, para. 18, Uruguay, 2015, para. 18; Reif, 2015, pp. 477–483). It made no difference
whether the CRC state was a developed state with the resources to maintain both a thematic
children’s rights institution and a NHRI or a developing nation. In some cases, the CtRC
gave the state the option to establish either a children’s rights focus in a NHRI or a separate
mechanism such as a children’s rights ombudsperson (CtRC: Iraq, 2015, para. 12; Reif, 2015,
pp. 483–484). If the state had already established a thematic children’s rights institution or one
was planned, the CtRC accepted this choice (CtRC: Croatia, 2014, para. 17, Sweden, 2015,
para. 14, Jamaica, 2015, para. 19, Mauritius, 2015, para. 20; Reif, 2015, pp. 484–486).

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However, there were very few cases when the CtRC either preferred the establishment of a
thematic children’s rights institution over a NHRI or affirmatively called for the establishment
of a thematic institution, whether or not the state already had a NHRI (CtRC: Hungary,
2014, para. 14; Reif, 2015, pp. 484, 486 (CtRC Concluding Observations for Kuwait,
Tajikistan, Canada, Uzbekistan)).
Accordingly, in almost all the Concluding Observations issued during the review period
the CtRC did not press CRC states to establish a children’s rights ombudsperson/commissioner.
In most cases, the CtRC usually accepted a NHRI with a child rights focus, thereby reinforcing
the importance of NHRIs that are fully compliant with the Paris Principles.
Further, over the review period, the CtRC applied consistently a smaller set of core standards
from General Comment No. 2 (CtRC, July 2014–February 2015; Reif, 2015, pp. 487).
Invariably, the CtRC recommended that ICRIs of all kinds comply with the Paris Principles.
As discussed above, neither thematic nor subnational ICRIs are considered to be NHRIs so
they can never comply fully with the Paris Principles unless they are completely transformed
into a national institution that promotes and protects the rights of all persons under the state’s
jurisdiction. The CtRC should continue to demand that ICRIs that are NHRIs comply with
the Paris Principles. It is also the case that the substance of many of the Paris Principles are
relevant and important standards for non-NHRI ICRIs, so that the CtRC should develop its
own principles for non-NHRI ICRIs derived from relevant Paris Principles.
The CtRC was also consistent in requiring that all types of ICRI have: independence; a
mandate to promote, protect, and monitor children’s rights; a mandate to receive and investigate
complaints from or on behalf of children concerning violations of their CRC rights in a child-
friendly and expeditious manner; sufficient resources to guarantee independence and efficacy;
and accessibility to children, especially vulnerable children (CtRC, July 2014-February 2015;
Reif, 2015, p. 487). “Monitoring” includes activities that intersect with both rights protection
and promotion (de Beco & Murray, 2015, pp. 53–55). The CtRC occasionally called for:
independence in the areas of appointment, mandate, immunities, and funding sources; greater
awareness-raising of children, parents, and others about the ICRI and its complaints mechanism;
specialized training for staff working on children’s rights; nationwide representation of the ICRI;
and the provision of remedies for rights violations, defined in General Comment No. 2 as
independent advice, advocacy, and complaints procedures (CtRC, 2002, para. 13; CtRC, July
2014-February 2015; Reif, 2015, p. 487).

ICRI Case Studies

Four ICRIs will be studied in detail against the core standards applied by the CtRC. Their
work in engaging with the international human rights system, especially with the CtRC, will
also be explored. Two are thematic children’s rights institutions, the third is a NHRI with a
statutory children’s rights focus, and the fourth ICRI is a SHRI with a statutory focus on
children’s rights.

Norway Barneombudet
Norway’s Ombudsperson for Children (Barneombudet) has children’s rights promotion and limited
protection functions, with a legislative foundation that was amended in 1998 to add an express
mandate to ensure that Norwegian law and administrative practice comply with the CRC

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(Norway 1981a, s. 3[b]). The Barneombudet promotes the interest of children in both the public
and private sectors and must work to “ensure that the needs, rights and interests of children
are given the necessary consideration in all areas of society” (Norway 1981b, s. 1). Other
Barneombudet functions are protecting children’s interests in connection with planning and study
reports, proposing legislative and other measures to strengthen children’s protection, and
providing information to the public and private sectors on children’s rights and action required
(Norway 1981a, s. 3). To fulfil these responsibilities, the Barneombudet also lobbies government
officials to improve children’s rights, engages in public awareness initiatives, undertakes
research, educates children on the CRC and their rights, and provides advice to children, parents,
and others (Barneombudet, 2010, p. 7).
Norway’s Barneombudet does not have individual complaints-handling powers, although it
does engage in issue-oriented inquiries (Norway 1981, 1981a, s. 5, 1981b, ss. 1–7). Complaints
made by or on behalf of children concerning legal issues and individual matters are referred
to Norway’s Parliamentary Ombudsman, an institution with an express human rights protection
mandate but mainly only classic ombudsman powers (Norway, 2015). In its Concluding
Observations on Norway’s periodic report, the CtRC recommended that Norway “consider
providing the [Children’s] Ombudsman with the mandate to receive complaints from children
and the resources to follow up complaints in a timely and effective manner” (CtRC, 2010,
para. 14).
The Barneombudet is appointed by the executive branch for one 6-year term (Norway 1981a,
s. 2). The current Barneombudet is a paediatrician (Barneombudet, 2015). Although the legislation
states that the Barneombudet carries out his/her functions independently, the Barneombudet and
staff are under the jurisdiction of a government ministry and the Barneombudet submits an annual
report to the minister that is also made public (Norway 1981a, s. 6, 1981b, ss. 8–9). The
possibility of executive interference with the independence of the institution was noted in the
CtRC’s 2005 Concluding Observations, which stated that the Barneombudet “faces limitations
in carrying out his activities due to his apparent dependence on the Ministry” (para. 10).
The Barneombudet deals with children’s issues that implicate the full spectrum of CRC rights.
These include treatment of juvenile offenders, the treatment of Sámi indigenous children and
Roma children, children’s interaction with the health care system, the rights of unaccompanied
minor asylum seekers, and an exploration of the rights of 16-year-olds to vote in municipal
elections (Barneombudet, 2009, n.d.). The institution’s accessibility to children and inclusion of
children are promoted, for example, by the Barneombudet’s child-friendly website and the use
of children as expert advisors in issue areas that have affected them, such as domestic violence
and surviving the Utøya catastrophe (Barneombudet, 2013).
Norway’s Barneombudet has also promoted children’s rights by developing relationships with
relevant UN and European human rights treaty committees, especially the CtRC. The
Barneombudet submits an independent shadow report detailing problem areas faced by children
in Norway and the institution’s suggestions for their rectification when the CtRC is preparing
to review Norway’s periodic report (Barneombudet, 2009). In 2009, the Barneombudet began to
include children in the shadow report drafting process and also met with the CtRC prior to
their review to discuss areas of concern (Barneombudet et al., 2009). After the CtRC provides
its Concluding Observations, the Barneombudet works to try to get the Norwegian government
to implement the CtRC’s recommendations. The Barneombudet collaborated with Norway’s
former NHRI, the Norwegian Centre for Human Rights (NCHR), contributing informa-
tion for the NCHR’s shadow report to the Human Rights Committee in advance of its

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consideration of Norway’s report on the implementation of its International Covenant on Civil

and Political Rights obligations (ICCPR, 1966; Barneombudet, 2010). The Barneombudet has
submitted shadow reports directly to the UN Committee on the Elimination of Racial
Discrimination and the European Committee for the Prevention of Torture describing
children’s issues in Norway to assist them in their review of Norwegian periodic reports
(Barneombudet, 2011a, 2011b). The Barneombudet also participates in the UN Human Rights
Council Universal Periodic Review (UPR) of Norway, making written comments (Human
Rights Council, Norway, 2009, p. 13, Human Rights Council, Norway, 2014, p. 12).
Norway recently created a new NHRI, the National Institution for Human Rights (NIHR),
to ensure its full compliance with the Paris Principles (Norway Storting, 2015). The
Barneombudet has been retained as a separate ICRI. The Barneombudet worked collaboratively
with the NCHR, but the respective roles of the Barneombudet, new NIHR, and Parliamentary
Ombudsman in children’s rights protection and promotion will likely be reviewed.

Ireland Ombudsman for Children

Ireland’s Ombudsman for Children (OC) was established in 2004 by legislation passed in 2002,
after domestic improvements in children’s rights and pressure from the CtRC (CtRC, 1998,
paras. 9, 29; Ireland, 2002; Martin, 2004). The OC is appointed by the President for a 6-year
renewable term based upon a resolution of both houses of the legislature, and both reports
and is accountable to the legislative branch (Ireland, 2002, ss. 4, 13[7]). These relatively strong
guarantees of independence are supported by statutory provisions stating that the OC shall be
independent in the performance of his/her functions and can only be removed by the
legislature for very limited reasons (Ireland, 2002, ss. 4, 6[1]). However, there are several
provisions that detract from the institution’s full independence. Ministerial prevention of
investigations is permitted, the OC’s budget is provided by the ministry for children, and the
minister can appoint OC staff (Ireland, ss. 11[4], 17, 21). The CtRC has recommended that
the OC’s independence be strengthened through the direct provision of its financial resources
by the legislature (CtRC, 2006, para 15). While the OC survived threats to its independence
during the onset of the financial crisis, it suffered from subsequent government cuts to its annual
budget (Ombudsman for Children, 2010). The current OC is a clinical psychologist and child
protection expert (Cullen, 2015).
Ireland’s OC has two important mandates. The first is the promotion of children’s rights
and welfare and the second is a children’s rights protection mandate carried out through the
investigation of individual public complaints and the conduct of own-motion investigations.
There are limited references to the CRC and Protocols in the OC legislation. The legislation
does state that in the exercise of both the promotional and protection functions, the OC shall
“have regard to the best interests of the child concerned” and shall “in so far as practicable,
give due consideration, having regard to the age and understanding of the child, to his or her
wishes,” thereby making indirect reference to CRC Articles 3 and 12 (Ireland, 2002, s. 6[2]).
The only explicit reference to the treaties is with respect to children’s rights awareness-raising
in the promotional mandate, discussed further below. However, the OC relies on the CRC
more broadly in practice. As stated by the first OC, “[t]he principles and provisions of the
CRC underpin all of the Ombudsman for Children’s Office work and it is the main benchmark
used by the Office . . .to assess how well the State is progressing as regards meeting its obligations
in relation to children’s rights” (Ombudsman for Children, 2010, p. 14).

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The OC’s promotional mandate includes: advising ministers on development and coord-
ination of policies and the effect of proposed legislation on children; encouraging public
bodies to develop policies, practices, and procedures to promote children’s rights and welfare;
monitoring children’s rights and welfare legislation; promoting child and public awareness of
children’s rights, including the CRC regime, and how these rights can be enforced; collecting
and disseminating information on children’s rights and welfare; consulting with children to
assist the OC in child rights promotion; and research (Ireland, 2002, s. 7). The OC has engaged
in promotional work involving legislative, policy, and practice reform proposals in many sectors,
including youth justice, education, health, children in care, trafficking, unaccompanied minor
asylum-seekers, and the economic and social rights of children in the aftermath of the economic
crisis (Ombudsman for Children, 2015a, 2015i, paras. 1.2–1.5). One successful example of cross-
cutting promotional work is that undertaken by the OC for stronger protection of children’s
rights in the Irish Constitution, although the CRC is still not explicitly incorporated
(Ombudsman for Children, 2015b, 2015h). Educational activities include the creation of teaching
resources on children’s rights and the organization of workshops at the OC office (Ombudsman
for Children, 2015c). Involvement of children in the work of the OC was initially accomplished
through a youth advisory panel, but now the OC obtains advice and information from different
thematic sets of child advisory groups (Ombudsman for Children, 2015d).
The OC’s protection mandate permits it to investigate action taken in the performance of
the administrative functions of public bodies, schools, and hospitals that has adversely affected
a child (Ireland, 2002, ss. 8–16). The OC can investigate complaints submitted by or on behalf
of children and scrutinizes the administrative conduct in question against standards of legality
and administrative fairness. The OC may make recommendations for rectification of the latter
on the conclusion of the investigation, and if the government response is unsatisfactory, the
OC institution can submit a special report in its annual report. While the government extended
the OC’s investigatory jurisdiction over imprisoned and detained children in 2012, there are
still problematic exclusions from investigations: military activity and administration of the
immigration/asylum regime (CtRC, 2008, paras 8–9; Ireland, 2002, s. 11; Ombudsman for
Children, 2015i, paras. 2.7.2–2.7.4). Most complaints to the OC are made by parents and
professionals. For example, complaints by children comprised only 3 percent of total complaints
in 2013 (Ombudsman for Children, 2013, p. 19). Complaints concerning education, family
support/care, health, and justice are the most prevalent, with educational and health issues for
disabled children, bullying in schools, and child homelessness of current concern (Ombudsman
for Children, 2013, pp. 16–17, 26–29, 2015i). The first OC own-motion investigation was
not issued until 2010: used infrequently, approximately five were completed by May 2015
(Ombudsman for Children, 2015e).
Ireland’s OC also engages with the UN and European human rights systems, interpreted
as part of its promotional work (Ombudsman for Children, 2015f ). In particular, the OC submits
independent shadow reports to the CtRC and will meet with the CtRC prior to Ireland’s
upcoming periodic review (Ombudsman for Children, 2006, 2007, 2015g, 2015i). The OC
also made a written submission for the first UPR of Ireland (Human Rights Council,
2011, p. 14)
The OC institution coexists with the newly merged Ireland Human Rights and Equality
Commission (IHREC, 2015) whose Chief Commissioner was Ireland’s first OC. While the
IHREC is not currently an ICRI given its insufficient focus on children’s rights, children and
their rights do fall within the jurisdiction of the IHREC and it does undertake children’s rights
promotion and protection work.

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Australian Human Rights Commission

The Australian Human Rights Commission (AHRC) is the country’s NHRI, with GANHRI
A-status accreditation (GANHRI, 2016). While there are children’s commissioners/advocates
at the state/territorial level, Australia has not created a thematic children’s rights institution at
the Commonwealth level. Instead, in 2012, the Labor government opted for the NHRI
alternative and turned the AHRC into an ICRI by adding a child rights focus to its legislation,
to be overseen by a dedicated commissioner called the National Children’s Commissioner (NCC)
who began work in March 2013 (Australia, 1986, Part IIAA). The Commissioner has state-
level ICRI leadership experience and a psychology and social policy background (Australian
Human Rights Commission, 2015f ).
The NCC is appointed by the Governor-General for a term not to exceed 7 years, after
the responsible minister is satisfied that the NCC candidate has the appropriate credentials
(Australia, 1986, s. 46MC). The AHRC President and other commissioners are also appointed
by the Governor-General (s. 8A-B). The Governor-General can terminate the appointment
of the NCC and other leaders for listed, but limited, reasons and they report to the minister
who must table all of their reports before Parliament (ss. 41, 45–46, 46D-I, 46MJ, 46MN).
Thus, the security of tenure of the AHRC leadership, including the NCC, is linked to the
executive branch, which can affect the AHRC’s independence. Also, the CtRC has expressed
its concern that the AHRC and NCC had not been provided with sufficient resources to realize
fully the new children’s rights mandate (CtRC, 2012, paras. 17–18).
The NCC is given mainly children’s rights promotion functions with respect to the human
rights of children in Australia, namely: public awareness raising, research and education,
examining and advising on existing and proposed Commonwealth legislation, and submitting
annual reports that may include recommendations to achieve the enjoyment and exercise of
children’s rights (Australia, 1986, s. 46MB). In her work, the NCC may give particular attention
to vulnerable or “at risk” children and she may consult with stakeholders including children,
public authorities at all levels, NGOs, and international bodies (s. 46MB[4]–[5]). Further, in
performing her functions the NCC is directed to “have regard to” a list of UN human rights
treaties and instruments that includes the CRC, plus “such other instruments relating to human
rights as the [NCC] considers relevant” (s. 46MB[6]). This broad coverage of international
law gives the NCC considerable scope to apply international law on children’s rights in carrying
out her functions.
The NCC has consulted with children throughout Australia, leading to the identification
of the core themes to guide her work (Australian Human Rights Commission, 2013, 2014b).
The NCC has addressed major issues such as the impact of domestic violence on children,
intentional self-harm by children, the expansion and implementation of Australia’s international
children’s rights obligations, children’s rights in early childhood education and care, and
e-safety (Australian Human Rights Commission, 2013, 2014b). Child-friendly versions of the
NCC annual children’s report and other documents have been prepared, and educational
resources are being developed (Australian Human Rights Commission, 2013, 2014b, 2015b).
The AHRC has broad human rights protection and promotion functions and the NCC,
as one of the AHRC commissioners, participates in the other elements of the Commission’s
mandates that help children (Australian Human Rights Commission, 2015a). It is the AHRC
that provides the child rights protection work of the NHRI. The AHRC (through the President,
not the NCC) takes complaints by or on behalf of children concerning alleged discrimination
against children or breaches of their rights, including those in the CRC (Australian Human

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Rights Commission, 2014b, p. 2, 2015c). The AHRC tries to resolve complaints by

conciliation, but if it fails and the AHRC finds that a violation has occurred then a report with
recommendations will be prepared, submitted to the minister, and tabled in Parliament.
However, the NCC can seek leave of the court to intervene or serve as amicus curiae in cases
involving children’s rights (Australian Human Rights Commission, 2014b, p. 2). The AHRC
has long addressed children’s rights through some of its national inquiries, with several
addressing children in immigration detention, and others on separation of indigenous children
from their families and homeless children (Australian Human Rights Commission, 2014a, Human
Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission, 2004, 1997, 1989).
The NCC provided technical assistance during the 2014 national inquiry on The Forgotten
Children, on children kept for long periods of time in immigration detention (Australian Human
Rights Commission, 2014a, 2014b, p. 20). The inquiry report detailed the egregious treatment
of children, relied extensively on the CRC, and made numerous recommendations. The work
of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Social Justice Commissioner also benefits indigenous
children, although the CtRC has recommended that this commissioner have a deputy to ensure
the effective monitoring of children (CtRC, 2012, paras. 17–18). However, the complex AHRC
website is not particularly accessible to children and, for example, lacks child-friendly
information on the complaints mechanism and other aspects of AHRC work that can help
them (Australian Human Rights Commission, 2015a).
As a NHRI, the AHRC is active in its engagement with the UN human rights system. It
makes submissions to the CtRC, Human Rights Committee (ICCPR), and the UN UPR of
Australia (Australian Human Rights Commission, 2011, 2015d, 2015e; Human Rights Council,
2010, pp. 10–11). The NCC has already made recommendations to the government on
responding formally to the CtRC’s 2012 Concluding Observations (Australian Human Rights
Commission, 2013, 2014b). It is to be expected that the NCC will play an important role in
building linkages with the CtRC and other UN human rights treaty committees and processes
to further children’s rights in Australia.
Actual executive interference with the AHRC’s independence occurred when The Forgotten
Children inquiry report was published, and tabled in Parliament in 2015 (Australian Human
Rights Commission, 2014a; ICC 2015b). The Prime Minister and government not only rejected
the contents of the report but also made personal attacks on the AHRC President and asked
her to resign. While various national and international actors, including the ICC President,
strongly criticized the Australian government and supported the AHRC President (ICC, 2015b),
the crisis demonstrates how linking leadership appointment and tenure to the executive branch
can undermine an ICRI’s (and NHRI’s) independence when political attitudes towards human
rights change.

Catalonia Síndic de Greuges

Spain’s national Defensor del Pueblo (DP) is an A-status NHRI, with constitutionally enshrined
functions and jurisdiction over national, community, and local administrative authorities
(GANHRI, 2016; Spain, 1978, Art. 54, 1981, Arts. 1, 9, 12). The DP has recently upgraded
its operational focus on children’s rights by making the second deputy responsible for
coordinating the institution’s work for children (Defensor del Pueblo, 2015). It may now be
categorized as an ICRI.
The ICRI of the autonomous community of Catalonia is the Síndic de Greuges (Síndic). The
Síndic was established with a mandate to protect the rights in Spain’s Constitution and the

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Catalan Statute of Autonomy (Catalonia, 2006, Arts. 78–79, 2009, Arts. 1, 4; Spain, 1978).
In addition, the Síndic has an express mandate to protect and defend children’s rights in the
CRC and domestic law (Catalonia, 2009, Art. 4). The Síndic has one 9-year term, is elected
by and reports to the Catalan legislature, and has additional legal protections for its indepen-
dence (Catalonia, 2009, Arts. 2, 6–15). The Síndic has jurisdiction over Catalan and municipal
government authorities and designated private bodies (Catalonia, 2006, Art. 78, 2009, Art.
3[1]). A cooperative relationship between the DP and Síndic is required because of their
overlapping jurisdictions. This is elusive due to the tense relationship between the two
governments.
The Síndic’s legislation provides for a Deputy for Children’s Rights (Deputy), appointed by
the Síndic subject to approval by a legislative committee (Catalonia, 2009, Arts. 17[b], 20–25).
However, the Síndic can “freely dismiss” the Deputy, placing the Deputy for Children’s Rights
in a relatively weak position compared to the Síndic (Catalonia, 2009, Art. 25). The current
Deputy is a constitutional law professor (Síndic, 2015d). A 2010 children’s rights statute gives
the Síndic a formal promotion mandate, requiring the Síndic and Deputy promote and protect
children’s rights in the CRC, other Spanish international law obligations, and domestic law,
and submit an annual report on children’s rights to a legislative committee (Catalonia, 2010,
Arts. 3–4, 29; Síndic, 2014c). Ratified treaties are automatically part of the Spanish legal system,
so the Síndic and Deputy can apply directly the CRC and other treaties binding Spain that
contain children’s rights in all of their institutional activities (Spain, 1978, Art. 96[1]).
The Síndic undertakes investigations on the receipt of public complaints or on his/her own-
motion, and can issue reports and recommendations for change to law and practice (Catalonia,
2009, Art. 4). Both children and adults can complain to the Síndic. Pressing children’s rights
concerns addressed by complaints-investigation include increased rights violations due to
government austerity policies, treatment of unaccompanied minor asylum seekers, closure of
juvenile justice centers, and the rights of disabled children in the education and health sectors
(Síndic, 2011, 2012a, 2012b, 2014a). Some of the Síndic’s numerous annual own-motion
investigations have addressed children, including conditions in daycare centers and bullying in
schools (Síndic, 2011, 2012a, 2014a).
The Optional Protocol to the Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or
Degrading Treatment or Punishment (OPCAT, 2002) requires states parties to establish
national preventive mechanisms (NPMs) to visit places where persons are confined involuntarily
and inter alia make recommendations to prevent or halt banned treatment. Spain’s DP was
designated as the country’s NPM, but Catalonia also designated the Síndic as Catalan Authority
for the Prevention of Torture (Catalonia, 2009, Art. 1[b]). Fulfilling this statutory assignment,
the Síndic visited juvenile justice and mental health facilities and made recommendations to
protect the confined children (Síndic, 2014b). However, the DP brought an action against the
legislation and the Constitutional Court held that the Catalan designation was unconstitutional
(Spain, 2015; Constitutional Court, 2015).
The Síndic’s children’s rights promotional activities focus on educating children and adults
about children’s rights, often in schools and other facilities where children are found, and
enhancing children’s participation rights (Síndic, 2015b). Its child-dedicated website contains
information and mechanisms for children to ask questions, provide their views, and submit
complaints (Síndic, 2015a). The Síndic has a Youth Advisory Council to receive views and
information from minors to increase their participation and improve the institution’s work
(Síndic, 2015c).

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Despite its strong independence and mandate, the Síndic has suffered budget cuts during
Spain’s economic crisis (Síndic, 2011, p. 3). Further, it is the DP that engages with the
international human rights community. For example, it made submissions during Spain’s
UPRs, including on children’s rights, while none of the community-level ICRIs including
the Síndic, provided written submissions (Human Rights Council, 2010, pp. 10–11, 2014, pp.
11–12). While the CtRC usually takes the opportunity when federal/decentralized states are
under review to address ICRIs in subnational jurisdictions (Reif, 2015, pp. 486–487), it did
not make any comments on the NHRI or ICRIs in its 2010 Concluding Observations on
Spain’s report (CtRC, 2010). Cooperation between the DP and the Síndic on engagement
with the international human rights system appears to be lacking, exacerbated by the overall
political situation. Accordingly, the visibility of the Síndic at the international level is inhibited.

ICRI Case Studies: Assessment

All four ICRIs play important roles in upholding children’s rights in their countries. In all four
institutions, the leaders responsible for children’s rights have expertise in child protection or
children’s rights. All have relatively strong track records as ICRIs and engage in innovative
and effective work for and with children. Yet none of them satisfy all of the core standards
applied by the CtRC during the review period.
Resource constraints have been experienced by at least three of the four ICRIs. Norway’s
ICRI is a strong promoter and monitor of children’s rights, and in this context is accessible
to children. However, the Barneombudet lacks an individual complaints-handling function and
has some limitations on its independence given its placement under the executive branch.
Ireland’s ICRI has relatively strong independence and child accessibility. The OC has a robust
mandate to protect, monitor, and promote children’s rights, including an individual complaints
investigation function for complaints by and on behalf of children. But its legislation places
some restrictions on its investigatory mandate and gives it limited formal use of the CRC.
Australia’s national ICRI, an A-status NHRI, has broad children’s rights promotion, monitoring,
and protection mandates, covering a wide spectrum of international children’s rights law.
Complaints of children’s rights breaches can be made by and on behalf of children. Yet the
AHRC has suboptimal independence due to executive control over leadership appointment
and tenure. The AHRC will also have to make its protection services more accessible to chil-
dren. Catalonia’s ICRI scores highly for independence; children’s rights promotion, monitoring,
and protection mandates, including the investigation of complaints brought by or on behalf
of children; and accessibility to children. While not part of the CtRC core standards, as an
ombudsperson-type SHRI, the Síndic’s hierarchical ombudsperson/children’s deputy structure
leads to a potentially weaker role for the deputy compared to the commission/children’s
commissioner model. Also, unlike the national ICRIs, which have engaged fully with the CtRC,
the Human Rights Council, and other international human rights processes, Catalonia’s
subnational Síndic has not developed, or has not been permitted to develop, these linkages.
However, all three European ICRIs cooperate and share best practices through their
membership in ENOC (2015a).
All four ICRIs coexist with other independent human rights institutions in their country,
whether the latter are NHRIs as is the case with the ICRIs in Norway, Ireland, and Catalonia,
or subnational ICRIs in the case of Australia’s national ICRI. Cooperation between the different
institutions in each country is required to optimize children’s rights, but is not always

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guaranteed. Finally, to date, the governments in Norway and Ireland have resisted various forces,
including the normative pressures exerted by the Paris Principles and GANHRI, to collapse
their national thematic children’s rights institutions into their NHRI.

Conclusion
CRC states are expected to implement their treaty obligations through the use of ICRIs,
institutions that are public sector bodies yet have considerable autonomy from government.
ICRIs comprise thematic children’s rights institutions, and NHRIs and SHRIs with a children’s
rights focus.
There are a variety of economic, political, functional, and normative pressures on states that
may pull them in the direction of a thematic children’s rights institution or in the other direction
towards one institution with jurisdiction over all rights including children’s rights. In particular,
international standards for NHRIs—the Paris Principles as interpreted by GANHRI General
Observations—have exerted pressure on states at the national level to use one NHRI that
includes children’s rights. At the same time, over a recent 6-year review period, the CtRC
has demonstrated that it is agnostic about the type of ICRI chosen by a state, as long as if a
NHRI is chosen it has a sufficient focus on children’s rights.
The CtRC is consistent in requiring that all ICRIs have a core set of attributes, primarily
independence; a mandate to promote, protect, and monitor children’s rights; the power to
investigate individual complaints made by or on behalf of children; sufficient resources to
guarantee the ICRI’s independence and efficacy; and accessibility to children. Four ICRIs were
assessed against these CtRC core standards and their engagement with the international human
rights system: the children’s ombudspersons in Norway and Ireland; Australia’s NHRI, the
AHRC and its NCC; and Catalonia’s subnational Síndic with its Deputy for Children’s Rights.
While all four are relatively strong performers, none of them fully satisfy the CtRC’s core
standards. Further, although the three national ICRIs engage with the CtRC and other
international human rights processes, the subnational ICRI does not do so. All four ICRIs
coexist in their country with other independent institutions that address children’s rights.
However, the configuration of these institutions may change in the future if governments act
on the pressures described in this chapter.

Note
1 The research in this section covers CtRC Concluding Observations issued from January 2009-June
2014 (Reif, 2015, pp. 477–488), supplemented by Concluding Observations issued from July 2014–
February 2015 (CtRC).

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 25
Children’s Rights and Digital
Technologies
Introduction to the Discourse and
Some Meta-observations

Urs Gasser and Sandra Cortesi

Introduction
In many parts of the world, the emergence and spread of digital technologies, particularly the
Internet, have led to an increasingly robust public debate about the opportunities and challenges
associated with the use of digital technologies. From a legal and policy perspective, the debates
cover a diverse set of issues, ranging from questions related to infrastructure and access, to
issues such as intellectual property and quality of information, and take place in various forums
at the national, regional, as well as global levels, and engage many different stakeholders. Across
these debates, the impact of digital technology on children1 has become a particular area of
concern, given both children’s widespread adoption of digital technologies2 and their potential
vulnerability in light of their state of development, among other factors (Livingstone, Carr, &
Byrne, 2015a).
Initially, a strong emphasis of the public discussion about children and digital technology
was on measuring and understanding tech-facilitated risks and potential harms related to child
safety, online privacy, aggression, information overload, and addiction; this perspective was
later supplemented by a discussion of the opportunities associated with children’s use of digital
technology (Palfrey & Gasser, 2008). More recently, the previously predominant risk-oriented
and issues-driven policy conversation has turned into a more holistic debate about the challenges
and opportunities of digital technologies for children and their interests.
It is in this context that the idea of children’s rights for the digital age is examined.3 Despite
important initial work (Livingstone & Bulger, 2013; Livingstone & Haddon, 2011; Livingstone
& O’Neill, 2014; Livingstone et al., 2015a; Staksrud, 2013; Third, Bellerose, Dawkins, Keltie,
& Pihl, 2014), this discourse is still in its infancy and currently dispersed across different forums
and communities.
This chapter, written from a law and policy perspective as informed by interdisciplinary
research, seeks to provide an introduction to the current debate about children’s rights in the

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digital age. It starts with a brief overview of children’s engagement with digital technology,
which is foundational for the understanding of what we might call the evolving children’s digital
rights discourse. The article then offers, in the spirit of a navigational aid, an overview of
perspectives, issues, and key arenas, as well as actors, that constitute the children’s digital rights
discourse. Building upon selected examples that illustrate the thematic breadth of the debate,
the chapter concludes with a series of cross-sectional meta-observations for further exploration
and discussion.

Children’s Engagement with Digital Technology

The discussion about children’s rights in the digital age is motivated by the enhanced role that
digital technologies play in children’s everyday lives. While the availability of statistics on children’s
access and usage is limited, and data that is available is rarely truly representative of all children
in a particular country or community, changes quickly, and is typically biased towards the Global
North, the indicators in the textbox below might at least give an approximation of the role
digital technology plays in children’s lives.

• Many children in the Global North have access to the Internet. For example, 92 percent4
of children in the US go online daily and 99 percent5 of children in Canada are able to
access the Internet outside of school. Also, 88 percent6 of children in the UK and 99
percent7 of children in Switzerland have Internet access at home. However in the Global
South, many children remain less connected. For instance, 90 percent8 of children in Brazil
access the Internet at least once or twice a week. Furthermore, only 77.8 percent9 of children
in Colombia, 42.3 percent10 of children in El Salvador, 14.2 percent11 of children in
Malaysia, and 11.8 percent12 of children in Bangladesh are connected to the Internet.
• More often now, children either own or have access to mobile phones and smartphones
that they use to go online. For example, 98 percent13 of Swiss children, and 58 percent14
of boys and 60 percent15 of girls in Canada own a mobile phone. Seventy-three percent16
of all children in the US have access to a smartphone. Furthermore, 82 percent17 of children
in Brazil use phones to access the Internet, and 56 percent18 of children in the UK use
smartphones to go online daily.
• Social media platforms—particularly Facebook and YouTube—have become popular
among children. Eighty-one percent19 of children in the US use some kind of social media.
In Switzerland, 79 percent20 of children use YouTube several times a week and 65 percent21
of children spend time on social networks several times a week. Also, 78 percent22 of
children in Brazil, and 58 percent23 of children in the UK report having profiles on at
least one social networking site.
• The Internet has become the key medium for gathering information. Eighty-four percent24
of children in the US, 78 percent25 of children in Canada, and 17.1 percent26 of children
in Kenya use the Internet to search for information related to their health. Furthermore,
73 percent27 of children in the US, 85 percent28 of children in the EU, 68 percent29 of
children in Brazil, and 21.1 percent30 of children in Kenya use computers and the Internet
for schoolwork.
• Some children also use the Internet to play games. Fifty-six percent31 of US children, 80.1
percent32 of Malaysian children, and 63.8 percent33 of Kenyan children spend time gaming.
Additionally, 28 percent34 of EU children and 45 percent35 of Brazilian children played
games with other people online.

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• A smaller number of children utilize online platforms and/or digital means to become
involved in political discourse. For instance, 41 percent36 of US children engage online
in acts of participatory politics. For 22.5 percent37 of Malaysian children “politics” is one
of the main motivations for using Facebook. In the UK, 12 percent38 of children
sometimes express their views online about political or social issues.
• Not all content children encounter online is good. Seventy-eight percent39 of Canadian
children report that they have come across racist or sexist content online. Moreover, in
the UK, 20 percent40 of children have been exposed to hate messages, 13 percent41 to
pro-anorexia sites, and 11 percent42 to self-harm sites. Children in Brazil have reported
very similar numbers.43

Among the perhaps most impressive indicators that illustrate the role of digital technology in
children’s lives is the exponential increase in their access to and ownership of digital devices such
as phones, laptops, and tablets, among others (Barbosa, 2014; Lenhart, Smith, Anderson, Duggan,
& Perrin, 2015a; Porter et al., 2016)—propelled by the advent of the smartphone and the
emergence of mobile apps (Lenhart et al., 2015a; Livingstone, Haddon, Görzig & Ólafsson,
2011; Madden, Lenhart, Cortesi, & Gasser, 2013; Mascheroni & Cuman, 2014). That said, it
is important to acknowledge that a great disparity persists in children’s access to digital
technologies around the world and across demographics. Particularly children in the Global
South as well as children in vulnerable and marginalized communities are often excluded from
leveraging the benefits offered by the digital world (Cortesi & Gasser, 2015a; Kleine, Hollow,
& Poveda, 2014).
The widespread adoption of digital devices that allow children to connect with the Internet,
goes hand in hand with a growing number of social media and other digital services that have
become available to children. Such applications include social media platforms (e.g., Facebook,
Twitter, and Instagram); video-sharing sites (e.g., YouTube, Vine); messaging applications (e.g.,
Snapchat and WhatsApp); online blogs (e.g., Tumblr); music-sharing sites (e.g., Spotify and
Pandora); and video games (e.g., Angry Birds, Halo). Despite the relative popularity of some
platforms and services, recent data suggests that children simultaneously use similar platforms
and applications for distinct purposes (Cortesi, 2013; Lenhart et al., 2015a; Madden et al., 2013),
providing them with a wide-ranging variety of options to explore specific aspects of their creative
expressions and share them with peers.
From a children’s rights perspective, even more relevant than the number and diversity of
digital devices, platforms, and services available to children are the implications of the use of
these technologies. A growing body of evidence demonstrates how digital technologies are
impacting (or at least have the potential to impact) children’s lives around the world in both
positive and negative ways. The following examples might be helpful to illustrate the relevance
of digital technologies when it comes to children’s rights and rights-related issues.

Positive Experiences
The Internet has become one of children’s preferred sources of information. Through the
Internet, children are able to access a variety of information, ranging from health topics and
current events to college admissions literature and employment opportunities (Barbosa, 2014;
Cortesi & Gasser, 2015b; Dobransky & Hargittai, 2012; Wartella, Rideout, Zupancic,
Beaudoin-Ryan, & Lauricella, 2015). This information stems from a variety of online sources,
including encyclopedias, social media, news outlets, MOOCs, videos, and podcasts among others
(Purcell et al., 2012). Just as the type and location of the information sought by children vary,

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so do the purposes. While some intentions can be more self-motivated, such as desires to confirm
facts children encounter both online and offline, others might be more exogenously motivated,
such as fact-finding in order to complete homework assignments (Barbosa, 2014; Rideout,
2015; Steeves, 2014; Third et al., 2014).
An important use of information children access online is in an educational context. Around
the world, growing numbers of schools are utilizing digital media in learning and are employing
connected learning methods (Buckingham, 2007; Ito et al., 2013; Ólafsson, Livingstone, &
Haddon, 2014). Taking these new forms of learning into account, different stakeholders
(e.g., governments, NGOs, foundations, and technology companies) are providing students
and schools with tablets and computers and are improving the infrastructures of informal learning
spaces, such as libraries and other community-based spaces. Such improved informal learning
spaces may not only offer children better access to digital technologies and the Internet, but
may also play a key role in helping children find supportive networks of peers and mentors,
while also learning new digital skills (Cortesi & Gasser, 2015a; Ito et al., 2010; Jenkins, Ito, &
boyd, 2015; Palfrey, 2015).
Digital technologies also play a central role in many children’s lives when it comes to recreation
and leisure. Online games, for instance, are particularly popular among children. A majority of
children play games that include diverse genres, ranging from puzzles to first-person shooter
games, and educational games (EU Kids Online, 2014; Lenhart et al., 2008; Rideout, 2015;
UNICEF, 2013). Through playing games such as Minecraft and Scratch, children can acquire
useful skills, including the ability to think creatively, and develop self-regulation, collaboration,
and problem-solving skills ( Junco, 2014; Roque, 2014; Roque, Rusk, & Blanton, 2013). As
they spend more time gaming, children can also improve their digital skills, and gain more
confidence in using the Internet, which in part allows them to climb the “ladder of
opportunities” (O’Neill, Livingstone, & McLaughlin, 2011). These opportunities can extend
to things such as innovation, entrepreneurship, civic engagement, and more.
While the Internet is useful for gaining new information and having fun, it has also become
a vital means for children to connect and engage with other people. Social media platforms,
video games, and mobile phones play a crucial role in how children meet and interact with friends.
In many parts of the world, online platforms have become among the top places where children
hang out with close friends. Social media environments in particular are environments where
children’s friendships are strengthened and challenged (Lenhart, Smith, Anderson, Duggan, &
Perrin, 2015b; Popovac, 2012).
In addition, many children use digital technologies to create and share content online.
Children, for instance, post pictures and videos and share status updates with their friends. A
smaller subset writes longer entries, produces code, engages in film making, podcasting, or
making types of creative multimedia content and digital art (Barbosa, 2014; Rideout, 2015;
Rideout, Foehr, & Roberts, 2010). These various forms of content creation provide new
opportunities for children to express themselves, make their voices heard, and to play a more
active role in their communities (Cohen & Kahne, 2012; Shakuntala & Buckingham, 2013).
These new types of enhanced participation may translate into civic engagement and various
forms of political participation.

Negative Experiences
From the perspective of children’s rights, the negative experiences associated with the use of
digital technologies are as important as the positive forms of engagement described above. Some

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of the well-researched risks that have a clear connection to children’s (protection) rights are
the receiving of inappropriate content, interactions between adults and children (e.g. harassment
and grooming), and interactions initiated by children themselves (e.g., bullying and sexting)
(Barbosa, 2014; Lenhart et al., 2011; Livingstone, Mascheroni, & Staksrud, 2015b).
Three types of risks that have children’s rights implications can be distinguished in accordance
with one particularly influential online risks classification scheme developed in the context of
the EU Kids Online project: children’s content, conduct, and contact risks (Livingstone et al.,
2015b). Consider the following examples.

• Content: With the increased popularity of social media and video sharing platforms,
children not only come across inspiring content, but may also be confronted with violent,
sexually explicit, racist, or hateful content that they may find disturbing. Only a minority
of children report having seen sexual content online, but those who have encountered
such content find the experience upsetting to some degree (Livingstone, Kirwil, Ponte,
& Staksrud, 2013; Tsaliki, Chronaki, & Ólafsson, 2014). Other types of online material
that children may find upsetting include violent videos and games, rude and insensitive
comments, and scary pop-up advertisements, all of which can reduce children’s enjoy-
ment of the online experience (Livingstone et al., 2013; UK Council for Child Internet
Safety, 2013).
• Contact: Apart from the potential of children encountering unpleasant content online, there
is also the risk of unwanted and unsolicited contact by adults. Older research suggests that
few children report having experienced an online sexual solicitation (Ospina, Harstall, &
Dennett, 2010; Whittle, Hamilton-Giachritsis, Beech, & Collings, 2013; Wolak, Mitchell,
& Finkelhor, 2006) but those who were exposed to grooming44 may experience severe
negative consequences (European Union, 2013; Livingstone et al., 2013).
• Conduct: While a majority of social media-using children observe mostly kind behavior
online (Lenhart et al., 2011), various studies have shown different prevalence rates of
cyberbullying (Levy et al., 2012; Livingstone et al., 2011; Livingstone et al., 2013). Sexting
is another well-researched conduct risk with rights implications (Livingstone et al., 2011;
Mitchell, Finkelhor, Jones, & Wolak, 2012). Only a very small number of children report
having sent or received sexts (Lenhart, 2009; Livingstone et al., 2011), but some children
feel bothered or pressured by others who ask them to send sexts (Ringrose, Gill,
Livingstone, & Harvey, 2012; Temple et al., 2012). Engaging in sexting can have severe
negative consequences (boyd, 2011), including legal ramifications that children might not
be aware of (Schrock & boyd, 2011; Strohmaier, Murphy, & DeMatteo, 2014).

The examples provided in the previous paragraphs demonstrate the increasingly important role
that digital technologies play in the lives of many children. The section also indicates the various
positive and negative experiences children might encounter in the digitally networked
environment, with potential implications for children’s rights, broadly conceived. Against this
more factual background, the next section takes a closer look at the emerging discourse about
children’s rights in the digital age.

Mapping the Children’s Digital Rights Discourse

The observations about children’s access to and use of digital technologies in the previous section
and the highlighted challenges and opportunities already indicate the heterogeneity of the

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children’s digital rights discourse from a phenomenological perspective. From an analytical

perspective, a comprehensive mapping and evaluation of the implications of digital technologies
vis-à-vis children’s rights is further complicated by the fact that children’s lives “are underpinned
by an incoherent hotchpotch of legal principles and government policies” (Fortin, 2009,
p. 3). Instead of aiming for a comprehensive map, it might be helpful to introduce three
complementary lenses through which the children’s digital rights discourse can be viewed and
organized: Perspectives, issues, and arenas/actors.

Perspectives
Mirroring the children’s rights discourse more generally, the debate about the specific
implications of digital technologies for children’s lives brings together a series of analytically
distinct, albeit interrelated and sometimes overlapping perspectives. Borrowing from and
expanding upon an earlier, pre-digital taxonomy (Franklin, 2002), the following perspectives
might be highlighted:
From an intellectual perspective, a growing number of scholars from various fields study the
interaction between digital technology and social conceptions of childhood, children, and society
in order to understand how a rights-framework should be conceptualized (Davies, Bhullar, &
Dowty, 2011; Livingstone et al., 2015a; Livingstone & O’Neill, 2014). Ethnographic studies,
focus group research, and surveys are useful methodological approaches to gain a deeper
understanding of the ways in which children interact with digital technology (boyd, 2014;
Gray, 2009; James, 2014; Livingstone & Haddon, 2011; Madden et al., 2013; Third et al.,
2014) informing both theoretical and advocacy work focused on children’s rights.
From a political perspective, the impact of digital technologies on children has become the,
often contested, subject of debates across party lines. Such debates often focus on risks associated
with the use of the Internet, including violent information, child safety issues, and broader
concerns about children’s well-being (Staksrud, 2013; UNESCO, 2015). But also opportunities,
particularly regarding twenty-first century skill-building and the potential of digital technologies
for education, are debated in various political fora, including national parliaments (Western
Sydney University, 2014).
Mirroring the political debate, from a legal perspective, law- and policymakers at the national
and regional level have entered debates about the ways in which children must be protected
(Bartholet, 2011) in light of the risks resulting from digital technologies (Palfrey, boyd, &
Sacco, 2010). In addition to such paternalistic approaches, the question of the need for
“updated” rights of children—including participation rights—given the changing digital world
in which they live has been debated in policy circles. Occasionally, even new rights have
been proposed.

Within the evolving legal framework, a broad range of existing institutions (institutional
perspective) committed to children’s rights (e.g., www.derechosdigitales.org; Global Kids Online;
www.voicesofyouth.org) have added a digital agenda to their mission and work, indicating an
increased awareness of digital technology in children’s lives (Pawelczyk & Singh, 2014). In
addition, new organizations have been created—including, for instance, helplines (e.g.,
www.icanhelpline.org; www.saferinternet.org.uk)—to address some of the digital challenges
faced by young people. A number of institutions and initiatives have also emerged to support
children’s rights to participate, particularly as users of local government services such as

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scholars, libraries, educational institutions, etc. that increasingly embrace the potential digital
technology offers.
Conversations about the implications of digital technology also take place at the international
level (international perspective). For example, the Committee on the Rights of the Child devoted
the Day of General Discussion—as part of the Committee’s 67th Session in September 2014—
to digital media and children’s rights in order to gain a deeper understanding of the effects of
children’s engagement with digital technology and develop rights-based response strategies to
maximize opportunities while minimizing risks.
Additionally, scholars and practitioners (Gasser, 2014a; Kleine, 2016; Third et al., 2014), as
well as NGOs (e.g., www.voicesofyouth.org) have advocated for an enhanced engagement of
children in the discourse on digital rights and pointed out the need to include a children’s
perspective. RErights.org—an initiative by the Young and Well Cooperative Research Center
and Western Sydney University in partnership with Digitally Connected and UNICEF’s Voices
of Youth—is a very recent example of how different stakeholders come together and invite
children globally to explore and define their rights in a digital age, and then translate children’s
views for decision makers.
When asked about their rights in the digital world, children highlight the right to access as
a precondition to exercise many of their rights, according to a recent consultation among children
from 16 countries (Third et al., 2014). The importance of access to digital technology is amplified
by children’s view of digital media as a crucial means to exercise their rights to information,
education, and participation. At the same time, children express concerns about the ways in
which participation in the digital environment might compromise their protection rights (Third
et al., 2014).

Issues
The variety of perspectives on children’s interaction with digital technologies indicates the
diversity of issues up for discussion when considering the ramifications for children’s rights in
the digital age. As noted previously, children’s rights are a relatively unstructured amalgam of
diverse norms, policies, and principles at the national, regional, and global level, which makes
it virtually impossible to identify and comprehensively systematize the relevant issues that emerge
as more and more children transition from an analog to a digitally connected environment.
That being said, tentative issue clusters can be formed, broadly speaking, based on either a phe-
nomenological or normative approach.
A phenomenological approach takes as a starting point the growing (but heavily biased towards
the Global North, see Livingstone & Bulger, 2014) body of knowledge about children’s access
to and use of digital technologies, and arrives at children’s rights and rights-related issues from
the bottom up. One example where legal and policy aspects are examined in a larger societal
and developmental context is the research conducted by the Youth and Media team at the
Berkman Klein Center for Internet & Society at Harvard University. Building upon the earlier
work by John Palfrey and Urs Gasser, thematic areas include the role of digital technology in
children’s identity formation and possible legal ramifications, issues related to safety and
information privacy, creative practices and freedom of expression, problems related to
information quality and overload, and opportunities in the field of innovation, learning, and
activism, to mention a few of the key areas.
For each of these clusters, the best available data is analyzed in order to identify challenges
as well as opportunities, and to examine, from an ecosystem perspective, which type of (parental,

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educational, social, legal, etc.) intervention is best suited to empower children where possible
and protect them as necessary. In this mode of exploration, legal and policy issues—including,
but not limited to, children’s rights issues—emerge from the bottom-up and may reveal problem
zones or opportunities that have yet to be addressed by law- and policymakers.
A normative approach uses a conceptually different, but complementary starting point by
looking at existing frameworks and contrasting them with children’s access and usage prac-
tices related to digital technologies. Given the importance of the UN Convention on the
Rights of the Child (CRC, United Nations General Assembly, 1989; Fortin, 2009), the CRC
is often used as a normative frame to identify the implications of digital technology for chil-
dren’s rights. Sonia Livingstone and Brian O’Neill (2014), for example, developed a helpful
framework based on the provision, protection, and participation rights set forth in the CRC
to map issues related to children’s use of digital technology, and to formulate Internet govern-
ance policies in the interest of children. According to their analysis, the following issues are
particularly salient:

• Protection rights: Illegal content and activity on the Internet involving the sexual abuse of
children (Art. 10 and Art. 34); trafficking and other forms of exploitations that are mediated
and even exacerbated by the mass use of the Internet (Art. 35 and Art. 36); initiatives
aimed at protecting children from material injuries to child’s well-being (Art. 17e and Art.
18); right to be protected from arbitrary or unlawful interference with privacy or unlawful
attacks on honor and reputation (Art. 16 and Art. 8).
• Provision rights: Appropriate online content for children from diverse sources to promote
social and moral well-being (Art. 17); implications of children seeking recreation and leisure
online (Art. 31); right to education in relation to the Internet (Art. 28); acquisition of
digital skills that enable responsible life in a free society (Art. 29).
• Participation rights: Right to be consulted in all matters affecting them in accordance with
the age and maturity of the child (Article 12); right to freedom of expression (Art. 13);
right to freedom of thought, conscience, and religion (Art. 14); rights to freedom of
association and to freedom of peaceful assembly (Art. 15).

While not all-encompassing, the CRC provides a useful structure to map a diverse set of issues
emerging from children’s interaction with digital technologies onto core clusters and link them
back to the more conventional children’s rights discourse. Both phenomenological and
normative approaches to issue mapping can be supplemented by key areas and actors involved
in the children’s digital rights discourse.

Arenas and Actors

In addition to differentiating among perspectives, approaches, and issues involved, it might be
helpful to distill a number of key arenas that are particularly relevant to the children’s digital rights
discourse. We propose four such arenas: The general debate about Internet governance and digital
rights; specific child-focused efforts aimed at translating children’s rights into the digital age; the
ramifications of digital technologies in the context of the implementation of children’s rights, and
research on children’s digital rights. The following paragraphs briefly describe each arena and
highlight some examples.

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Internet Governance and Digital Rights

As already mentioned, the debate about children’s rights in the digital age does not take place
in a vacuum. At the most basic level, it can be seen as part of a larger debate about the governance
of the Internet (Livingstone et al., 2015a), here understood as “the development and application
by governments, the private sector and civil society, in their respective roles, of shared
principles, norms, rules, decision-making procedures, and programs that shape the evolution
and use of the Internet” (Report of the WGIG, 2005).
Historically, provisions aimed at protecting children on the Internet from exposure to
inappropriate content were among the first Internet-specific laws introduced at the national
level. In the United States, for instance, the Communications Decency Act of 1996 attempted
to regulate children’s exposure to Internet indecency (and obscenity), but was later overturned
by the Supreme Court as unconstitutional in light of First Amendment free speech rights. Over
time, the emphasis shifted from content risks to certain types of contact risks, as a wave of
anti-cyberbullying legislation illustrates (Hinduja & Patchin, 2015). In parallel, the protection
of children’s privacy in digital environments has gained broad attention by national law- and
policymakers (Gasser, 2015).
The implications of digital technologies for children’s rights did not only come up at the
national, but also at the global level, and thematically expanded from questions related to risks
and protection to opportunities and associated enabling and supporting rights (Livingstone et
al., 2015a). An early case in point is the Tunis Commitment of November 2005 as part of the
World Summit on the Information Society, which recognized the role of digital technologies
“in the protection of children and in enhancing the development of children” and promised
to “strengthen action to protect children from abuse and defend their rights in the context of
ICTs,” emphasizing the best interest of the child as a primary consideration (ITU, 2005).
More generally, children’s digital rights are also recognized in the context of a growing
number of Internet Bills of Rights aimed at articulating a set of political rights, governance norms,
and limitations on the exercise of power in the digitally networked world (Gill, Redeker, &
Gasser, 2015). Several of these bills include children by using broad terms such as “a person”
or “all people” or “every human,” etc., while others explicitly address children. The iRights
Coalition document, for instance, is very explicitly directed toward children (http://
irights.uk/the_irights/). In addition to protective rights, many of these bills also enlist
participation rights and provision rights (Gill et al., 2015).
As the definition mentioned above indicates, traditional legal instruments are only one tool
in the Internet governance kit. Following a more general trend of problem solving in
cyberspace (Weber, 2014), self-regulation in its different manifestations has played a prominent
role when addressing children’s risks online, often based on the argument that this mode of
regulation can better keep pace with rapid technological and behavioral change (Livingstone
et al., 2011). An example in this category is INHOPE, a multi-stakeholder network of 51
hotlines in 45 countries worldwide that was launched under the EU Safer Internet Programme
and deals with illegal content online, committed to eliminating child sexual abuse from the
Internet (Tropina & Callanan, 2015).
In parallel, the venues for different kinds of multi-stakeholder approaches to the children’s
digital rights, broadly understood, have multiplied over the years. The Internet Governance
Forum (IGF), for instance, has become an increasingly important platform in which to discuss
and develop best practices relevant to children’s access to and use of digital technologies.
At the IGF 2015, for instance, sessions were dedicated to child online protection through multi-

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stakeholder engagement, multi-stakeholder solutions for youth-produced sexual content, and

mitigation of online hate speech and youth radicalization, to name just a few—in addition to
discussions as to what extent young people themselves should be part of Internet governance
(http://igf2015.intgovforum.org/).

Child-Focused Frameworks and Strategies

As the previous paragraphs demonstrate, the list of issues emerging from digital technologies
that are relevant from a children’s right perspective is long and diverse and includes both risks
and opportunities. In addition to the patchwork of laws, policies, and practices that have emerged
over the past two decades, more comprehensive frameworks and strategies aimed at dealing with
the digital implications for children’s rights have been proposed, examined and, in some instances,
established.
At the global level, it is particularly noteworthy that the Committee on the Rights of the
Child devoted the Day of General Discussion as part of the Committee’s 67th Session in
September 2014 to “Digital media and children’s rights.” The goal of the discussion was:

[T]o better understand the effects of children’s engagement with social media as well as
information and communication technologies (ICT), in order to understand the impact
on and role of children’s rights in this area, and develop rights-based strategies to maximize
the online opportunities for children while protecting them from risks and possible harm.
(Office of the United Nations High Commissioner
for Human Rights, 2014)

Efforts to promote greater opportunities for young people online by stemming potential
risks also take place at the regional level. The European Union, for instance, promulgated the
“European Strategy for a Better Internet for Children” in 2008. This program, which is built
upon the Safer Internet Program and administered through the EU’s “Connecting Europe”
initiative, seeks to balance the opportunities and risks of the Internet for youth through a
combination of implementing government oversight, improving digital and technological
literacies, and encouraging youth and parents to work together for self-regulation. While the
initial model focused more narrowly on specific risks, recent revisions are broader in scope in
order to understand the impact of this multi-stakeholder European effort on child rights
(Livingstone et al., 2015b).
The OECD, to take another example of a strategic approach, proposed its own framework
for mitigating online risk and empowering young people based upon the lessons of the EU’s
approach and other efforts. While the OECD expressed concern over what it saw as the risks
of youth Internet usage, the organization noted that any means of promoting greater safety
online must also, “respect the rights of children and the freedom of Internet users” (OECD,
2012, p. 9).

Implementation of Strategies and Frameworks

In addition to the debates about children’s digital rights at the level of abstract norms and
frameworks, it is important to consider the implementation of strategies and frameworks aimed
at securing and promoting children’s rights in the digitally networked world.
There have been many efforts by various stakeholders to promote and enforce the prin-
ciples laid out by the CRC (Thomas, 2011). Independent human rights institutions known as

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Children’s Commissioners or Ombudsmen, for instance, are regional and national offices that
advocate for and protect the rights of children by ensuring that adequate policies and services
for children are in place. Non-governmental organizations and other special-interest groups
can also work with children, guardians, organizations, and the government to raise awareness
and instigate change. Across these implementation efforts, the implications of digital technology
for children’s rights have become a topic of interest. But digital technology also plays an important
role as a communication tool when raising awareness about children’s rights by disseminating
knowledge and encouraging children to exercise their rights online.
Organizations that promote digital literacy and digital citizenship are other interesting
implementers. Several of them have developed curricula that empower youth to better navigate
the Internet. For instance, the Good Play team based at the Harvard Graduate School of
Education, in collaboration with Henry Jenkins and his Project New Media Literacies group,
developed Our Space, a casebook of classroom activities related to digital ethics. MediaSmarts,
a Canadian not-for-profit charitable organization for digital and media literacy created a
curriculum to empower children and youth with the critical thinking skills to engage with
media as active and informed digital citizens. Con Vos en la Web developed a helpful set of
guides and curricula in Spanish on topics such as the importance of protecting personal data,
privacy, Internet safety, social media, and online games. Other organizations encourage children
to put these ideas into practice, such as RErights, an online platform that engages children in
a series of activities that ask them to use various digital tools and resources to express themselves
and explore their rights in the digital age.

Research Areas
The digital child rights discourse is also shaped by various research efforts that occur at national,
regional, and global levels as well as in translational contexts. These inquiries into how children
interact with digital technologies provide a better understanding of how to conceptualize
children’s rights and can, ultimately, translate into policy solutions that uphold these rights in
digital contexts.
Studies on child Internet and digital technology usage have been conducted in individual
countries around the world, including the United States. Within US research, studies often include
a mix between quantitative and qualitative research methods. While quantitative methodologies
are employed in reports such as various Pew Internet & American Life publications (Lenhart
et al., 2015a) and Generation M2 (Rideout, Foehr, & Roberts, 2010) to generate descriptive
statistics, other research efforts utilize a mix of quantitative and qualitative methodologies to
delve further into the rationales behind children’s digital technology usage (Rideout, 2015;
Madden et al., 2013). Through the combination of these two approaches, there is an increasingly
complete body of knowledge for understanding children’s rights in a digital context within
the countries in which these national studies occur.
In addition to national level inquiries, the last decade has been marked by the rise of studies
examining child Internet and digital technology usage within regions. These studies, most
prominently the EU Kids Online project (Livingstone & Haddon, 2011), allow for an
understanding of the similarities and differences among children in different national contexts
but within the same area of the world. Through regional research efforts, investigators are able
to provide data to a wide array of policymakers in countries across the region. These regional
level projects can provide important comparisons between regions to understand wider-
reaching usage trends.

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In an effort to aggregate and analyze trends globally, some organizations have undertaken
international level inquiries into how children use technology. While these organizations share
the goal of identifying international trends that span regional boundaries, their approaches differ.
Due to disparities in global data availability, some studies, such as UNICEF Voices of Youth’s
exploratory studies in the Ukraine (Beger, Hoveyda, & Sinha, 2011), Kenya (UNICEF, 2013),
and Malaysia (UNICEF, 2014), seek to provide descriptive national data placed in an
international context. Conversely, other studies attempt to move beyond description to
synthesize data from around the world to analyze international trends (Livingstone & Bulger
2013; Third et al., 2014). Despite utilizing differing approaches, the research is unique in that
it provides information on the state of children’s interaction with digital technology across the
globe, including the Global South.
Utilizing the findings of the three preceding research areas, some scholars have attempted
to directly inform policymaking related to children’s rights in the digital age. Instead of
conducting original research or describing and analyzing datasets alone, these translational research
efforts, such as Dr. Tanya Byron’s report to the UK Department of Children, Schools, and
Families (2008) and the Internet Safety Technical Task Force’s Multi-State Working Group
report in the US (Palfrey, boyd, & Sacco, 2010), propose specific policies based upon research
findings. Through these translational reports, researchers are able to build upon academic findings
to inform and shape the children’s digital rights discourse, both at the national and international
level.

Meta-Observations
The high-level overview of the children’s digital rights discourse at the intersection of children’s
lives, digital technology, and the law—offered from a largely descriptive perspective—leads to
a number of normative observations that can be organized into general reflections on the
discussion and more specific observations about the role of law as it interacts with the lives of
children that are increasingly shaped by digital technologies.

General Observations
In terms of cross-sectional general observations, the children’s digital rights discourse is
characterized by a high degree of heterogeneity. The previous sections have highlighted the diverse
set of perspectives, issues, arenas, and actors associated with the topic. This heterogeneity is
characteristic of contemporary debates about the impact of digital technologies on society more
broadly and has several sources. As noted earlier, the notion of children’s rights as such lacks
a precise definition and invites a plurality of perspectives. The thematic breath is also indicative
of the manifold ways in which children’s lives and the law interact with each other. This
complexity is amplified by the widespread adoption of digital technologies, which in turn shapes
the lives of children in various ways, as the earlier section suggested, and also challenges existing
legal norms in many respects (Palfrey & Gasser, 2008).
This leads to a second general observation: The highly dynamic nature of the conversation
about children’s digital rights. Located at the intersection of children’s lives, digital technologies,
and law, the discourse mirrors the rapidly changing landscape of digital technology as well
as adaptive user behavior, which we can observe particularly among children (Cortesi,
2013). Simultaneously, the debate is exactly concerned with the question of if and to what
extent the legal system in general and children’s rights in particular need to be adjusted in light

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of the challenges and opportunities mentioned before. Putting the three elements together,
the children’s digital rights discourse is necessarily a moving target until the overall entropy
decreases and the system reaches a new, semi-stable equilibrium.
The heterogeneity and inherent dynamism of the children’s digital rights discourse points
towards a third observation, which might be labeled as the methodological challenge. To understand
children’s access and use of quickly evolving digital technologies and consider the implications
for children’s rights and children’s rights law requires a combination of disciplinary perspec-
tives and associated methods, ranging from ethnographic know-how to legal expertise, to
mention just two salient examples. This working together among disciplines and the pooling
of knowledge is a necessity when considering law-based interventions to protect and empower
children in an age of evidence-based law- and policymaking. But this interdisciplinarity
also creates significant challenges. Participants in the children’s digital rights discourse who have
a social science background, for instance, often use a different vocabulary than contributors
with a legal background, and vice versa. Given the relatively nascent status of the debate about
children’s rights in the digital age, interfaces that can “translate” among the disciplinary
language on the one hand, and research and law-making on the other hand, have not fully
developed yet (Gasser, 2014b).

Specific Observations
Focusing on the legal system as the third component in the triangle of children’s lives, digital
technologies, and the law, the following three specific observations deserve to be highlighted
based on the broader overview of the children’s digital rights discourse in the previous section.
First, it might be helpful to look at the conversation about children’s rights in the digital age
through the more general lens of information law to better understand how digital technology
and its ramifications interact with the law. From such a perspective, certain response patterns can
be observed when it comes to the evolution of legal norms vis-à-vis technological change (Gasser
& Burkert, 2007)—patterns that also might be helpful when anticipating or analyzing possible
responses of legal norms encapsulating children’s rights. One such pattern suggests that the law’s
default response mode when confronted with an arguably new (technological or behavioral)
phenomenon is subsumption, i.e., the application of the existing rule (for instance a right under
the CRC) to the new phenomenon (e.g., children’s expression online). Legal norms that are
considered to have a fundamental character—such as fundamental rights—are more abstract and
can absorb new phenomena more easily.
In contrast, it typically requires a particular set of qualified circumstances for the legal system
to innovate itself at the level of norms that are highest in its own hierarchy. Such insights from
pattern analysis might be helpful, for instance, when considering—from an advocacy
perspective—where the best opportunities are to strengthen children’s rights in the digital age.
It might indicate, to stipulate a hypothesis, that norms at lower levels in the norm hierarchy
may be more permeable for children’s digital rights issues than foundational frameworks.
The second, cautionary observation specific to the interplay between law and children’s
digitally connected lives links back to the general reflection about the dynamic ecosystem in
which the children’s digital rights discourse is situated: the justification of legal (including rights-
based) interventions. As in all other areas of law, interventions aimed at governing children’s
lives in the digitally connected environment need to be politically justified.
This process is complicated by a number of factors. The fluidity of children’s online behavior
in interaction with rapidly evolving technology, for instance, makes it often difficult to justify

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specific interventions over time. Further, despite a wealth of anecdotal evidence and great
progress made over the past decade, not all issues can be analyzed based on solid empirical data
that might help to justify legal and regulatory interventions. Finally, even if enough evidence
has accumulated to propose change, it is typically challenging (and requires time) to find
normative consensus in heterogeneous environments given the widespread trade-offs and role
conflicts. These observations help to explain, for instance, some of the heated debates about
the need for and scope of legal interventions aimed at protecting children online.
An information law perspective reveals not only response patterns and points to typical
challenges that occur when law interacts with digital technology. It also indicates a series of
significant implementation challenges in cases where law, as a result of a complex set of interactions,
intervenes to regulate a digital phenomenon. The list of such implementation challenges is long
and includes definitional challenges, the question of the best timing of intervention, and other
issues (Gasser, 2014a).
In the context of this chapter, given the strong emphasis on rights-based interventions, it
seems worth emphasizing that the legal toolkit provides a broad range of modes (direct intervention,
co- or self-regulation) and strategies (command-and-control, incentive based, rights and liabilities,
etc.) that can be applied—and where necessary mixed in the sense of blended governance—
to pursue certain policy objectives such as, for instance, the safety and privacy of children in
the digitally connected world. Evidence from information law demonstrates the benefit of
considering all available instruments in the toolbox when addressing a specific issue (Gasser,
2015). With respect to children’s rights in the digital age, such a perspective suggests a broad
understanding of the term “rights”—consistent with the framing of this chapter.
Consistent with the notion of a blended governance approach is the related (and final)
observation that the realization of children’s rights in the digital world is a shared responsibility
among many actors (“stakeholders”)—including children themselves, parents and other
caregivers, educators, technology companies, governments and international organizations
(Palfrey & Gasser, 2008). Recent experiences with legal interventions in quicksilver technology
environments—and law’s own limitations—demonstrate the promise of children’s
empowerment through educational strategies (Thierer, 2013). At the same time, however, it
is the lack of access to parental and other educational resources that, in many of the less-privileged
parts of the world, calls for a more holistic approach and the working together of all actors through
multi-stakeholder processes (Livingstone et al., 2015a).

Notes
1 In accordance with the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, we use the term children to
refer to all legal minors—generally, that is human beings below the age of eighteen years.
2 According to Livingstone, Carr, and Byrne (2015a), “an estimated one in three of all Internet users
in the world today is below the age of 18” (p. 1).
3 While the contours of what constitutes children’s rights have become clearer over the past decades
(Franklin, 2002, p. 19), there is no single accepted definition or theory of the rights held by children
available (Mangold, 2002, p. 75). These conceptual and definitional problems carry over when
examining the interplay between digital technologies and children’s rights. For the purpose of this
chapter, we propose a frame that takes into account different schools of thought and perspectives, and
embraces a diverse set of activities and arguments related to children’s rights in the digital age. We
introduce the term children’s digital rights discourse as a shortcut for such a frame, which includes a diverse
set of issues at the intersection of children’s lives, digital technology, and the law.
4 Lenhart et al., 2015a; children ages 13–17.
5 Steeves, 2014; children grades 4–11.

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6 Ofcom, 2014; children ages 5–15.

7 Willemse et al., 2014; children ages 12–19.
8 Barbosa, 2014; children ages 9–17.
9 ITU, 2015; children and young people ages 15–24.
10 ITU, 2015; children and young people ages 15–24.
11 MCM, 2013; children ages 15–19.
12 ITU, 2015; children and young people ages 15–24.
13 Willemse et al., 2014; children ages 12–19.
14 Steeves, 2014; children grades 4–11.
15 Steeves, 2014; children grades 4–11.
16 Lenhart et al., 2015a; children ages 13–17.
17 Barbosa, 2014; children ages 9–17.
18 Mascheroni & Ólafsson, 2014; children ages 9–16.
19 Madden et al., 2013; children ages 12–17.
20 Willemse et al., 2014; children ages 12–19.
21 Willemse et al., 2014; children ages 12–19.
22 Sozio et al., 2015; children ages 9–16.
23 Sozio et al., 2015; children ages 9–16.
24 Wartella et al., 2015; children ages 13–8.
25 Steeves, 2014; children grades 4–11; including “news”.
26 UNICEF, 2013; children ages 12–17.
27 Rideout, 2015; children age 13–18.
28 Ólafsson, Livingstone, & Haddon, 2014; children age 9–16.
29 Barbosa, 2014; children ages 9–17.
30 UNICEF, 2013; children ages 12–17.
31 Rideout, 2015; children ages 13–18.
32 Balraj, Pandian, Nordin, Nagalingam, & Ismail, 2013; children ages 14 and 16.
33 UNICEF, 2013; children ages 12–17.
34 EU Kids Online, 2014; children ages 11–16.
35 Barbosa, 2014; children ages 11–17.
36 Cohen & Kahne, 2012; young people ages 15–25.
37 MCM, 2013; young people ages 13–24.
38 Ofcom, 2014; children ages 12–15.
39 Steeves, 2014; children grades 7–11.
40 EU Kids Online, 2014; children ages 11–16.
41 EU Kids Online, 2014; children ages 11–16.
42 EU Kids Online, 2014; children ages 11–16.
43 Barbosa, 2014; children ages 11–17.
44 The US Department of Justice, NSOPW, defines grooming as “a method of building trust with a
child and adults around the child in an effort to gain access to and time alone with her/him.” The
Council of Europe defines grooming as “solicitation of children for sexual purposes.” For more
information see also Ospina, Harstall, & Dennet, 2010.

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 26
Working Children as Subjects
of Rights
Explaining Children’s Right to Work
Manfred Liebel, Philip Meade, and Iven Saadi

Introduction
The UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC, United Nations General Assembly,
1989) confers upon children the right to protection from economic exploitation. This guarantee
for protection is often understood as the obligation to prevent situations in which children
have to work. In this sense the prohibition of child labour – i.e., in the International Labour
Organization’s (ILO) Convention 138 concerning the Minimum Age for Admission to
Employment (1973) and ILO Convention 182 concerning the Prohibition and Immediate
Action for the Elimination of the Worst Forms of Child Labour (1999), or in national legislation
– is understood as the manifestation of a specific human right of the child, whose
implementation is a prerequisite to the realisation of other children’s rights, such as the right
to education. Such interpretations tacitly assume that children’s work (in this case defined as
‘child labour’) is synonymous to exploitation. What is more, they suggest that the prohibition
of child labour and subsequent enforcement measures serve the interests of working children
by putting an end to their exploitation. In this way, the right to be protected from economic
exploitation is reinterpreted to mean the (alleged) right to be ‘free from child labour’.
In opposition to this interpretation, working children’s organisations demand the ‘right to
work’. This does not mean that any person has the right to demand a child’s work nor that
children have to be guaranteed employment. As opposed to the right to employment, the right
to work is understood as an individual child’s right to freely decide whether, where, how and
for how long they work. It goes beyond employment under the regimen and in dependency
of an employer in a capitalist economy as well as beyond all kind of economic activities outside
the ‘official’ labour market (i.e., in the informal economy or private households) that children
are obliged to carry out by persons who have power over them. The raison d’être of the claim
is to broaden children’s scope for decision making and to strengthen their social roles as acting
subjects. It challenges the dominant legal conception that children’s rights are first and foremost
the rights of adults to set a framework that fosters children’s best interests (see Liebel, 2012a).

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Likewise, it opposes a conception of child protection that relies on exclusion measures and
prohibitions to prevent children’s exposure to exploitation.
The chapter is based on our work as consultants and researchers of the working children’s
movements and organisations that came into being at the end of the 1970s in Latin America
and from the beginning of the 1990s in Africa and Asia as well (Liebel, 2004, 2013;
Nieuwenhuys, 2009; ProNATs & CIR, 2008; Swift, 1999). These movements developed from
small informal mutual aid groups of children, but also from initiatives of young people and
adults1 who encourage children to claim their rights themselves. Activists in these children’s
organisations are usually between 10 and 18 years old and work in the informal urban
economy. The working children’s movements are both acting and learning environments in
which children make decisions and have the final say. This is where children find and develop
their own social spaces and age-specific forms of communication by which they can better
understand their situation, search for solutions to their problems and develop their identity.
As a general rule, the children ask adults for support and due to specific, e.g. legal constraints
children face in contrast to adults, they are usually dependent on this assistance. Usually the
adults do not play a leading role but act as consultants to the children. Nevertheless, guaranteeing
the autonomy of the children as well as the continuity and representativeness of their
organisations remains a constant challenge (Liebel, Overwien & Recknagel, 2001; Saadi, 2012;
Taft, 2014).
We examine how the children in these movements understand and claim the right to work.
Furthermore, we explain in which sense the right to work can be understood as a ‘living right’.
Finally, we ask where and in what way the claim for the right to work has become reality.

Children as Subjects of Rights

According to the CRC, within the UN system of human rights, children are recognised as
subjects of rights, meaning they bear and can claim their rights. However, it can be questioned
what conditions have to be in place to enable children to make use of their rights, be it claiming
them from society or exercising them themselves (Liebel, 2014). With particular regard to
working children, it has to be asked whether the rights enshrined in the CRC adequately meet
their concrete living situations and experiences.
Taking into account that children’s rights are understood as human rights, which are applicable
as absolute rights to children as to all other human beings, we understand children’s rights as
agency rights, i.e. as subjective rights or entitlements for personal actions. Children’s rights should
not be understood only as welfare rights or well-being rights, i.e. as an exclusive task or obligation
of states or adults in favour of children. Such different understandings correspond to different
currents in the history of children’s rights: on the one hand a protectionist or paternalistic
tendency that emphasises protection rights, on the other an emancipatory or liberationist
tendency that emphasises participation rights (see Hanson, 2012; Liebel, 2012a, pp. 29–42).
Both tendencies are represented in the CRC, which nevertheless contains a protectionist bias
and emphasis on the responsibility of states/adults (Liebel & Saadi, 2012).
The CRC is a treaty between states, whereby they commit themselves to act in the ‘best
interests’ of the children. It gives children rights that, according to the concepts held by state
representatives and their advisors participating in the decade-long deliberations on the CRC,
best correspond to the special needs and interests of children. The views and demands of children
themselves played no role worth mentioning in the drafting of the CRC, nor were children
involved in the adoption of the Convention. It was only afterwards that attempts were made

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to involve children in the further development and implementation of the CRC – i.e. in the
course of ‘children’s summits’ and ‘children’s forums’ or at meetings of the UN Committee
on the Rights of the Child (Cordero Arce, 2015; Ennew, 2008; Ennew, Hastadewy & Plateau,
2007; Nolan, 2010; Saadi, 2012; White & Choudhury, 2007).
It would fully correspond to the underlying principles of the CRC to take the views and
perspectives of children more into account in the future (Cantwell, 1992; Hart 1992, 1997;
van Bueren, 1998). Corresponding attempts have already been undertaken. However, children’s
rights are far from being understood as what children themselves consider to be fundamental
for their current lives. A situation in which children can exercise all of the rights assigned to
them themselves is far from being achieved, although the CRC states that children are subjects
of their own rights from the moment of birth.
When children express their ideas and wishes, they typically do not do so in the language
of the law (nor either do most adults). The process of thinking in categories of codified rights
is usually alien to them. They are often sceptical of anything that has to do with law and
legislation, or show little interest in it. One reason for this is that the legal sphere is
predominantly an adult domain. Currently children cannot make law, nor administer justice,
because to date they have been denied the political rights of ‘citizens’ that are prerequisites to
be able to undertake such activities. For the most part, laws bring with them rather
uncomfortable experiences for children: they primarily limit their freedom of action, either
because, being ‘minors’, children are forbidden to carry out specific actions, or because some
laws providing entitlements only apply to adults.2
Since the global adoption of the CRC, this relation between children and rights has partially
been modified. The relevance of own rights is gradually seeping into the consciousness of
children. On the one hand, children come into contact with the children’s rights discourse
through media such as the internet or children’s TV programmes, through the activities of
organisations that assist or educate adolescents and children, during mediatised, symbolic days
such as the Universal Children’s Day, or at school. In these contexts, children are often also
encouraged to show an interest in children’s rights and to make them their own. While the
children participating in such events are invited to do so, thereby fulfilling an expectation placed
on them rather than using children’s rights by their own initiative in order to achieve
something, occasionally initiatives emerge through which children can directly deal with specific
facets of their reality and stand up for the implementation of their rights. Politically engaged
groups and organisations for children and youth start framing their demands in the children’s
rights discourse in order to gain legitimacy and to increase acceptance of their demands (Bhandari,
2006; Liebel, 2012c; Oliver & Dalrymple, 2008; White & Choudhury 2007). In the process,
either the rights contained in the CRC are related to particular situations and are reformulated
in more precise ways, or rights are requested or demanded that are not part of the CRC.
This is the case for a number of child and youth groups that raise specific issues and in
doing so refer to the rights of children. These groups often do not come into existence in
order to campaign for codified children’s rights, but are formed to voice and address
dissatisfaction with particular situations. Only later do they begin framing their demands in the
discourse of children’s rights. They then do not only refer to the CRC, but also ‘invent’ and
demand rights that to date have not been officially granted to children (Liebel, 2012a, pp.
125–142) (see Chapter 30 of this volume for a full discussion of children’s rights groups and
clubs).
In many countries of the Global South social movements and self-help groups of children
living and working in dire poverty or struggling for survival on the streets have appeared.

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Nowadays, they too invoke the fact that they have rights and struggle for their realisation.
Many of these groups have gone beyond the CRC and formulated their own rights, which
they consider to be more adequate to their situations. The African Movement of Working Children
and Youth, for instance, has established a catalogue of ‘12 Rights’ whose implementation is
continually reviewed by its grass-roots groups (see ENDA 2001; Liebel, 2012b). In the
catalogue one can find, i.e. the right to stay in the village and to be able to live there in a
dignified manner or the right to be able to exercise a light job appropriate to their age. The
children demand that these rights, as well as the rights enshrined in the CRC, are respected
and put into force.
When children formulate their own rights or reformulate already existing rights, they usually
do not express them as general and encompassing principles, but often rather refer directly to
specific situations they have experienced. These claims for rights are often accompanied by
campaigns, solidarity appeals or other activities in order to increase the momentum for their
recognition and implementation. When children express themselves on their rights or even
formulate their own rights, they usually do so in a direct language free of legal clauses. At least
when they refer to themselves, their own interests and perspectives as children in particular
circumstances find expression in the formulations.

Why Children Claim and How They Understand the Right to Work
In contrast to the right to be protected from economic exploitation – codified in Article 32
of the CRC – the right to work is a claim put forward by children themselves. The demand
is a result of working children’s experiences that legislation and policy measures devised to
protect them from exploitation contributed rarely if ever to ameliorate their situation (Liebel,
2013). Quite to the contrary, the prohibition of child labour contained in ILO Conven-
tion 138 (‘minimum age’ for access to labour) (1973) was translated into laws and according
measures that made the situation of working children more complicated and difficult (see
Bharadwaj & Lakdawala, 2013; Bourdillon, Levison, Myers, & White, 2010; Hungerland,
Liebel, Milne, & Wihstutz, 2007). Even ILO Convention 182 (1999), which aims specifically
at combating the ‘worst forms of child labour’, turned out to be an instrument that contrib-
uted to the problems that working children face instead of constituting a solution to these
problems. Without consulting the children and their families, arbitrary definitions were made
as to what should be considered the ‘worst forms of child labour’. In many cases, this Con-
vention was used as a justification to displace working children from their places of work
(according to personal experiences and observations by one of the authors, this happened
particularly in Latin American countries such as Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Mexico and
Nicaragua, see Liebel, 2013).
These negative effects are one result of the laws and measures intended to protect children
from exploitation, but which are based on assumptions that child labour is necessarily harmful
and fails to take into consideration the reasons motivating children to take up work. The
underlying belief is that children are unfit to work and there is no need to try to understand
children’s views and perceptions. Hence, the children are seen as victims and objects in need
of help, as opposed to individuals with thoughts about their situation and ideas about how to
solve their problems.
There is likewise also a neglect of the specific socio-cultural contexts in which children
grow up and existing concepts of ‘childhood’ and ‘work’ in which children’s work is not seen
as an anomaly but as a contribution to ‘shared responsibilities’ and something to be appreciated.

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Of course, such perceptions entail the risk that in situations of poverty children are only seen
in terms of their labour force potential and little attention is paid to their rights and needs.
Nevertheless, in view of working children’s experiences with child labour bans and the insights
on the unintended impacts of such bans, one has to ask whether these risks can be adequately
addressed if children’s work is only defined as intrinsically negative. Instead, a combination
of an honest assessment of children’s working conditions and a recognition of the value and
potential benefits of economic activity, especially for, but not restricted to children, seems to
be a more promising approach to improving the situation of working children. One cannot
ignore that often children like to help their families and are proud of contributing to the family’s
needs and income (see Gankam Tambo, 2014; Ramírez Sánchez, 2007; Samuelsson, 2008;
Woodhead, 1998).
The claim for a right to work corresponds to the demand of working children for better
social recognition of their work and its contributions not only to their own and their families’
lives, but to the production and reproduction of society in general. The children who demand
a right to work have experience with work and exploitation as well as with the inadequacy
of many measures taken for their protection. These children demand solutions that take into
account their living conditions and experiences. They want to be respected as persons who
have an interest in and are capable of contributing to solving the problems they face. In this
sense, they consider the right to work as an instrument of empowerment in which they take
command of their own situation.
When children – no matter whether in the Global North or the Global South – are given
the opportunity to express their views on their work or their perceptions of work, they often
hold positive feelings about their work or suggest that they would like to work if they only
had the opportunity. In doing so, they attach specific ideas or expectations to children’s work.
For instance, a survey on the meanings of work for children in Germany (Hungerland,
Liebel, Liesecke, & Wihstutz, 2007) concluded that children do not want to engage in just
any kind of work, but demand the work to be performed ‘voluntarily’ of their own free will
and expect it to increase their ‘independence’ and ‘social recognition’. They also consider an
adequate remuneration as an important factor for positively evaluating work, as in their view
this constitutes an indicator that their work and they themselves are recognised as socially relevant.
Additionally, children identify the specificity of gains provided to others through the work,
the possibilities contained within the work to implement and practice own skills and
competences, and the appreciation in their social surroundings for the specific task as further
factors relevant for assessing qualities of work. Usually, children do not see work as being in
conflict with school education, but as a way to gain new experiences, broaden one’s scope of
action and under certain conditions, to acquire skills relevant for one’s own future that school
does not impart.
Children do not always express their views on work by explicitly defining their activities
as work. They are more likely to indicate the importance of earning money, making themselves
useful, supporting their family or gaining valuable experience in the ‘adult world’. For instance,
a 10-year-old girl from Berlin who was looking for a job said, for example: ‘I hate always
being in class.’ Even though the reasons and motives that cause children to work in the Global
North and in the Global South are very different, children from the Global South do voice
similar considerations. A 13-year-old boy from Paraguay who took part in the Second World
Meeting of the Movements of Working Children and Youth in Berlin in 2004, said: ‘School
and play are not enough for us children,’ adding: ‘We can work and at the same time play
and learn. These activities are not mutually exclusive.’ A child excluded from school due to

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working long hours or for other reasons might well have given a different response, but even
such children seldom fully disapprove of work, they far more often desire shorter working
hours, less exhausting work or choosing the type of work themselves. A 14-year-old boy from
Argentina who had been a street vendor since the age of six said that the problem for him and
the other children from poorer neighbourhoods was not the fact that they had to work. ‘What
strains me is when I have to work under bad conditions, have no rights and am exploited’ (all
quotes from ProNATs & CIR, 2008).
Because children do not yet have access to political rights, they are often excluded from
the most important avenues for political participation, e.g. they can neither contribute to
legislation by their votes nor interpret and administer the law.3 We see a special significance
in children’s perspectives and demands formulated and voiced collectively through their social
movements and organisations. Children demand of adults, who compared to children
undoubtedly are in a more privileged situation, to be more inclusive in regard to their needs
and perspectives. Or as Reynolds, Nieuwenhuys and Hanson (2006) stated, ‘some danger lies
in our use of rights to abstract and universalize at the expense of efforts to imagine the stake
we have in mutual comprehensibility and to be responsive to other forms of life, especially
those under construction by the young’ (pp. 300–301).
From such an understanding, the formulation of rights by children finds legitimacy in that
through such claims they seek answers to urgent needs and demand that the social realities
that they face are improved. The rights they demand are closely related to their concrete life
experiences and are claimed because they are considered by the children as relevant and
appropriate solutions to their needs. Due to the fact that these claims are voiced by children
themselves (in this case working children) and based on their specific experiences, the right to
work can be best understood as a living right.

The Right to Work as a Living Right

A recognition of children’s work is impeded by a specific idea of childhood that emerged with
the bourgeois society and that separates children from many spheres of social life while
assigning them to specific protected and preserved ‘islands’. This allegedly would best correspond
with specific traits and characteristics all children share by nature and legitimises confining
children to a childhood restricted to upbringing and school education (Gittins, 2004; Hendrick,
2011; Jenks, 2004; Prout, 2005; Zeiher, 2011).
It is in this dominant ‘modern’ conception, understood as the most appropriate and
advanced form of childhood, that policies ‘against child labour’ are deeply rooted. These disregard
the very specific social and economic historical European realities the conception originated
from, as well as the fact that also in the Global North many children and youth continuously
have been and still are involved in manifold activities that run counter to a conception of a
childhood separated from economic activities (Levine, 2003; Nieuwenhuys, 2007; Phadraig,
2007). Still, in the discourse on child labour, this model of childhood is portrayed as the
unquestioned goal all societies, or in Hall’s term, ‘the West and the Rest’ (Hall, 1992) should
strive to realise.
The assumptions of the inevitable harmfulness of work in children’s lives contained in this
conception seem to preclude any acknowledgement of recommended approaches to children’s
work (see for an overview Bourdillon et al., 2010). For example, this is apparent in how the
relationship between work and education is considered. Children’s work is, without question,
often carried out under conditions that impair education. However, research on this relationship

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has also shown that work can allow children to have access to school and non-school education.
For example, children use their earnings gained in work to afford school materials, transportation
to and from schools, school fees, and usually they try to combine work and school (Alber,
2012; Bourdillon et al., 2010; Martin, 2012; Tafere & Pankhurst, 2015; Wambiri, 2015).
Furthermore, through work, children can gain knowledge and skills that strengthen their current
and future social participation (Balagopalan, 2014; Liebel, 2004; Katz, 2012; Köhler, 2012;
Mahati, 2012). This debate also usually disregards the fact that on the other hand, the
institutional school system can also be a significant context of children’s rights violations in
the form of, e.g. physical and psychological violence, discrimination and other excessive and
psychosocially harmful pressures (Close, 2014).
The right to work is not only an economic right that demands participation for children
on equal terms in society, but is also a tool for protecting working children from exploitation.
Underlying this is a perception of protection that is not based on the general and strict avoidance
of hazardous situations (‘protection from . . .’), but on the handling of those situations through
the agency and activities of those directly affected (‘protection by . . .’). Therein are certainly
risks. One could ask whether children are always in the position to judge the inherent dangers
in specific forms of work. If they are able to recognise their ‘best interests’, or able to differentiate
between their short- and long-term interests (despite the temptations that earning money can
constitute). Or whether they have the necessary power to stand up against unreasonable working
conditions and to then achieve the necessary changes.
However, it would be erroneous to think that a conception of protection of children focused
on the general avoidance of risk is without danger for children. Not only can it reinforce the
dependency of children at the expense of freedom and participation rights, and preclude them
from developing the necessary competences for taking appropriate actions when facing possibly
harmful situations, it is also blind and inflexible towards the specific living conditions of chil-
dren and the culture-specific positioning of children in the respective society (Lansdown, 2005).
It throws the baby out with the bath water, making it impossible to identify the contexts of
children’s work, meanings of work for children and active roles children could play in their
own protection. Furthermore, in the sense of a self-fulfilling prophecy, the avoidance-concept
itself ex ante contributes to putting the child in a state of helplessness that serves as evidence
of the need for protection (Liebel, 2012a, pp. 100–101).
On the other hand, if the right to work is granted to children, this would allow them to
better protect themselves against risks or achieve improvements in their situation, where necessary
through legal means. For example, regulations could specify the conditions for work accessible
to children, such as maximum working hours, parallel school attendance or protection and
participation rights in the workplace. In addition, children willing to work could be provided
with employment opportunities that comply not only with these regulations but also children’s
ideas about working. These employment opportunities could be imagined in the context of
public institutions or with regard to new forms of solidarity economy4 and non-profit economic
activity. This, in turn could possibly contribute to the reduction of child poverty.
The right to work for children is so far envisaged in neither any nation state law nor any
international conventions relating to children. The corresponding right to free choice of
employment, as enshrined in the UN Charter of Human Rights of 1948 and many constitutions,
which is sometimes reinforced by the ‘right to work’, usually contains no explicit age limit,
but is de facto valid only for adults. However, the consideration of how the right to work
could also come into play for children is not necessarily linked to codified law. Like all human
rights the right to work can also claim validity before any formal codification in state laws or

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international conventions. It receives its legitimacy by being articulated in increasing numbers

and in an organised manner by children themselves (Liebel, 2013). The ‘12 rights’ that are
formulated in the founding document of the African Movement of Working Children and Youth,
partly correspond to some of the articles in the CRC but they are not contained in any ‘official’
legal document. In contrast to state and interstate legal documents, the ‘12 rights’ are
characterised by the fact that they relate specifically to the life and interests of the working
children who formulated them or to the children represented by the African Movement. In all
countries where this movement is represented, the young members evaluate on a regular basis
the extent to which their ‘12 rights’ are put into practice, and also discuss the role played by
responsible adults and governments in supporting their goals.
The right to work is especially relevant to the implementation of other children’s rights.
The fundamental new beginning that the CRC promises by granting children the right to
dignity and a self-determined social identity will not reach its full potential as long as children
remain dependent on the benevolence of adults. Only when children can legally become
economically active and have an own income at their disposal can they expect to gain the
necessary independence and social importance to enforce their rights in society themselves (see
ENDA, 2001; Liebel, 2012b).
In declarations and statements issued by the children’s movements, the right to work does
not relate to any kind of work; instead they repeatedly emphasise that it should be a ‘work in
dignity’, ‘light’ or ‘not too hard work’, and ‘work appropriate to the child’s skills’ (see Liebel,
Nnaji, & Wihstutz, 2008). At first glance, this could be understood in a manner that children
claim only a limited right to ‘child-specific’ work. Judging the context, however, one can
conclude that age was not the criterion of adequacy, but rather the respect for human dignity.
The children’s movements’ understanding of the right to work aims at obtaining a ‘best possible’
work and actively opposing any kind of exploitation and degradation in work. It thus contains
a ‘utopian surplus’ that points beyond the form of wage labour dominant in capitalist society.
Moreover, children want to decide for themselves whether prospective work meets their specific
criteria or not.

Achievements and Challenges: The Case of Bolivia

In order to become effective, the right to work must, as all human rights of children, be socially
accepted and universally recognised. One step towards achieving this is the codification of a
children’s right to work in legal norms. Yet even before that, adults may acknowledge and respect
children’s work in everyday life. Further, it would certainly be useful if international labour
law relating to children would adapt to these developments (see Hanson & Vandaele, 2013).
The right to work claimed by the organisations of working children strongly challenges the
current child related international labour law as codified in ILO-Conventions 138 (1973) and
182 (1999) and the corresponding international and national action programmes that aim at a
complete eradication of all forms of child labour (see ILO, 2010). Even so, organisations of
working children have succeeded, at least in some Latin American countries, to make a certain
impact on national legislation.5 Particularly interesting is a new legislation in the Plurinational
State of Bolivia that we now consider.
Since 4 August 2014, a new child and youth law has been passed in Bolivia that sets standards
for the understanding and implementation of children’s rights (Estado Plurinacional de Bolivia,
2014; Liebel, 2015). Globally, it is the first such law that was drafted with the meaningful
participation of children. For the first time legally binding regulations for working children

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have been stipulated that do not constitute a blanket prohibition of their work. Instead, the
law aims at protecting working children from exploitation and abuse of power and enabling
them to live in dignity by granting these children rights in work and establishing protective
measures. This specific chapter VI of the law raised international attention and caused significant
controversy (see Colonialidad en los Saberes y Prácticas Antagónicas desde y con los NATs,
2015; Liebel, 2015; Wharton, 2014).
The law applies to all children and young people below the age of 18 living in Bolivia. It
guarantees children that:

• their interests have ‘absolute priority’;

• they are free and equal and are equipped with dignity and rights and for no reason are
allowed to be discriminated against;
• they are in particular not to be discriminated against on grounds of their gender;
• they are free, active and can participate in family, community, social, educational, scientific,
cultural, sport and leisure activities;
• they must be heard and respected and be able to voice their opinion freely;
• in acknowledgment of the cultural diversity of the country their respective identities and
belonging to a culture have to be respected and acknowledged;
• they can develop their physical, cognitive, affective, emotional, mental and social
competencies harmonically, with regard to their diverse and mutual relations to life
circumstances;
• they can claim and exercise their rights in accordance with their capacities, but in doing
so also have to comply with their growing obligations.

The law also explicitly emphasises that the family is given special importance for the protection,
the education and development of the children and that the state has to care for this through
appropriate programmes and measures.
The sections of the law specifically address:

• the right to life, health and a healthy environment;

• the right to family which includes, e.g. access to both parents;
• the right to a nationality, identity and belonging;
• the right to education, information, culture and recreation;
• the right to expression of opinion, participation and petition (without the mediation through
an adult)
• the right to protection with regard to work;
• the right to freedom, dignity and protection of privacy;
• the right to personal integrity and protection against violence (special attention is given
to sexual violence and to violence committed by persons in positions of authority in the
education system).

The short chapter IX of the law attends to the duties of children and youth, i.e. the duties to
take care of one’s health, to protect one’s rights and to respect other persons. The duties under
this section are formulated as ethical suggestions rather than enforceable obligations.
Specific institutions are named as being responsible for the protection of child rights. Special
importance is given to the institution of children’s rights commissions (defensorías), which
according to the law have to be established in each community and must comprise lawyers,

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social workers, psychologists and other professionals. The tasks of the commissions are manifold.
On the one hand, they serve as receiving bodies for complaints by children and are supposed
to allow and support children to voice their interests in relation to civil services and in courts.
On the other hand, they are responsible for providing permissions for children to work. The
possible contradictions implied by this variety of tasks are supposed to be resolved by appropriate
internal regulations and the corresponding composition of the teams. In practice, due to
insufficient financial resources available to the Bolivian state, these commissions are underfunded
and so far only partially operational. Additionally to these commissions, the law establishes
child and youth committees composed of children representing pupils and members of child
and youth organisations. Their task is to participate in the development and the implementation
of child policies and programs.
An approach focused on the regulation of rights in work with regard to working children
(the common term ‘child labour’ (trabajo infantil) is not used in the law), is a novelty in child
and youth legislation. For the first time the Bolivian child and youth law explicitly refers to
working children, and it guarantees them protection rights in work as a means of safeguarding
their health and their rights to education and dignity. This is noteworthy insofar as previous
legal regulations in accordance with conventions of the ILO framed ‘protection’ mainly
through prohibitions restricting children under certain age limits from work, including
provisions to take them out of work. As described above, such prohibitions increase the
vulnerability of working children by stripping from them any rights in work to which they
could refer.
Accordingly, Bolivian law gained international attention because of its novel approach of
abstaining from a general prohibition of employment of children (that is to say ‘child labour’)
under the age of 14 and instead establishing different regulatory provisions according to types
of work and ages, which constitutes such an important deviation from established legislative
approaches to children’s work.
The law differentiates among various forms of work: domestic or agricultural work children
perform in their communities and/or in familial contexts6 is acknowledged as legitimate
notwithstanding the age of the child and is framed within the historical and cultural context
of the country.7 Art.128 states (translation by the authors):

These are activities undertaken by girls or boys together with their families in indigenous
communities of farmers, of Afro-American and inter-cultural origin. These activities are
culturally valued and accepted, and their aim is the development of basic skills needed for
children’s own lives, as well as strengthening community life in the context of ‘Living
Well’ (Vivir Bien).8 They are based on traditional knowledge and include sowing, harvesting
and the conservation of natural resources such as forests, water and animals. They always
contain elements of play and recreation as well as artistic and religious dimensions.

Special emphasis is given to the positive function of these activities for the socialisation of the
child and his/her development into an active and responsible citizen.
In contrast, the law in principle prohibits income-oriented activities for children below the
age of 14, but it allows for some ‘exceptions’ at certain ages. Specifically, children from the
age of 10 can work for their own account and from the age of 12 can work in dependent
occupations provided certain conditions are fulfilled and the work is beforehand approved by
the responsible local ombudsperson. This approval is only permissible if the activity does not
impair the education, health, dignity and integral development of children and adolescents.

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However, when these conditions are met, the issuing of an approval by the local commissions
is mandatory. Some types of work harmful to children are generally impermissible and are
specified in a listing that must be updated every five years with the participation of the working
children.
In order to ensure a ‘fair reward’, the remuneration of adolescents from age 14 must not
be less than the remuneration of adults performing the same work and under no conditions
should it fall below the legal minimum wage set by the Bolivian state.9 The daily working
hours must not exceed 8 hours per day and 40 hours per week and must cease at 10 pm. For
youth under 14 there is a maximum of 6 daily working hours, 30 hours per week.
Parents or other custodians of children from age 10 working independently are obligated
to ensure that their child’s school attendance and working conditions enable the child to recreate
and participate in cultural and other leisure activities. Article 134 deals with paid domestic
work, which, according to the law, may only be performed by children from age 14.
The draft version of the law that was presented in December 2013 dealt with ‘child labour’
by prohibiting work for all children under age 14. Not surprisingly, working children vigorously
protested against this prohibition. They had presented their ideas to the parliament and
government during the 4 years prior to the draft law and now began organising demonstrations
in many Bolivian provinces. Clashes with the police, who deployed tear gas and truncheons
to hold back the children, occurred in the capital La Paz.10
The protest of the children made political discrepancies visible, which were until then only
latently present in the government and in parliament. According to official statistics in the year
2008, 27.9 per cent of all children and youth age 5 to 17 were economically active – this
corresponds to 940,230 girls and boys; not included are children and youth working in external
households or their own family (OIT & INE, 2008). The majority were involved in
communitarian and familial activities in the countryside (see Schibotto, 2014). In the further
course of the debate, President Evo Morales, himself a former working child, sided with the
working children.
Working children in Bolivia are well organised. There has been coordination on a national
level since the late 1980s (Sainz Prestel, 2008). In 2003, several working children’s movements
formally joined forces in an organisation named UNATsBO – Bolivian Union of Working Children
and Adolescents,11 which is active in almost all parts of the country. This ‘child trade union’ (as
often referred to in the media) had already influenced the drafting of the national Constitution
in such a way that its final wording on child work positively acknowledges the possible social
and individual value of child work (Saadi, 2012).
In 2010, UNATsBO elaborated its own draft bill as a ‘normative proposition to
acknowledge, promote, protect and defend the rights of working children and adolescents’
(UNATsBO, 2010, p. 101–103). In the bill, they explicitly did not use the term child labour
(trabajo infantil) in order to make clear that it is not simply a ‘social problem’. Instead, the draft
bill used the term ‘working children’, emphasising that the bill deals with concrete persons
who have a right to regulations that meet their specific needs in situations they themselves are
capable of improving. The draft bill was based on workshops and consultations that UNATsBO
undertook, being supported by child rights organisations in various regions of the country.
The finally enacted Children and Youth law (Estado Plurinacional de Bolivia, 2014) was a
political compromise that had to be fought for in the face of many adversities – in the
government, with members of parliament and in public. Working children were not granted
a right to work as demanded in the draft bill of UNATsBO. However, the perspective, to
allow children from age 10 or 12 in exceptional cases to work, challenges the ‘official’ arguments

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about children’s work and international agreements on the general prohibition and ‘eradication
of child labour’. The law is an attempt to bridge the span between the ILO Conventions on
child labour and the fact that the work of hundreds of thousands of children in various forms
and contexts is a Bolivian reality. On the one hand, children’s work is differentiated according
to the respective conditions and contexts it is performed in. On the other hand, the approval
of work forms that might fall under ILO Convention definitions of inacceptable child work,
is declared as ‘an exception’ and is bound to explicit preconditions, which exclude economic
exploitation12 and other violations of children’s rights. Furthermore, the law provides measures
of protection and support for working children and their parents to improve their living
conditions.13
To determine whether the law provides working children with better protection at work,
puts an end to their discrimination, and improves their living conditions, the law needs to be
implemented in its entirety. Appeals to the Commissioners of Children’s Rights are crucial at
this stage. These commissioners will only be able to carry out their allotted duties properly if
they are adequately resourced and have qualified staff who are able to incorporate the
perspectives of working children and are prepared to support them. It should also be guaranteed
that children and youth play an active role in the monitoring of the commissioners’ work.
The children’s and adolescents’ committees, which are established in the new law, could
also offer new prospects. Though these committees have so far existed primarily on paper, in
some municipalities they have already been set up – with working children and adolescents
participating. More committees are currently being established. In the future, it will be
important to observe how well these committees function by being equipped, and empowered
to exert an influence at the national level. To that end there will be a need for a societal change
and ultimately for legal regulations to enable children and adolescents under the age of 18 to
participate directly in political decisions at all levels.
It is equally important to create work and training alternatives for children and youth that
meet the criteria for ‘legal’ work under the law and offer young people greater opportunities
for personal development in addition to schooling, or to transform their existing work situation
so that the rights of children are complied with. The law’s application of labour standards to
children and youth (on such matters as the minimum wage and working hours), and its guarantees
of protection, are a first step. However, the law is not intended merely as a pragmatic
emergency solution to ease the way out of poverty for children and their families. Rather, it
contains the promise and the challenge of enabling all people in Bolivia to have a decent and
satisfying life.
The particular significance of the law – for other countries too – is that it no longer regards
children simply as ‘welfare objects’ but as social subjects who can also actively contribute to
necessary changes in society. Admittedly, this can only succeed to the extent that the country
is able to emerge from international economic dependency and to produce economic forms
and labour relationships that meet the principles of ‘Living Well’ (Vivir Bien) enshrined in the
Constitution.

Conclusion
The working children’s movements’ claim for the right to work in general and the legislative
processes and initiatives from Peru and Bolivia in particular, are both remarkable achievements
and challenges to conventionally followed approaches in labour law and children and adolescents
law at both national and international levels. To become effective, the right to work does not

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need to be first codified in law. As all human rights, the right to work can become a legitimate
claim before being formally codified in state law or interstate conventions. It gains legitimacy
by being increasingly articulated by working children themselves and their organisations. This
is not to suggest that it lacks legal foundation. For instance, the ‘12 Rights’ formulated in the
founding document of the African Movement of Working Children and Youth, or the law
proposal on the rights of working children drafted by the Bolivian Movement of Working
Children and Adolescents, even if not incorporated in any ‘official’ legal document, do find a
legal foundation in some of the articles of the CRC. What is more important is that the claim
to the right to work is directly and concretely related to the living situations and needs of
working children who formulated these claims and/or are represented by the children’s
movements. The fact that children organised in these movements tried to develop cooperative
and self-determined forms of work of their own testifies to the fact that they are bringing their
right to work into practice in ways that secure them a living and provide spaces for their
development and education. Not only do they realise through their work and their organising
as working children’s movements the right of children to be active in socially useful and
acknowledged ways, they also try to develop new forms of work that, due to their specific
conditions and social relations of work, are beneficial, not exploitative.
The demand for the right to work and the engagement of the movements of working children
challenge widespread ideas about childhood as a life stage of ‘becoming’ and preparation as
well as the inferior state of ‘being cared for’. By understanding children’s rights as agency rights,
the demand for children’s right to work also requires rethinking the subordinated status of
children as a social group and addressing its implicit injustice (see Liebel, 2013). Working
children’s movements contest widespread concepts of protection that primarily involve
regulations that impose bans and exclusion. This means recognising working children and
their organisations as equal partners in the struggle for fairer living conditions. This is both a
challenge to trade unions that have to ‘unlearn’ their view on working children as victims and
unwelcome competitors, as well as to social movements and NGOs that have to accept that
working children are not merely objects of supportive measures. Children whose right to work
has been recognised and who are supported in realising this right could play a much greater
role in the process of social transformation towards a more just world than they have been
able to do so far.

Notes
1 In most cases, such projects were encouraged by NGOs with a focus on children’s rights or aiming
to improve children’s participation and self-organisation through their social and educational work.
2 The anti-discrimination agency of Berlin (Landesantidiskriminierungsstelle), inter alia, published a survey
of 1300 Berlin legislations of which 47% contained minimum and 53% maximum age limits. These
limits are set either for exercising or terminating activities or enforcing participation or protection
rights. The anti-discrimination agency of Berlin concluded that around 30% of these regulations should
be revised in order to eliminate tendencies of age-based discrimination (Senatsverwaltung für
Integration, Arbeit und Soziales: Landesstelle für Gleichbehandlung–gegen Diskriminierung, 2010).
3 The “participation rights” foreseen in the CRC, as well as the right to peaceful assembly or to found
an association, are in accordance with classical civil rights, yet fall short of granting children political
rights such as the right to vote.
4 A solidarity economy comprises income generating activities aimed primarily at meeting the needs of
the workers in mutual support, not at gaining the highest profit. Various movements of working children
have realized solidarity economies on a small scale, some export their goods to European fair trade
organisations (i.e., the Italy-based “Little Hands”, see www.littlehands.it).

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5 The first country, in which children were accorded the right to work explicitly in legislation, is Peru.
The Children and Adolescents Law (Código de los Niños y Adolescentes, Decreto Ley No 26102), which
the Peruvian government promulgated on 28 December 1992, states. “The state recognizes the right
of adolescents to work under the provision that their work activity does not present any danger to
their development, both physical and mental and their emotional health, and that it does not impair
their school attendance.” Despite numerous protests by the organisations of working children, in the
amended version of the law of 21 July 2000 (Código de los Niños y Adolescentes, Ley No 27337), the
minimum age for the right to work was raised to 15 years for agricultural employment, to 16 years
in industry, commerce and mining, and to 17 years in the fishing industry. At least the state’s obligation
to provide school timetables that make it possible for working children to attend school, recognises
indirectly, as did the earlier law, the work of younger children (without naming an age limit). This
is no longer the case in the recently discussed new draft of the Children and Adolescents Law, where
the minimum age for all kinds of work will be fixed at 15 years in general, without any consideration
for special rights of working children below this age.
6 The Spanish original of the Code uses the term actividades comunitarias familiares.
7 In the indigenous languages of Aymara, Quechua and Guaraní, these activities are not described as
“work”. The term “work”, which does not exist in a general sense in these languages, refers solely
to the work in urban areas or industrial plantations for export, which arrived with the money economy
and the capitalist business model.
8 The principle of Vivir Bien or Buen Vivir embraces indigenous cosmologies and ideas about the shaping
of society for a life in harmony with oneself, the surrounding community and nature, which differs
fundamentally from the Western development and growth model. It is enshrined in the Constitution
of Bolivia as an objective of the state (see Fatheuer, 2011).
9 The monthly minimum wage in Bolivia is currently equivalent to EUR 152. In 2005, it was EUR
46.
10 The line of incidents was taken up by the media (i.e. Achtenberg, 2014).
11 Unión de Niños, Niñas y Adolescentes Trabajadores de Bolivia (UNATsBO). The title specifically draws
attention to the fact that it includes both genders. UNATsBO is part of a network of similar
organisations in Latin America (see http://molacnats.org).
12 The Code itself does not specify what constitutes “economic exploitation” or what level of pay may
be regarded as “fair”. On the question of economic exploitation and possible criteria for fairness, see
Liebel, 2004, pp. 194–215.
13 The ILO declared parts of the Bolivian law incompatible with its conventions on child labour during
the 104th session of the International Labour Conference held from June 1 to 13, 2015. This
evaluation constitutes a significant obstacle to obtain international support for the implementation of
the law. In light of the in parts significant negative impacts of the ILO’s approach on working children,
another approach towards the Bolivian law could have been to instead of focusing on the formal
compatibility of the law with ILO conventions, to evaluate the law’s contribution to a better protection
and improvement of the working and living conditions of working children. This would have
required to allow for and support the implementation of the law.

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 27
Protection from Sexual
Exploitation in the Convention
on the Rights of the Child
Elizabeth M. Saewyc

Introduction
Among the various substantive articles that outline the protections and rights afforded to children
in the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC, United Nations General
Assembly, 1989) there are also three Optional Protocols that address the abuse and neglect of
children worldwide. These Optional Protocols include: the sale of children, child prostitution
and child pornography (adopted 2000); the involvement of children in armed conflict (adopted
2000); and a complaints mechanism for children or their representatives (adopted 2011). Optional
Protocols strengthen the CRC by offering additional legal mechanisms to promote and protect
young people’s well-being; they also allow countries that have not ratified the CRC to either
ratify or accede to them separately (Ruck, Keating, Saewyc, Earls & Ben-Arieh, 2016).
Although all rights are of equal importance in the CRC (Ruck et al., 2016), the current
chapter focuses on protecting children from sexual exploitation and sexual abuse, and in
particular, preventing children from being lured or forced into prostitution or pornography.
This right to be free from sexual exploitation, described briefly in Article 34 of the Convention
in 1989, and then expanded in more detail in the Optional Protocol in 2000, represented a
radical shift in national and legal perspectives about child prostitution in many countries, including
the United States, from being a crime that children and adolescents commit, to a form of
victimization against them, one that has health consequences (Mitchell, Finkelhor & Wolak,
2010). This perspective appears to be only slowly shifting societal views across many countries,
as shown in the media coverage about sexual exploitation of children and youth in Canada
(Saewyc et al., 2013) for example, and in perspectives about transactional sex among adolescents
in Tanzania (Maganja, 2007). Local laws are also slow to change; for example, the state of
Minnesota in the United States only removed its law criminalizing adolescents involved
in prostitution within the past 5 years, (Minnesota, 2011), and police enforcement of laws
varies widely depending on social attitudes. However, the CRC’s monitoring and reporting
requirements have helped both spur these shifts and document the legal changes at national
levels, and subsequent legal and programmatic changes at regional and local levels. The

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perspectives of the CRC and the Optional Protocol have also begun to be incorporated into
public health perspectives on sexual exploitation and sex work, as they were both enacted at
the height of the global public health HIV/AIDS epidemic.
In this chapter, both the CRC’s Article 34 and the Optional Protocol on the Sale of Children,
Child Prostitution, and Child Pornography will first be summarized. Then select evidence from
the global research literature describing various types of sexual exploitation and the contexts
of exploitation will be reviewed, as well as the challenges in documenting the scope of the
problem. The emerging and contradictory evidence about who is vulnerable to being exploited
will be described, as well as some of the health and psychosocial consequences of sexual
exploitation among children and youth. Finally, the state of research on approaches to
addressing sexual exploitation—either prevention or approaches to mitigate harms after
exploitation has occurred, will be discussed.

What Does the CRC Say About Sexual Exploitation?

Article 34 of the CRC specifically speaks to the issue of sexual exploitation in the following
terms:

States Parties undertake to protect the child from all forms of sexual exploitation and sexual
abuse. For these purposes, States Parties shall in particular take all appropriate national,
bilateral and multilateral measures to prevent:
(a) The inducement or coercion of a child to engage in any unlawful sexual activity;
(b) The exploitative use of children in prostitution or other unlawful sexual practices;
(c) The exploitative use of children in pornographic performances and materials.

Although this was a fairly succinct description in the main body of the CRC, in 2000 the
Optional Protocol on the Sale of Children, Child Prostitution, and Child Pornography was
also launched, which expanded both the definitions of what was covered, and the actions nations
should take to address the issues surrounding sexual exploitation. The majority of nations swiftly
signed on to the protocol, including the United States, the only country that has not yet ratified
the CRC itself. In this Optional Protocol, child prostitution was defined as the “use of a child
in sexual activities for remuneration or any other form of consideration” (Article 2), with further
description of States’ requirements in Article 3 to ensure their criminal legal code covered the
following acts: “The offering, delivering or accepting, by whatever means, a child for the purpose
of . . .sexual exploitation of the child” and “Offering, obtaining, procuring or providing a child
for child prostitution, as defined in Article 2.” The Optional Protocol also provides guidance
for States to pass laws or issue regulations to ensure they have jurisdiction over these offences
when committed in their territory, or committed elsewhere by one of their citizens, or when
the victim is one of their citizens (Article 4). It covers procedures around extradition of accused
offenders (Article 5), mutual cooperation between countries in investigations (Article 6), and
grounds for seizing goods or profits and closing premises used for exploitation (Article 7).
An important addition to the protection elements of the CRC that are enhanced by the
Optional Protocol are those sections that describe the treatment of child victims through-
out the criminal justice process (Article 8), especially recognizing their vulnerability and
developmental needs. This article includes consideration of ensuring privacy, protecting
children and their families from intimidation when they are witnesses, and taking into account

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the best interest of the child in the proceedings. Article 8 offers related recommendations
around ensuring that professionals in the justice system are appropriately trained to support
child victims.
All of these articles in the Optional Protocol to this point are focused on dealing with sexual
exploitation after it has already occurred, but in Article 9, the focus shifts to prevention, including
developing programs to help vulnerable children and youth, raising awareness in the public at
large, and assisting victims. The remaining articles are administrative language related to State
responsibilities in signing, ratifying, and amending the Optional Protocol.
Although the definitions outlined in these key international treaties are relatively simple
and clear, they represent a significant shift from previous perceptions about child and adolescent
“prostitution.” As such, the processes of implementing these rights in national and local laws
has taken decades, as has the slowly shifting awareness raised about sexual exploitation in media
and public discourse (Saewyc et al., 2013). Changes to cultural norms about sexual exploitation
of children and youth, especially the definitions of who counts as an exploited child, and how
victims should be treated under the law, and by the community, have unfolded equally slowly,
even within high income countries such as Canada and the United States. The pace of change
in society is mirrored in research, where definitions of sexual exploitation remain confused
with other constructs, such as sexual abuse more generally, as well as “survival sex” (exchange
of sex for basic necessities of life, such as food or shelter), and “sex work” among adults.
In order to monitor progress in achieving the CRC and Optional Protocol goals, it is
necessary to understand the scope of the problem, and measure the effects of changes in laws
and practices in societies. However, lack of standard definitions and limited funding priorities
for such monitoring pose significant challenges. Given sexual exploitation is also universally
criminalized by the CRC and Optional Protocol, it creates further difficulties, which are outlined
in the next section.

The Challenge of Estimating the Scope of a Hidden Problem

How does one effectively estimate the prevalence of an illegal practice such as sexual exploitation
in countries? This is a challenge that is regularly identified in the literature (Tyldum & Brunovski,
2005). Those who are exploited may be isolated by their traffickers, and prevented from attending
school, getting health care, interacting with their family or peers, or even from leaving the
apartments or the brothels where they are exploited (Edinburgh, Pape-Blabolil, Harpin, &
Saewyc, 2015; Willis & Levy, 2002). In countries where adolescents who are sexually exploited
are still at risk of being arrested for prostitution, they will not willingly be visible in public
venues or participate in research (Mitchell, Finkelhor, & Wolak, 2010). Homeless youth have
no easily determined population size in most countries, either, so even if a percent of young
people report sexual exploitation in surveys of street-involved youth, the underlying
denominator is unknown. A variety of government agencies, NGOs, and researchers have
attempted to estimate the number of sexually exploited youth, either in individual countries
(for a critique of these in North America, see Stransky & Finkelhor, 2008) or across multiple
countries (Estes & Winer, 2001; Willis & Levy, 2002). However, the limited reliability of the
original data from which the estimates are then extrapolated, often means current estimates
could be gross over- or undercounts of the true prevalence (Stransky & Finkelhor, 2008).
There are a small number of population-based surveys that have asked about trading sex
for money, drugs, or other things among adolescents, in Sweden (Svedin & Priebe, 2007),

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the United States (Edward, Iritani & Hallfours, 2006), Norway (Pederson & Hegna, 2003),
and Canada (Homma, Nicholson & Saewyc, 2012; Lavoie, Thibodeau, Gagné, & Hébert, 2010).
However, these studies have generally taken place in schools, so while they reach a large
proportion of the general population, they may be missing a major proportion of sexually
exploited and trafficked youth, who might not be attending school.

Who is Sexually Exploited? Evidence for Girls, Boys and

Transgender Youth
Much of the media coverage about research and programmes to address sexual exploitation
has focused on girls. Indeed, most of governmental reports and the Optional Protocol suggest
that girls make up the overwhelming majority of sexually exploited children and youth
worldwide. Given the stigma and potential social sanctions or violence that come with
disclosing sexual exploitation in many settings, with potentially greater stigma associated with
males who sell sex (Baral et al., 2014), the difficulties in reaching and counting victims, the
pervasive discourse around who is vulnerable (Saewyc et al., 2013), and the sampling designs
of most studies, this conclusion may be unwarranted. Certainly most reports acknowledge that
some boys are actually exploited, while still asserting that girls are disproportionately more
likely to be abused (see, for example, the Institute of Medicine, 2013; UNICEF, UNESCAP
& ECPAT, 2006). Part of the reason for this may be that much of the research about sexually
exploited youth is venue- or service-based, at agencies who provide outreach and services for
youth who are sexually exploited. Many, if not most, of those agencies are designed for girls
and young women, and may not include or allow boys and young men to access their services,
even if boys seek them out. As a result, many services report few, if any, boys being referred
to their program, approximately 5 percent to 10 percent of those seen (Edinburgh, Pape-Blabolil,
Harpin & Saewyc, 2015). As Baral and colleagues (2014) noted in their review of research on
HIV risk among male sex workers (defined as age 18 or older), most societies have a recognized
group or caste of women who sell sex, and, as a socially tolerated, if not always socially encour-
aged, form of transaction, it is usually more public and more easily recognized—and girls and
women may more readily disclose their sexual exploitation.
But when studies have employed a different sampling frame, either a population-based
approach, or a large-scale study among at-risk youth that is not focused solely on sexually
exploited youth, but which may ask questions about trading sex for money or other goods as
part of the study, something unexpected happens to sample distributions. For example, in the
population-based studies of high school students in Norway, Sweden, Canada, and the United
States mentioned above, a small percent (usually 1–3 percent) of students report selling sex,
or exchanging sex for money or drugs, but in nearly all of these studies, they found equal or
higher rates of boys as girls (Pederson & Hegna, 2003; Svedin & Priebe, 2007; Edward et al.,
2006; Homma et al., 2012). In multi-city homeless and street-involved youth surveys in Canada
(Saewyc, MacKay, Anderson & Drozda, 2008) or the United States (Greene, Ennett &
Ringwalt, 1999; Walls & Bell, 2011), as many as 1 in 3 youth reported sexual exploitation,
and again, equal or higher numbers of boys as girls. One study of 374 street children in Lahore,
Pakistan, recruited a sample that was comprised overwhelmingly of boys (96%), with a median
age of 13 years, and found 48 percent had engaged in transactional sex (Sherman, Plitt, ul
Hassan, Cheng, & Zafar, 2005). Studies in developing countries may also include more of a
focus on boys (Frederick, 2010). Even when studies are focused on sexually exploited youth,

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but use sampling methods beyond venue or service-based approaches, the proportions are much
closer to equal; for example, in a New York City study that used respondent-driven sampling
methods (Curtis, Terry, Dank, Dombrowski, & Khan, 2008), the researchers found a higher
proportion of boys and young men than girls and young women were recruited for their study,
even though they stated their methods of interviewing raised some doubt about the motives
or honesty of some of the participants. Specifically, they felt their incentive of a small amount
of cash to participate in the study drew a large number of homeless and street-involved young
men who claimed to be selling sex to older women, but when they were interviewed in depth
about their experiences, the participants seemed vague about the details. The researchers felt
many of those youth were making up the stories in order to get the honorarium, and so they
only included data in their analyses from males who indicated selling sex to men.
A few studies from various countries also mention sexual exploitation experienced by
transgender youth, for example as hijra sex workers in India or Pakistan (Bokhari et al., 2007)
or as transgender sex workers in the United States (Curtis et al., 2008; Wilson et al., 2009).
In a national survey of more than 900 transgender youth in Canada, 6 percent of youth age
18 and under reported sexual exploitation (Veale, Saewyc, Clark, Frohard-Dourlent, &
Dobson, 2015). The majority of transgender sexually exploited youth in these studies appear
to identify towards the transfeminine end of the gender binary, or identify as transwomen i.e.,
those whose sex assigned at birth was male, but who identify and present as feminine or female.
Thus, although the major discourse about sexually exploited children and youth focuses on
girls and young women, there is a growing body of research that suggests significant proportions
of boys and young men, and transgender youth, are also exploited.

Youth at Elevated Risk of Exploitation

While a variety of youth in all countries are at risk for sexual exploitation, certain groups of
children and youth are more vulnerable to being exploited, as noted in the Optional Protocol,
and in international reviews (Willis & Levy, 2002), as well as individual studies. These groups
include homeless and street involved youth in many countries (Chettiar, Shannon, Wood, Zhang
& Kerr, 2010); orphans, especially in AIDS-affected areas (Cluver, Orkin, Boyes, Gardner, &
Meinck, 2011); those whose families are facing extreme poverty; refugee and internally
displaced youth (Ndulo, 2009); children involved in armed conflicts, and trafficked youth
(UNICEF, UNESCAP, & ECPAT, 2006); lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer or
questioning (LGBTQ) youth (Weber, Boivin, Blais, Haley & Roy, 2004; Saewyc et al., 2008;
Walls & Bell, 2011); as well as Indigenous (Sethi, 2007) and ethnic minority youth (Edinburgh,
Saewyc, Thao & Levitt, 2006).
All of these groups have several characteristics in common that contribute to their
vulnerability. First, many of these groups are marginalized in society, carrying stigma or a lower
status than others. Poverty and deprivation play a significant role in vulnerability to exploitation;
in some circumstances, youth may be sexually exploited in order to support their family, or
for their own survival needs as a homeless or runaway youth (Willis & Levy, 2002; Lukman,
2009). A lack of family members to protect them can leave them more vulnerable to being
recruited into sexual exploitation, for example, among orphans, homeless youth, and refugees
who have been separated from family; however, in some cases, family members actually procure
the youth for others to sexually exploit (Saewyc et al., 2008; Edinburgh et al., 2015; Reid,
Huard & Haskell, 2015).

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The Limited Information about Exploiters—Traffickers and

Purchasers
Given the criminal nature of the activity, it is difficult to recruit representative samples of
exploiters, whether those who procure children and adolescents for sexual exploitation (the
traffickers) or those who purchase sexual activity from children and youth. As a result, much
of what we know about exploiters is from: (1) studies of criminally investigated and charged
cases (for example, Mitchell, Finkelhor & Wolak, 2010; Reid, Huard & Haskell, 2015), which
are recognized as a serious undercount of the population; (2) a handful of studies of convicted
offenders, most often lumped together with other forms of sexual abusers (see for example,
Casey, Beadnell, Lindhorst, 2008); (3) a limited number of studies about those who purchase
sex from adults, and occasionally may admit to sex with youth under age 18, including a large
study of 861 purchasers of sex in Canada (Atchison, 2010); and (4) primarily information gleaned
from victims, police officers, and service providers who work with victims (Kennedy, Klein,
Bristowe, Cooper, & Yuille, 2007). Given that even victims are under-sampled, it is unclear
how accurate the picture of exploiters is. Large-scale population surveys of adolescents that
include questions about exploitation usually do not ask specific questions about purchasers or
traffickers; even large surveys of street youth ask limited questions about the exploiters, so much
of the information about exploiters comes from qualitative studies (see, for example, Edinburgh
et al., 2015; Sethi, 2007).
The limited information about traffickers or pimps portrays them as emotionally manipulative
and often threatening and violent, involved in organized crime networks, and most often as
male (Kennedy et al., 2007; Holger-Ambrose, Langmade, Edinburgh, & Saewyc, 2013; Sethi,
2007). Some of these studies also document that exploited young women may in turn recruit
other young women for their trafficker or pimp, in exchange for less frequent exploitation
themselves (Edinburgh et al., 2006; Kennedy et al., 2007). A significant percentage, potentially
as many as half or more, do not have an actual procurer or trafficker, however, but are recruited
into sexual exploitation through the role modelling of “friends” who show them how to make
money through sexual activity, or they are propositioned directly by a purchaser (Edinburgh
et al., 2015).
Information about purchasers is much more limited, and again, is often studied only
through the accounts of exploited youth, the police, or service workers. One large-scale mixed
methods study in Canada that focused exclusively on purchasers drew a sample of almost
exclusively male purchasers, and very few admitted to purchasing sex from those under age
18 (Atchison, 2010). In other research from police, youth, and service workers, the majority
of such reports also identify men as the primary purchasers, or suggest that only men purchase
sex. However, there are a few studies that contradict this assumption. A review of research on
sex tourism by Richards and Reid (2015) specifically described the sex tourism of women
traveling to the Caribbean to exploit boys and young men, for example. Similarly, in a multi-
city study of homeless and street-involved adolescents age 12–18 in Canada, Saewyc and
colleagues (2008) found that the overwhelming majority of boys who reported sexual
exploitation (79 percent) had traded sex with females. Indeed, 56 percent of boys reported
trading sex solely with females, and about 1 in 5 sexually exploited girls in the study also reported
trading sex with females. Thus, although there is very little detailed research about them, women
can also be purchasers or sexual exploiters.

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Health Consequences of Sexual Exploitation

Sexual exploitation is not just a violation of rights, but results in significant trauma, health
risks, and health problems. Some of the health issues are directly related to the context of sexual
activity, where exploited youth may be required to engage in unprotected sexual practices
with high risk purchasers: these health issues include sexually transmitted infections (STIs),
including HIV, and unintended pregnancy (Bokhari et al., 2007; Marshall et al., 2010; Saewyc
et al., 2008). Similarly, violence and injury are often identified as health consequences of sexual
exploitation, either from traffickers or pimps who engage in violence and threats of violence
to keep victims exploited (Holger-Ambrose et al., 2013; Kennedy et al., 2007; Sethi, 2007).
Violence and injury may also be inflicted by purchasers, sometimes intentionally (Wilson
et al., 2009), but also because of rough sexual practices with young adolescents whose smaller
bodies and thinner anogenital tissues can be more easily injured; for example, in a study of
gang-raped and sexually exploited Hmong younger adolescents (age 10–14) in Minnesota,
Edinburgh and colleagues (2006) found 63 percent of the exploited young people had evidence
of genital injury.
Given common experiences of violence and coercion among sexually exploited youth in
these various contexts across the world, it is not surprising that studies of the health consequences
of such exploitation find significant mental health issues among such young people. Many studies
have documented high rates of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) symptoms among victims
(Edinburgh et al., 2015; Willis & Levy, 2002). Other studies have documented higher rates
of depression, non-suicidal self-harm, suicidal ideation, and suicide attempts among exploited
youth compared to the general population (Muraya & Fry, 2016), or compared to their non-
exploited peers (Saewyc et al., 2008), or even compared to older sex workers (Saewyc et al.,
2008; Shahmanesh, Wayal, Cowan, Mabey, Copas, & Patel, 2009).
Another serious health issue associated with sexual exploitation is substance abuse. Most
studies of sexually exploited youth document high prevalence of heavy alcohol or other illicit
substance use, including higher rates of cocaine, heroin, or methamphetamine use compared
to non-exploited peers (Chettiar et al., 2010; Muraya & Fry, 2016; Saewyc et al., 2008; Wilson
et al., 2009). Some youth are introduced to illicit substances as a route to sexual exploitation,
while others report using drugs to help cope with the distress and trauma of unwanted or
coerced sexual activities (Kennedy et al., 2007). Some studies that have explored the antecedents
and risk factors for sexual exploitation have found such predictors often include early
introduction to alcohol, cannabis, and other illegal substances (Kaestle, 2012; Reid & Piquero,
2014; Saewyc, Drozda, Rivers, MacKay, & Peled, 2013).

Interventions to Address the Harms of Sexual Exploitation

While the CRC Optional Protocol calls for a number of preventive measures, including
addressing issues of poverty to help prevent sexual exploitation, published evaluations of initiatives
to prevent sexual exploitation through laws, policies, and efforts to address social determinants
widely are limited in both number and in the rigor of the methods used to assess the approaches
(Todres, 2010). This is in part because assessing policy interventions is challenging in and of
itself, but studying changes in the prevalence or experiences of sexually exploited youth is difficult
for all the reasons described previously.
Rather than addressing prevention, then, most of the interventions are focused on improved
identification and outreach to help youth exit sexually exploitive situations, as well as inter-

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ventions to reduce or prevent the harmful consequences of sexual exploitation. While most
of these interventions involve one-to-one care of sexually exploited youth, some approaches
involve intersectoral collaborations that include cooperation across agencies, case management,
and direct services. A review of such interventions (Muraya & Fry, 2016), show they hold
some promise in improving access to services and reducing some of the health consequence
of exploitation. For example, an intersectoral coalition of services in Minneapolis-St. Paul,
Minnesota, that brought agencies together to jointly revise their protocols and eligibility for
services helped them reduce gaps in services for vulnerable youth and built trust between agencies
in different sectors, improving access to care for sexually exploited youth (Edinburgh, Huemann,
Richtmann, Marboe & Saewyc, 2012).
There are also a number of population-level interventions focused on harm reduction, for
example, aiming to reduce HIV risk among “sex workers” in developing countries. Sexually
exploited children and youth as young as age 13, or 15, are often included in the sample of
“sex workers,” (for example, see Bokhari et al., 2007). However, in these studies, their data
are usually not disaggregated from the adults’ results, nor are they identified as sexually
exploited youth, in contradistinction to adult sex workers. As a result, it is unclear whether
the targeted interventions actually do improve the health of sexually exploited adolescents.
Some interventions have focused on mental health issues specifically, while others are more
comprehensive, and involve case management and care related to sexual health, mental health,
and substance use. One example of an intervention designed to address key mental health issues
is a trauma-focused cognitive behaviour therapy intervention for Congolese girls rescued from
brothels and those sexually assaulted by soldiers during the war (O’Callaghan, McMullen,
Shannon, Rafferty & Black, 2013); a randomized clinical trial found significant improvements
in depression, anxiety, and PTSD among girls who received the intervention compared to
controls. An example of the more comprehensive approach is the Minnesota Runaway Inter-
vention Program, which provides case management, nurse home visiting and health education,
and group therapy to sexually exploited and sexually assaulted young runaways (Edinburgh &
Saewyc, 2009). A quasi-experimental evaluation of the first two years of the program found
significant reductions in trauma symptoms, suicidality, risky sexual behaviours, and repeat STIs,
as well as significant improvements in family relationships, school engagement, positive
relationships with other adults, and improved self-esteem (Saewyc & Edinburgh, 2010).

Conclusion
Sexual exploitation is a violation of children’s and youth’s rights under the CRC, and the
Optional Protocol, which most countries have signed. However, it remains a challenging right
to enforce throughout the world, with significant negative health consequences among the
children and youth who have been exploited. Girls, boys, and transgender youth are exploited,
and while there are some key risk factors for sexual exploitation, the majority of them can be
summed up as marginalized status, lack of family or societal protections, and deprivation or
poverty leading to vulnerability to exploitation for survival. The problem exists in the highest
income countries as well as developing nations; men and women have been documented
as exploiters, although the majority of research identifies men as more visibly traffickers and
purchasers. The research about sexual exploitation of children and youth is far scanter than
research on other forms of maltreatment and sexual violence towards children, and as a result,
there is limited information about the scope of the problem to be able to track whether policies
and programs are successful in prevention, reductions in scope, or in improving the health of

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those who have been exploited. Significant investment will be needed in both interventions
to prevent and ameliorate sexual exploitation, and in research to monitor progress, before we
can be sure that this part of the CRC is upheld for young people in most countries.

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 28
Child Soldiers
The Challenges and Opportunities in
Addressing the Rights of Children
Affected by War

Myriam Denov and Andie Buccitelli

Introduction: Child Soldier Recruitment, Rights, and Realities

Girls and boys may become implicated in armed conflict under multiple conditions and circum-
stances, through force or non-force. However, recruitment into armed groups can vary greatly
from one conflict or region to another, and far from being clearly “forced” or clearly
“voluntary”, methods of recruitment often intersect and overlap.1 Many children are forcibly
recruited into armed groups. Research conducted in various regions has shown that despite
diversity of contexts, children’s experiences of forced abduction are often quite similar,
involving surprise attacks, terror, attempts to escape, and ultimately abduction (Denov, 2008;
Stavrou, 2011). Children also appear to join armed groups for a variety of reasons, including
religious or political beliefs, poverty, to obtain food, shelter, medicine, and/or to seek revenge
(Wessells, 2006). Children may also join armed groups due to the perception that membership
in these groups ensures critical protection from violence and rights violations perpetrated by
state forces, other armed groups, as well as by family and community members. Also, in selected
contexts, children may be attracted to the “prestige” associated with uniforms and guns, which
may provide a fleeting, but often important sense of power (Denov, 2010). There may also be
circumstances where due to ideology, and personal conviction, children actively—and of their
own volition—choose to join armed groups (Wessells, 2006).
Regardless of a child’s reason for joining an armed group, or the means of recruitment, a
myriad of protective legal instruments and treaties are currently in place that ban and proscribe
the military recruitment of those under the age of 18. These include the Geneva Conventions
and the Additional Protocols (1949, 1977), the United Nations Convention on the Rights of
the Child (CRC; United Nations General Assembly, 1989), the Optional Protocol of
Convention on the Rights of the Child on the Involvement of Children in Armed Conflict
(2000), International Labour Organization’s Convention No. 182 (1999), the African Charter

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on the Rights and Welfare of the Child (1999), UN Security Council Resolutions 1261, 1314,
1379, 1460, 1539, 1612, the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court (1998), the
Paris Principles (2007), and the Machel 10 Year Strategic Review (2007)—Part two of
A/62/228. It is important to note that these legal instruments address the protection of children
in war, and generally do not account for the possibility of children’s active participation in
war as an informed choice. Indeed, balancing a child’s right to protection and that of their
participation is particularly complex when considering the issue of armed conflict. Where do
we draw the line between protection and participation? Should a child be allowed to
“participate” in armed conflict of their own volition, or unequivocally protected from its
potential horrors? As evidenced in current policy, practice, and legal instruments, it appears
that the UN, governments, and policymakers consider that in relation to war and political
violence, a child’s right to participate is superseded by their right to be protected.
In this chapter, we focus on Article 38 and Article 39 of the CRC, two Articles that are
of particular relevance to children’s wartime and post-war realities. Article 38 establishes that
children have the right to be protected during times of war and that governments must do
everything they can to protect and care for children affected by war. Article 39 outlines that
in the aftermath of war state parties have an obligation to promote the physical and psychological
recovery and social reintegration of children who have been affected by armed conflict. The
chapter traces the rights and realities of children affected by war, particularly children directly
implicated in armed conflict. In the first section, we outline the contemporary realities of
children’s involvement in armed conflict around the globe. The second section addresses the
profound rights violations that children experience both during armed conflict, and in the post-
conflict period. Here, we address the culture of violence, abuse, and multiple rights violations
that pervade life within armed groups, as well as the post-conflict rights violations in relation
to post-war programming, education and health infrastructures, and the impact of stigma. In
the third section, we critically examine the underlying social, political, cultural, and economic
structures, and power dynamics that represent obstacles to realizing Articles 38 and 39, and
that may work to reinforce children’s rights violations during and following war. In the final
section, we consider the integral role of child participation in war and post-war related decision-
making processes. As children and youth have long been excluded from key decision-making
processes, we argue that participation in post-war decision-making may play a vital role in
preventing children’s rights violations, youth marginality, disenfranchisement and, ultimately,
the (re)emergence of armed conflict.

Children’s Involvement in War: Global Prevalence

Despite the CRC’s provisions under Article 38, as well as the Optional Protocol on the
Involvement of Children in Armed Conflict that prohibit the recruitment of children under
18 into armed groups, children across the globe continue to be implicated in armed conflict.
The 2004 Global Report published by the Coalition to Stop the Use of Child Soldiers estimated
that 250,000 soldiers, under the age of 18, were part of fighting forces in conflicts in 41 countries
around the globe. By 2008, there was a reported drop in the number of child soldiers2 as tens
of thousands had been released from armed groups and forces following peace agreements and
demobilization programs3 (Coalition to Stop the Use of Child Soldiers, 2008). However, at
the same time, conflicts in other countries were breaking out, reigniting or intensifying,
ultimately, increasing child soldier recruitment.4 Child Soldier International estimated that
between January 2010 and June 2012, child soldiers were used in 20 states, including nine
countries where they were recruited and used by national state armies. More recently, the US

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State Department noted a 30 percent increase in the number of countries recruiting and using
child soldiers in 2012 (cited in Frew & Templeton, 2013). The section below outlines the
realities of the child soldier phenomenon over the past two decades in Africa, the Americas,
Europe, the Middle East, and Asia.
Nearly all armed conflicts in Africa, over the last two decades, have involved children in
armed groups in active and supportive roles. In 2004, the Coalition to Stop the Use of Child
Soldiers estimated that there were over 100,000 child soldiers associated with armed groups
and forces in Africa, a figure that has fostered the perception of Africa as being the “epicenter”
of the child soldier phenomenon (Singer, 2005). Over the past two decades, children have
been recruited into armed groups in the wars in Angola, Côte d’Ivoire, Liberia, Mozambique,
Rwanda, and Sierra Leone. They have also been recruited as soldiers in Burundi, Central African
Republic, Chad, Democratic Republic of Congo, Mali, Somalia, Sudan, and Uganda and have
recently been used by armed groups in Central African Republic, Chad, Côte d’Ivoire,
Democratic Republic of Congo, Eritrea, Somalia, South Sudan, and Sudan.
Armed groups in Latin American countries such as El Salvador, Guatemala, and Peru have
involved thousands of children (Coalition to Stop the Use of Child Soldiers, 2004). Although
the number of conflicts in Latin America appears to have declined in recent years, thousands
of children continue to be involved with armed groups in Colombia, including Fuerzas Armadas
Revolucionarias de Colombia—Ejército del Pueblo (FARC–EP), the Unión Camilista—Ejército
de Liberación Nacional (UC-ELN), and other paramilitary groups (Watchlist, 2012). While
there are no reliable official statistics on the current number of children associated with armed
groups in Colombia, estimates range from 5,000 to 14,000 children (Watchlist, 2012).
Although not a part of the world typically associated with the phenomenon of child soldiery,
Europe has been not been exempt to the practice of child recruitment. Over the last 20 years,
children have been used as spies, messengers, porters of weapons and ammunition, and active
fighters in armed groups in Bosnia-Herzegovina, Chechnya, Nagorno-Karabakh, Turkey,
Kosovo, and Macedonia (Coalition to Stop the Use of Child Soldiers, 2001). More recently,
the involvement of child soldiers has been reported in the conflict in Ukraine (Shevchenko,
2014). The UK has also attracted criticism for its deployment of five 17-year-old soldiers to
Afghanistan and Iraq between 2007 and 2010, with one known to have participated in combat
(Child Soldiers International, 2012). Other countries in Europe, including Georgia, Estonia,
and Norway have also been found to recruit and/or give military-type training to boys and
girls who are under 18 (Child Soldiers International, 2012).
Over the past two decades, the Middle East and Asia have been considered increasingly
problematic in relation to the recruitment of children into armed groups. Between 2004 and
2007, child soldiers were recruited into armed groups in Afghanistan, India, Indonesia, Iraq,
Burma, Nepal, Occupied Palestinian Territory, the Philippines, Sri Lanka, and Thailand.
Between 2010 and 2012, Israel, Libya and Yemen were added to this list. A practice that is
not commonly seen in other regions, child soldiers have been reportedly used in suicide attacks,
particularly in the ongoing conflicts in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Occupied Palestinian Territory.
Importantly, available statistics on child soldiers have frequently failed to provide a clear
picture of the breakdown by gender. Because of this, the gendered realities of armed conflict
have generally been neglected, rendered invisible, and to a great extent remain unknown. Indeed,
officials, governments, national and international bodies frequently cover up, overlook, or refuse
to recognize girls’ presence, needs, and rights during and following armed conflict (McKay &
Mazurana, 2004). Despite their relative invisibility, girls have been used in fighting forces far
more widely than is reported. Between 1990 and 2003, girls were associated with fighting
forces in 55 countries and were active participants in conflict in 38 countries around the globe5

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(McKay & Mazurana, 2004). Girls appear to be most often present in armed opposition groups,
paramilitaries, and militias, yet they are also present in government forces. In particular, girls
have been involved in fighting forces in Central African Republic, Chad, Colombia, Côte
d’Ivoire, Democratic Republic of Congo, East Timor, Nepal, Pakistan, Philippines, Sri Lanka,
and Uganda and others (Coalition to Stop the Use of Child Soldiers, 2008; Integrated Regional
Information Networks (IRIN), 2013). While the proportion of females in armed groups and
forces varies according to geographic region, Child Soldiers International (2015) estimates girls’
involvement at 10–30 percent of all children in armed groups.

Rights Violations During Armed Conflict: A Culture of Violence

and Abuse
Article 38 of the CRC establishes that children have the right to be protected during times of
war and that governments must do everything they can to prevent child recruitment into armed
groups, and to protect and care for children affected by war. And yet, once in an armed group,
it has been well documented that child soldiers, both boys and girls, contend with overwhelming
rights violations and experiences of victimization, and insecurity on multiple levels (Denov,
2010; Wessells, 2006). Children in armed groups lack access to adequate food and nutrition,
education, health care, and often live in contexts of dire poverty. As a result of separation from
their families and communities, the security and survival of traditional communities, cultures,
and values are put severely at risk. Moreover, children’s personal and physical security is constantly
threatened through involvement in combat, as well as acts of torture, violence, and abuse. The
violence and victimization experienced by children may range along a continuum from verbal
abuse to outrageous acts of physical and psychological cruelty. Command structures of the
armed groups, as well as the ways in which the armed groups are formally organized and carry
out their missions are often forged and conducted within a framework of threats, fear, brutality,
and violence. Moreover, the daily routines, values, and interactions within armed groups are
often steeped in hierarchical and patriarchal power relations, threats, and fear, and may be similarly
propagated and sustained through extraordinary violence. Researchers have pointed to a
pervasive and overarching culture of violence within armed groups whereby violence and the
threat of violence often permeate every aspect of children’s daily lives (Denov, 2010).
Systematic sexual violence against children has occurred on a massive scale in armed
conflicts. According to UNICEF (2014), children in conflict-affected countries are the most
vulnerable to sexual violence, with more than 150 million young girls and 73 million boys
experiencing these atrocities every year. Research has documented that children associated with
armed groups are particularly vulnerable to sexual violence and abuse (Akello, 2013; Denov,
2010; Worthen, Veale, McKay & Wessells, 2010). Moreover, some girls in armed groups
may be forced to “marry” males within armed groups, thus becoming their sexual “property”
and sometimes bearing children as a result of sexual violence (Coulter, 2009; Denov, 2015).
The long-term consequences of wartime sexual violence have been well documented including
sexually transmitted infections, such as HIV/AIDS, reproductive health problems, as well as
profound socio-economic realities of rejection, stigma, and exclusion (Denov, 2015).
Rights violations for children also include their active participation in war. Various factors
may propel boys and girls into armed violence and combat: powerful indoctrination, harsh
training, and use of threats and violence to promote terror and compliance (Denov & Maclure,
2006). Where obedience is an imperative to survival, there is often little room for opposition.
Thus, engaging in combat may be a fundamental strategy of survival. As this former girl soldier
from Colombia noted:

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That was the worst thing that could happen to one in a lifetime. Over there [in the armed
group], if someone refuses to participate in combat, they will kill them in front of everybody
. . . I saw three men killed because of that. It’s horrible but you have to. Otherwise if you
don’t [do what they say] you don’t get out of there alive. The first time in combat . . .
that was very hard.
(Denov & Marchand, 2014, p. 233)

In some contexts, children have reportedly attained powerful positions as leaders and/or
commanders in armed groups (Denov, 2010). Research has also found that within contexts of
constant threats, subservience, victimization, and fear, brandishing a weapon may instill a sense
of power and control for some child soldiers. This sense of wartime empowerment may mark
a clear departure from the pre-war context where many youth have felt disillusioned, and socially
and economically immobile (Keen, 2003).
For most child soldiers, however, wartime realities are likely to embody experiences of
victimization and perpetration simultaneously. Rather than being indisputable victims or
unequivocal perpetrators, children within armed groups often continually drift between
committing acts of violence, and simultaneously being targets of violence (Denov, 2010).

Post-conflict Rights Violations: Reintegration and Recovery

In relation to the post-war context, Article 39 of the CRC articulates that:

States Parties shall take all appropriate measures to promote physical and psychological
recovery and social reintegration of a child victim of: any form of neglect, exploitation, or
abuse; torture or any other form of cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment; or
armed conflicts. Such recovery and reintegration shall take place in an environment which fosters
the health, self-respect and dignity of the child.

In a similar vein, the UN’s Integrated Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration

Standards (IDDRS) encourage child protection agencies to ensure inclusive and age-appropriate
interventions for children (McMullin, 2011). These standards underscore the reality that
children’s needs in the post-war period are distinct from those of adults.
With the end of conflict, or in the aftermath of participation in armed violence, come critical
transitions for children formerly associated with armed groups. In many cases, children leave their
militarized surroundings and, in a relatively short period of time, are faced with the need to be
reintegrated into norms and institutions from which they had been isolated, often for years. The
term “reintegration” is a contested one, as it intrinsically assumes that children return to their
communities of origin, although this is rarely the norm (Stavrou, 2011). Post-demobilization
experiences are inevitably shaped and constrained by many factors including gender, ethnicity,
socio-economic status, ability, position within the community prior to and following the conflict,
and access to social support. Moreover, former child soldiers are not a homogeneous group—
their pathways and experiences are highly diverse. Some may emerge in the aftermath of armed
violence as mothers, disabled, orphaned, injured, or none of the above. This diversity needs to
be acknowledged in the understanding of their post-war lives.
A growing body of literature has sought to explore children’s experiences following
demobilization and the various rights violations that they may endure in the post-war context.
These include the limitations of disarmament, demobilization and reintegration programming,
weakened educational and health infrastructures, as well as a climate of stigma and community
rejection. Each of these is addressed further below.

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Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration (DDR) Programming

Disarmament,6 demobilization,7 and reintegration8 are said to be crucial to increasing security,
public safety and protection in the aftermath of conflict, as well as promoting peace. DDR
programs have figured prominently as part of UN operations in Angola, Burundi, Cambodia,
El Salvador, Guatemala, Liberia, Mozambique, Northern Uganda, Sierra Leone, Sudan, and
Tajikistan, to name a few. While DDR programs are key to addressing Article 39’s goal of
promoting “physical and psychological recovery and social reintegration” in the aftermath of
war, such programming has been criticized for failing to adequately address the post-war needs
of children affected by war. It has been argued that DDR programs do not sufficiently provide
youth with the skills requisite for reintegration in the post-conflict era, particularly in light of
the frail economy in many post-war contexts (Bürge, 2011; Menzel, 2011). By equipping former
soldiers with vocational skills in areas such as bricklaying, carpentry, agriculture, auto mechanics,
soap making, and hairdressing, it is often presumed that social and economic reintegration will
be achieved. Although the underlying objectives of DDR programs may be well-intentioned,
many have argued that they often fail to seriously consider numerous factors upon which their
success depends, including the voiced needs, skills, and desires of children and youth emerging
from war (Bürge, 2011; McMullin, 2011).
Significantly, DDR programs tend to concentrate on the supply of skilled labor while
overlooking the short- and long-term needs of local and national economies in terms of specific
skills and labor. Sierra Leone’s DDR program was a case in point. In the absence of market
demand for skilled labor, the country was faced with a growing pool of unemployed, skilled,
educated, and demoralized youth (Body, 2005). As both Peters (2007) and Leff (2008)
highlighted, 7,000 ex-combatants opted out of the DDR program in search of alternative paths
to reintegration. The degree to which DDR was rejected as the most appropriate and legitimate
pathway to reintegration should not be overlooked. This phenomenon, common to many post-
conflict settings, highlights DDR’s limited capacity to respond meaningfully to individuals’
and communities’ post-war realities, rights, and needs.
Critiques of DDR programming have also highlighted the inherent gender-bias and
exclusion of girls. Despite the growing recognition of girls in armed groups, there are clear
indications that girls continue to be marginalized within DDR programming (McKay, 2010).
DDR programs that have taken place in Angola, Mozambique, Sierra Leone, and Sudan provide
salient examples of post-conflict gendered exclusion, specifically the privileging of male
combatants at the expense of women and girls. In Colombia, DDR programs have been criticized
for perpetuating gendered injustices, and in neglecting and overlooking the specific needs
of girls (CNRR, 2010; OPDDR, 2009). In many contexts, girls may actively choose to avoid
DDR programs as a result of gender-based violence and insecurity in DDR camps, fear of
stigmatization, as well as lack of medical or hygienic facilities (Denov, 2010; McKay, 2004).
More recently, young mothers have been identified as being the most underserved population
within DDR programs. The overall inattention to the needs of girls and girl mothers by national
governments and the international community has been regarded as systemic and discriminatory
(Worthen et al., 2010, p. 2).
As a result of the exclusionary nature of many DDR programs, many girls formerly
associated with fighting forces experience “spontaneous reintegration” whereby girls assimilate
directly into their communities, return to new communities, or drift to camps for the internally
displaced in search of alternative forms of support. Without formal mechanisms of assistance,
many girls are left to fend for themselves and their children under challenging circumstances.
Ultimately, in contexts where programming has downplayed the integral roles of females in

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armed groups, such programming can have the effect of extending gender-based insecurity,
rights violations, and power differentiation into the post-conflict era.

Weakened Educational and Health Infrastructure

Outside the context of DDR, former child soldiers continue to experience grave rights violations
that threaten their well-being and capacity to survive in post-conflict settings. Education and
health are, almost universally, considered to be integral to securing children’s rights and in
“rehabilitating” and “reintegrating” former child soldiers in the post-conflict era in accordance
with Article 39 of the CRC. However, in light of the dilapidated, or non-existing infrastructure
in the aftermath of war, former child soldiers’ rights to education and health have often not
been realized (Denov & Buccitelli, 2013; Murphy, 2010; Spitzer & Twikirize, 2013).
Education is popularly viewed as an essential avenue through which former child soldiers can
unlearn the culture of violence they have come to know, all while gaining the knowledge and
skills considered crucial for socio-economic mobility in the post-conflict period (Coomaraswamy,
2010; Fonseka, 2001). International and local NGOs and governments have consistently
highlighted the potential of schools, as social, cultural, and educational spaces in supporting former
child soldiers in the healing process and in engendering a sense of “normalcy” (Coomaraswamy,
2010). However, for many countries, armed conflict has resulted in the widespread destruction
of schools, the killing of teachers, and the displacement of entire communities (Spitzer & Twikirize,
2013). The reality of a weakened educational infrastructure makes it difficult to fully realize the
potential of schools as spaces for reintegration and rehabilitation.
Moreover, even when school systems have been reconstructed and strengthened, there remain
numerous barriers for former child soldiers in terms of access, participation, and retention.
Significantly, in many post-conflict settings, access to education continues to be a privilege
enjoyed by those with greater social and economic means, even in countries where primary
education has been declared free and universal. For instance, the passing of the Education Act
of 2003 in Sierra Leone signified the beginning of free and compulsory primary education.
However, additional school fees, including supplies such as uniforms, were not covered under
the Act. This represents an ongoing financial barrier that many, if not most former child soldiers,
cannot necessarily overcome (Smet, 2009). Girls are disproportionately impacted by this
reality: in many settings, families continue to prioritize the education of their sons (Smet, 2009;
Spitzer & Twikirize, 2013).
Many post-conflict countries’ health-care systems have also been severely damaged as a result
of armed conflict, further complicating the realization of former child soldiers’ right to
“physical and psychological recovery, and social integration” in the aftermath of war (CRC,
Article 39). Exposure to and participation in violence has greatly impacted the mental and
physical health of many former child soldiers. These include sexually transmitted and blood-
borne infections (STBBIs), pregnancy, substance abuse, physical, visual and auditory impair-
ments, flashbacks and nightmares, sleep disorders, and complex forms of trauma (Grossman,
2007; Kimmel & Roby, 2007). Article 39 of the CRC has largely guided state and non-state
actors in the development and implementation of interventions in this realm (Kimmel & Roby,
2007). These have included psychosocial services and trauma counseling for young people,
sensitization programs to support teachers in understanding the mental health realities of former
child soldiers, and programs drawing on sports and play as a means to socialize children in
nonviolent interaction (Kimmel & Roby, 2007).
Moreover, many programs have been designed to integrate community-level cultural and
social understandings of healing, trauma, and forgiveness. Drawing on existing local rituals and

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ceremonies, these programs seek to approach individual and collective healing in ways that are
more culturally and socially meaningful for former child soldiers and their communities
(Kimmel & Roby, 2007). However, it is important to highlight that, even within these
perceivably culturally and contextually rooted rehabilitation processes, children are often
exposed to various forms of violence and authoritative control, significantly by being vulnerable
to abuses of power committed by adults leading such processes (Murphy, 2010).
Despite these efforts, the degree to which former child soldiers have access to services,
resources, and spaces that are vital for healing and reintegration remains inadequate in many
post-conflict states. For instance, although there has been varying progress concerning the
reproductive health of adult women, female adolescents’ and children’s rights to family plan-
ning and sexual health resources continue to be neglected (Denov & Richard-Guay, 2013;
Grugel, 2013). This has major implications for early pregnancy in girls, the transmission of
STBBIs, education, economic and social security, and community development, more broadly.
The situation is particularly concerning for former girl soldiers in light of the sexual violence
they may have endured during armed conflict. Many of these former girl soldiers enter the
post-conflict era bearing children born of wartime rape, in addition to negotiating health
complications resulting from sexual assault (e.g. HIV, other STBBIs, and physical traumas)
(Akello, 2013; Denov, 2010; Denov & Richard-Guay, 2013).

Stigma and Community Rejection

Children’s former affiliation with an armed group, including their exposure to and participation
in acts of violence, may instigate suspicion and mistrust among family, community, peers, and
the larger society. Research has confirmed that former child soldiers returning to their
communities often experience rejection and stigma, though to varying degrees (Betancourt,
Agnew-Blais, Gilman, Williams, & Ellis, 2008; Boothby, 2006; Denov & Marchand, 2014).
This climate of prejudice and stigma bars many youth from a variety of opportunities that are
integral to their survival and in safeguarding their rights, including employment, education,
health, and social and community support.
For girls, social exclusion may be particularly challenging. Research has uncovered that girls
may be ostracized in the post-war period as a result of the gender norms that they have
transgressed through their involvement in armed conflict, their experiences of sexual violence,
and having borne children by armed groups (Denov, 2010; Denov & Richard-Guay, 2013;
Worthen et al., 2010). Frequently without the support of family, they are forced to build
new support networks, often within a hostile context. The realities of stigma and marginal-
ization may push many to live “underground,” concealing their status as a former child soldier.
The fear of being discovered prevents many children and youth from opening up and forming
new relationships. This former child soldier from Colombia explained:

I am someone who doesn’t share her problems with just anyone. I keep my problems to
myself and resolve them alone. I hardly talk to anyone about my problems and I think
that being alone is better for me because I don’t like telling people my problems.
Personally, I like to be alone . . . more isolated. ( Jones & Denov, 2015, p. 9)

Stigma, community rejection, lack of support, and economic and social exclusion further
undermine former child soldiers’ right to recovery and healing in the post-conflict era, specific-
ally by rendering them even more susceptible to violence, poverty, and marginality. Without
opportunities in the formal labor market, many former child soldiers, particularly those without
family, have little choice but to engage in potentially dangerous activities in order to survive,

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including sex work and petty crime (Abbink, 2005; Cubitt, 2012; Denov & Buccitelli, 2013).
In these settings, children’s rights violations run rampant. For instance, in northern Uganda,
former child soldiers, including those engaged in sex work, are commonly exposed to sexual
violence, abuse, and exploitation (Spitzer & Twikirize, 2013). Former child soldiers in post-
war Sierra Leone are similarly exposed to rights abuses. Many former child soldiers in this
country have flocked to urban areas in order to carve out new livelihoods. However, these
young people often contend with homelessness, police harassment and aggression, material
deprivation as well as physical, sexual, and psychological violence (Denov & Buccitelli, 2013).

Obstacles to Realizing Articles 38 and 39: Entrenched Structural

Violence and Conflicting Paradigms
Causes for the persistence of children’s rights violations and exposure to violence in conflict
and post-conflict settings are complex, multifaceted, and differ immensely from one setting to
the next. However, the “common crux” of ongoing children’s rights violations throughout
these contexts lays in historical, structural, and systemic injustices and violence. Patrimonial,
patriarchal, and imperialist structures and social relations, in particular, play a central role in
perpetuating children’s rights violations and youth marginality, all of which are explored below.

Structural Violence and Endemic Youth Marginality

Post-conflict contexts are often presumed to be relatively more peaceful, secure, and promising.
However, conditions, tensions, and power structures that lead to conflict in the first place do
not simply disappear in the aftermath of war (Denov & Buccitelli, 2013). These circumstances
often existed well before the taking up of arms, and commonly persist into the post-conflict
period. Without comprehensive structural transformations, rights violations, insecurity,
disenfranchisement, and systemic oppression are likely to continue to feature prominently in
children’s wartime and post-war realities. In the absence of such changes, former child soldiers
are effectively being reintegrated back into contexts characterized by interpersonal and structural
violence, and marginality: often the same driving forces behind the emergence of war (Denov,
2010; McMullin, 2011; Park, 2010; Shepler, 2005).
The position of youth in the social and economic hierarchy has not changed significantly
in many post-conflict settings. In addition to facing barriers to education and health care, young
people continue to negotiate a context marked by rampant unemployment, poverty, and systemic
exclusion (Abbink, 2005; Maina, 2012; Shepler, 2005; Vandergrift, 2004). In sub-Saharan Africa,
for instance, youth unemployment stands at a staggering 60 percent (Maina, 2012). More
specifically, approximately 70 percent of youth are underemployed in post-war Sierra Leone
(Cubitt, 2012). This reality is of immense concern given the important role youth marginality
and economic disenfranchisement have historically played in fueling armed violence (Hanlon,
2005; Maina, 2012).
Entrenched power structures and social relations represent major impediments to the
realization of former child soldiers’ rights in conflict and post-conflict settings. In many contexts,
youth are viewed as troublesome, idle, disloyal, uncooperative, and unproductive (Abbink, 2005;
Cubitt, 2012). These societal perceptions significantly impinge on the range of choices youth
can take advantage of in striving for greater social and economic mobility. Young people’s
participation in armed conflict has only reified these negative attitudes, all while propagating a
culture of stigma surrounding former child soldiers, youth, and their place in post-war society.
For Articles 38 and 39 of the CRC to be realized in practice, extensive structural changes
are necessary, particularly existing systems, social relations, and power structures that silence

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and marginalize youth. Dismantling patrimonial structures that foster youth disempowerment,
exploitation, and gendered oppression is an important piece to this endeavor. Patrimonialism
is a far-reaching and institutionalized form of patriarchy that functions at the interpersonal,
household, local community, national, and international levels (Murphy, 2010). It has been
argued that such structures represent the fundamental source of armed conflict and generalized
violence in many contexts (McMullin, 2011; Murphy, 2010). Patrimonial systems prioritize
the rights, needs, and value of prominent “big men.” In so doing, patrimonial and patriarchal
structures serve to legitimize and crystallize unjust social relations and state systems that
safeguard the economic, social, and political interests of powerful men often at the expense of
the rights and well-being of young people and women. Over time, these circumstances, in
conjunction with growing frustrations and disillusionment, may fuel violence and/or a
resurgence of armed conflict.
The CRC has attempted to address youth marginalization through the dissemination of
rights discourses and philosophies in many conflict and post-conflict settings in the Global South.
In so doing, international and national institutions seek to change public consciousness
concerning children’s rights and entitlements to resources. However, this is particularly difficult
to achieve in contexts where deference to adult authority is an entrenched cultural and social
practice, and where children’s voices and opinions are belittled and/or dismissed (Harris-Short,
2003; Kimmel & Roby, 2007). Moreover, children’s rights and norms are more likely to be
accepted and practiced if they resonate with the social structures, relations, and customs of
local communities (Harris-Short, 2003). In other words, norms, values, practices, and
responsibilities related to children’s rights must emanate from the “ground” if they are to gain
traction in a comprehensive and transformative way.

Conflicting Paradigms
A major impediment to the realization of former child soldiers’ rights under Articles 38 and
39 of the CRC is the degree to which development, rehabilitation, reintegration, and
reconstruction efforts, in many countries of the Global South, have been influenced by
conceptualizations and philosophies rooted in a Western cultural paradigm. The realm of
education provides a case in point. While education can contribute in various ways to the
realization of children’s rights, placing too much emphasis on schools can, in actuality, be
detrimental to former child soldiers’ rights and well-being. For example, many former child
soldiers have never been immersed in a school culture making integration into a classroom
context extremely challenging (Fonseka, 2001; Kimmel & Roby, 2007). Moreover, many former
child soldiers may have little motivation, or reason, to attend school, given the need to survive
on an everyday basis (Kimmel & Roby, 2007; McMullin, 2011). The generalized context of
insecurity and poverty that many former child soldiers continue to negotiate does
not always afford the option of pursuing an education. The emphasis placed on education in
the context of reconstruction, rehabilitation, and reintegration may be fueled by a Western-
driven desire to return former child soldiers to an “idealized” childhood (McMullin, 2011;
Shepler, 2005). This trend may reorient resources away from services and programs that can
potentially address former child soldiers’ basic needs, while meaningfully supporting them in
surviving in an often precarious post-conflict climate.
Development, rehabilitation, and reintegration efforts in the realm of mental health provides
another example whereby local realities and understandings of trauma and healing may be
trumped by medical, social, and cultural practices derived from the Global North. For example,
Western psychiatric models and paradigms often presume that former child soldiers are
permanently and negatively scarred through the experience of war (McMullin, 2011).

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Rehabilitation and reintegration programs have tended to prioritize “psychological healing.”

Consequently, these approaches may homogenize and universalize the experience of psycho-
logical trauma, rather than viewing trauma as a multifaceted, complex and socially, culturally
and context specific experience that differs greatly from one child and community to the next.
Moreover, there is a risk that Western psychiatric-based interventions in the realm of post-
conflict healing may dangerously pathologize former child soldiers and, in so doing, construct
these children as “deficient” (Stark & Wessells, 2013). Rather than understanding former child
soldiers’ behaviors as legitimate in light of the conditions they have survived and continue to
negotiate, trauma discourses and practices emerging from the Global North may risk further
stigmatizing and marginalizing these young people (Spitzer & Twikirize, 2013).

Conclusion
Despite the CRC’s near universal ratification, the rights and well-being of children continue
to be violated, undermined, and outright dismissed in the context of armed conflict. Articles
38 and 39 lay out circumstances that aim to safeguard the rights and well-being of children
living within the heat of conflict. However, in practice, children continue to experience grave
rights violations in conflict settings. While legal protective measures and the growing reach of
children’s rights discourses, which have often permeated post-conflict reintegration programs
(Shepler, 2005), have successfully brought children’s rights to the forefront of public
consciousness, the transformation of entrenched injustices and oppressive social and political
structures that lead to child rights violations remain an issue of concern.
In the post-conflict period, enormous amounts of resources have been dedicated to child
rehabilitation, reintegration, and broader societal reconstruction programming. Nonetheless,
in the aftermath of war, former child soldiers continue to experience extensive rights abuses
and violence, often on a daily basis. In order for children’s right to “recovery and reintegration
. . . in an environment which fosters the health, self-respect and dignity of the child” (CRC,
1989) to be realized, systems and social relations that endorse the exploitation, violation, and
marginalization of children must be addressed. Programmatic support for former child soldiers
is essential, but more is needed to change the structural dynamics that often lead to violence
in the first place (Fonseka, 2001).
Honoring and centering children’s voices and perspectives throughout these processes will
be of paramount importance. In supporting this endeavor, it will be crucial for adults,
governments, and international organizations to attend to and transform dominant attitudes
and assumptions concerning children’s agency and competence. Adults and other authority
figures hold power over children and often minimize children’s capacity to understand and
voice their concerns, interests, needs, and experiences (Lansdown, 2001). If policies and programs
meant to empower and support children continue to stem solely from adult perspectives, it is
unlikely that they will sufficiently and meaningfully be responsive to the needs, everyday realities,
and rights of children.
Children’s participation in the development and implementation of conflict and post-conflict
policies and programming is often thwarted due to generalized assumptions concerning
children’s inability to constructively engage in these processes. Children affected by armed
conflict, in particular, are presumed to be too vulnerable, traumatized, naïve, unknowledgeable,
and irrational to contribute to decision-making processes (McMullin, 2011). As McMullin (2011,
p. 757) succinctly stated:

They became invisible—not political agents whose participation was key to the peace
process, or economic laborers whose skills, ideas and aspirations were necessary for post-

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Myriam Denov and Andie Buccitelli

conflict reconstruction, but traumatized victims to be sent back to an imagined and idealized
pre-conflict life of family and school.

Policy and program development initiatives must be increasingly grounded in the ways young
people, in different contexts, define themselves for themselves, including their unique needs,
capacities, realities, and ways of knowing. Creating accessible and meaningful opportunities
for former girl soldiers and women, more generally, to voice their perspectives and to have
power over policy and programming is also crucial. If patriarchal systems and structural
gendered violence are to be transformed, women’s and girls’ realities, ways of knowing and
perceptions must be valued, validated, and profoundly interwoven into the social, economic,
and political fabric. If children’s voices and perspectives do not hold power within the
development and implementation of policy and programming initiatives, children’s rights
violations and youth disenfranchisement will be maintained and reinforced as the status quo
in contexts around the globe.

Notes
1 Underlying the dichotomy of “force” versus “non-force” entry methods, are more complex and ambiguous
realities. Moreover, creating a division between force and non-force may be a double-edged sword, as it
generates a distinction between “unwilling” victims, and “willing” perpetrators of violence, where the reality
is often highly blurred.
2 A child soldier is defined as “any person below 18 years of age who is or who has been recruited or used
by an armed force or armed group in any capacity, including but not limited to children, boys and girls,
used as fighters, cooks, porters, messengers, spies or for sexual purposes. It does not only refer to a child
who is taking or has taken a direct part in hostilities” (Paris Principles, 2007, p. 7).
3 Countries include Afghanistan, Burundi, Côte d’Ivoire, DRC, Liberia, and Southern Sudan.
4 Countries include Central African Republic, Chad, Iraq, Somalia, and Sudan (Darfur).
5 These international and civil conflicts include Angola, Burundi, Colombia, DRC, El Salvador, Ethiopia,
Eritrea, Guatemala, Lebanon, Liberia, Macedonia, Nepal, Peru, Philippines, Sierra Leone, Sri Lanka, Sudan,
and Zimbabwe and others (Mazurana et al., 2002).
6 Disarmament is the collection, control and disposal of small arms, ammunition, explosives and light and
heavy weapons of combatants and often also of the civilian population. Disarmament includes the
development of responsible arms management programs (United Nations, 2006, p. 6).
7 Demobilization is the formal and controlled discharge of active combatants from armed forces or other
armed groups (United Nations, 2006, p. 6).
8 Reintegration is the process by which ex-combatants acquire civilian status and gain sustainable employment
and income. Reintegration is essentially a social and economic process with an open timeframe, primarily
taking place in communities at the local level (United Nations, 2006, p. 19).

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 Part V
Children’s Rights in Action
 29
Children’s Right to Write
Young People’s Participation as Producers
of Children’s Literature

Rachel Conrad

This chapter considers the value of thinking about children as cultural producers from the
perspective of children’s rights. Scholarship on children’s rights to participation and expression
can help frame our thinking about the importance and value of children’s creative work.
Approaches to children’s rights have begun to position children’s agency, experiences, and
priorities closer to the center of investigation (Abebe, 2013; Balagopalan, 2013; Reynolds,
Nieuwenhuys & Hanson, 2006). This builds on work by sociologists and anthropologists
of childhood (Bluebond-Langner, 1978; James, 2009; James, Jenks, & Prout, 1998; Mayall,
2002) that underscores a view of children as “social actors shaping as well as shaped by their
circumstances” ( James et al., 1998, p. 6). Recent scholarship emphasizes the importance of
balancing individualistic notions of agency with consideration of agency as grounded in
interdependent social, political, and community relationships in order to do justice to the lives
of young people across diverse cultural contexts (Abebe, 2013; Robson, Bell, & Klocker, 2007).
In Robson et al.’s definition, agency refers to:

an individual’s own capacities, competencies, and activities through which they navigate
the contexts and positions of their lifeworlds, fulfilling many economic, social, and cultural
expectations, while simultaneously charting individual/collective choice and possibilities
for their daily and future lives.
(Robson et al., 2007, p. 135)

Children’s ability to “navigate the contexts and positions of their lifeworlds,” I would add,
depends on their discernment and interpretation of their worlds in relation to themselves as
individuals and as young people.
Hanson and Nieuwenhuys’s (2013) idea of children’s rights as “living rights” (p. 3), as
“a ‘living practice’ shaped by children’s everyday concerns” (p. 8), helps construct a notion of
children’s rights that presupposes children’s agency. Hanson and Nieuwenhuys remind us that
“Children do not simply discover their rights after exposure to metropolitan rights discourses,

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but become aware of their rights as they struggle with their families and communities to give
meaning to their daily existence” (p. 4). The concept of “living rights” positions children’s
ideas and actions centrally into our conception of children’s rights; it enables us to see how,
in the words of Hanson and Nieuwenhuys, “children (among other people), while making
use of notions of rights, shape what these rights are—and become—in the social world”
(p. 6). Skott-Myhre and Tarulli (2008) pursue a related argument in writing that “it is the
bodies of children and their activities that produce children’s rights, both through their overt
acts of resistance, but perhaps even more importantly through their creative capacities to produce
their world” (p. 71), an idea that brings us closer to discerning young people’s right to creatively
contribute to their social and cultural worlds. Tobin (2013) argues that we should consider
the “dynamic and inclusive evolution of children’s rights in which children must play an active
role,” though he believes this should be “consistent with their evolving capacities” (p. 434),
a developmental idea underpinning the Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC, United
States General Assembly, 1989) that children’s capacities become greater and more complex
with time. However, a dynamic conception of children’s rights does not have to rely on develop-
mental logic, but could assume that even the youngest children can contribute to a sense of
their rights. Or we can turn developmental logic on its head to say that over time adults are
evolving their capacities to recognize children’s rights and agency and the importance of
children’s perspectives on their rights. A dynamic conception of children’s rights acknowledges
that children’s daily lives are filled with opportunities for them to contribute to a sense of their
rights, so that young people’s participation can shape our understanding and practice of
children’s rights. In this sense, the field of children’s rights can potentially move beyond what
Tobin terms “the adult construction dilemma” (p. 412), the fact that only adults were involved
in drafting the CRC, although, of course, involving young people does not obviate the
accompanying challenges of adult mediation.
Children’s participation and expression are important as processes of involving young people
in their worlds and also result in children’s viewpoints and productions that contribute to the
cultural life of their societies. In other words, children’s rights to participation and expression
have value both as means and as ends. Considering young people as originators of ideas, as
cultural producers, depends on recognition of their agency, respect for their productions, and
societal acknowledgment that young people bring unique perspectives because of their youth.
Mayall (2002), drawing from feminist standpoint theories (such as Harding, 1991), refers to
“children’s standpoints” (p. 177) that incorporate children’s perspectives on their lives and
conditions as children for what they reveal about the social order and can contribute toward
its re-envisioning. Children’s standpoints are foundational for a dynamic conception of
children’s rights, such as Hanson and Nieuwenhuys’s (2013) notion of “living rights” (p. 3),
that take shape in relation to children’s ideas and practices.
In this chapter, I consider young people’s engagement with creative writing as a participatory
right, and propose that young people’s perspectives can make valuable contributions to
children’s literature. Do children have a right to engage in literary and other artistic practices?
Do they have a right for their artistic productions to be “heard” (Article 12) as cultural
contributions rather than as outcomes of adults’ pedagogical practices or as stepping stones
toward adult artistry? This chapter considers children’s rights to expression of their ideas and
participation in literary practices as writers, that is, as cultural producers and knowledge creators
who can imaginatively convey their perceptions of their social position and rights. The chapter
opens with a discussion of discourse in children’s rights on children’s rights to participation

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and expression, and discourse in children’s literature and critical literacy studies on youth as
critical readers and writers. The chapter then takes as a case study two picture books for young
audiences—The Big Box (1999) and The Book of Mean People (2002)—that were co-written by
Toni Morrison and Slade Morrison. While produced as a collaborative effort between the
renowned adult writer and her grown son, these books present storylines concerning age,
knowledge, power, and rights that derive from Slade Morrison’s ideas as a child. Analysis of
these books and their critical reception furthers the chapter’s argument that a children’s rights
framework encom-passes young people’s right to produce creative works that are contexts for
expressing and representing children’s agency and that can illuminate children’s perspectives
on their social position and rights.

Children’s Rights to Participation and Expression: Discourse

in Children’s Rights
Articles 12, 13, and 31 of the CRC provide the backdrop for thinking about the importance
of children’s participation in literary culture and the contribution of children’s ideas to cultural
life. Lansdown (2010) writes that “Children’s participation has been one of the most debated
and examined aspects of the Convention on the Rights of the Child since it was adopted by
the UN in 1989” (p. 11), and Reynaert, Bouverne-De Bie, and Vandevelde (2009) identify
“autonomy and participation rights as the new norm in child rights practice and policy” (p.
529) in their review of academic discourse from 1989 through 2007. Freeman (1996) has
discussed the importance of Article 12 of the CRC, which refers most explicitly to children’s
participation, “not only for what it says, but because it recognises the child as a full human
being, with integrity and personality and the ability to participate fully in society” (pp. 36–37).
Continuing scholarship on young people’s participation includes accounts that reflect on
past efforts and identify ongoing challenges and future directions (Hill, Davis, Prout, & Tisdall,
2004; Lansdown, 2010; Malone & Hartung, 2010), examine discourses, interpretations, and
practices of children’s participation (Hart, 1997; Kjørholt, 2002; Lundy, 2007; Percy-Smith &
Thomas, 2010; Smith, 2002), and explore young people’s participation in discourse on
participation and rights (Balagopalan, 2013; Fitzgerald, Graham, Smith, & Taylor, 2010;
Liebel, 2013; Morrow, 1999).
In 2009, the Committee on the Rights of the Child affirmed children’s participatory rights—
“The right of all children to be heard and taken seriously” (p. 3)—as a central principle of the
CRC. The Committee holds that participation ideally refers to an ongoing process of “including
children” that is a “starting point for an intense exchange between children and adults on the
development of policies, programmes and measures in all relevant contexts of children’s lives”
(p. 5). Article 12 underscores the obligation of adults to establish mechanisms for children’s
participation and to take it seriously, which, in the words of the Committee on the Rights of
the Child, creates “an environment of respect” for children’s expression in general (p. 17).
Despite the recent wealth of academic discourse on children’s participatory rights, comparatively
little has been written directly on children’s right to expression, which is subsumed under the
right to participation. According to Article 13 of the CRC, “freedom of expression” includes
“freedom to seek, receive and impart information and ideas of all kinds, regardless of frontiers,
either orally, in writing or in print, in the form of art, or through any other media of the
child’s choice.” Article 13 combines the right to “seek” and “receive” information with the
right to “impart” information through various media, yet children’s imparting of ideas receives

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arguably less emphasis in public and scholarly discussions than does children’s access to ideas
produced by others. Further, Article 13 does not include the obligation of adults to take seriously
children’s imparting of ideas, which is a central component of Article 12.
The Committee on the Rights of the Child has clarified the thorny issue of capability and
holds that adults should presume that all children are capable of formulating their own
perspectives on their lives and worlds. While the language of Article 12 assures “to the child
who is capable of forming his or her own views the right to express those views freely in all
matters affecting the child,” the Committee writes in their 2009 General Comment that capability
“should not be seen as a limitation, but rather as an obligation” for adults to “presume that a
child has the capacity to form her or his own views and recognize that she or he has the right
to express them” (p. 6). Though Article 12 holds that the views of a child will be “given due
weight in accordance with the age and maturity of the child,” the Committee’s General
Comment indicates that age and verbal ability should not be barriers, which opens the door
to considerations of participation by very young children. Further, the Committee considers
not only individual children or groups of children but “children as a group” (p. 5) to have the
right to express their views and have them taken seriously, although they admit that this may
be harder to facilitate than in the case of individual children. Finally, the Committee gives “a
wide interpretation” (p. 8) to the phrase “in all matters affecting the child” beyond expressing
children’s opinions about decisions that directly impact them, so as “to include children in the
social processes of their community and society” and consider children’s views on all manner
of topics of concern “wherever their perspective can enhance the quality of solutions” (p. 8).
Article 31, which focuses on children’s right “to participate fully in cultural and artistic life”
through access to, participation in, and contribution to creative activities, is also relevant, and
the Committee recently acknowledged that children’s creative actions can contribute to
“furthering the development and transformation of the society to which he or she belongs”
(2013, p. 4).
Fitzgerald, Graham, Smith, and Taylor (2010) believe the time is ripe for a “dialogical
approach” (p. 301) to children’s participation that draws on socio-cultural theories (see Smith,
2002) that ground children in their social and cultural worlds and maintains the importance
of adults’ “recognition and respect for children and their views and experiences” (p. 300). To
Fitzgerald and colleagues, who draw on the work of philosophers Charles Taylor, Axel
Honneth, and Nancy Fraser, recognition is a productive lens through which to think about
participation “because it allows for a focus on identity (children’s understanding of who they
are) as well as on status (the ways in which they are able to fully participate in society)”
(p. 297). Indeed, Fitzgerald et al. discuss children’s participation as “a struggle over recognition”
(p. 293), as “a negotiated space that is dialogical” (p. 293) in that it depends on thinking about
the contexts of power and discourses that frame participation, and on negotiation between
children’s knowledge and agency and adults’ recognition of and respect for children’s
experiences and perspectives.
Thinking about young people’s participation in literary practices benefits from Fitzgerald
et al.’s dialogic approach as it requires taking into account discourses, practices, and institutions
of literary publishing and reviewing; considering adults’ readiness to acknowledge, respect, and
recognize young people’s experiences, perspectives, and creative works; and taking seriously
young people’s expressions of and perspectives on agency, identity (which can incorporate
both self-understanding and understanding of the social position of childhood), and rights in
their production of literary texts. Thus, literary works by young people—whether and how

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they are produced, published, acknowledged, and interpreted—are sites of “struggle over recog-
nition” (Fitzgerald et al., 2010, p. 293). Children’s standpoints can only be represented in
literature if children have, and are able to exercise, the right to write.1

Youth as Critical Readers and Writers: Discourse in Children’s

Literature and Critical Literacy Studies
“Children’s literature” typically refers to literary works produced by adults for an audience
of children ( Jones, 2006; McMaster, 2001; Nodelman, 2008). This practice of “children’s
literature” positions children as the audience of adults’ literary productions, rather than as
authors and inventors, innovators and theorists. Children’s participation in literary activities—
as critical readers and as writers—contributes to a broadening of children’s literature as a site
for engaging with children’s perspectives, including their perspectives on childhood as a social
position. Philosopher Gareth Matthews (1994) writes that “the treatment of children’s art shows
that we think of it as having only instrumental and personal value” (p. 119), rather than aesthetic
value, which is only accorded to the “mature artistic achievements” of adults (p. 120).
Matthews views this as a political issue stemming from adult-derived power structures.
The only literary critical term for writing by children is “juvenilia,” which refers to work
produced during childhood by people who have become established adult writers (Alexander,
2005; Alexander & McMaster, 2005). Alexander and McMaster (2005) suggest that even with
juvenilia, it may be important to not only read a writer’s adult work against their writing as a
child, but “to examine childhood writings as a body of literature, almost a genre, in their own
right” (p. 3). Among the few recent scholars addressing the work of young writers (Conrad,
2012, 2013; Nadler, 2000; Watson, 2000) are scholars in critical literacy studies focusing on
young people’s engagement with spoken work poetry (Ayers, Hodge, & Casal, 2010; Coval,
2010; Jocson, 2008). For instance, in the context of a university–school partnership, Jocson
(2008) explores how urban youth of color engage with poetry “as a process, product, and
practice” (p. 3) in classroom workshops that enable young writers to respond to and reimagine
social realities and shape their identities through their own writing; and Ayers, Hodge, and
Casal (2010) engage with “teacher” and “student” perspectives on youth agency in relation
to spoken word poetry.
Miller (2009) writes about the use of Toni Morrison and Slade Morrison’s The Big Box as
an opportunity to teach critical literacy to sixth-grade students (aged approximately 11 to 12
years) in the US and explore questions of power and freedom in relation to age. A sixth-grade
teacher prompted her students to consider such questions as “Who was the author of the piece
and what is his/her message to the reader?” and “Who holds the power in the story?” (Miller,
2009, p. 42) in their reading of The Big Box. Miller informs us that most students viewed the
box as “a metaphor for the loss of freedom. Many of the students pointed out that the unequal
power of being a child places them in a box” (p. 43). During a class discussion, a few students
considered “the United States’ reputation as the land of the free when only adults seem to
benefit from that idea” (p. 44); in particular, “Peter” (not his real name) said that “adults are
freer than kids in our country” (p. 44), and “Ashley” said that “People are always telling us
kids what to do. They never ask kids. They just expect us to spend all our lives following
what they want us to do” (p. 44). One can view Ashley’s reference to “all our lives” as her
indication, framed in a plural identity of young people, of the extent of one’s life as a child,
a perspective focused on an extended present rather than on the future.

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Miller (2009) was struck with the clarity of students’ comments about the abridgements of
young people’s freedom and autonomy in the US. Miller concludes that “Through the use
of literature like The Big Box, students can use what they learn in literature to think about
ideas such as powerlessness, freedom, and control and to put words to their feelings” (p. 45).
She ends by stating that “students are crying out for some autonomy over their lives through
a voice in the matters that concern them” (p. 45). Given this conclusion, it is all the more
striking that Miller presents The Big Box both in the article’s text and in the reference list as
“Toni Morrison’s book” (p. 41), entirely omitting the contributions of Slade Morrison and
his origination of the book’s ideas as a 9-year-old child. It is a sad irony that Slade Morrison’s
voice and contribution, eminently relevant to this topic, has been erased, his agency not
recognized. Some critics (Lester, 2007; Ropero, 2008) of The Big Box and The Book of Mean
People mention Slade Morrison as Toni Morrison’s collaborator in introducing the books, yet
subsequently fall back on referring to “Morrison’s” text in the singular (e.g., Ropero, 2008,
pp. 44, 51); it is noticeable when Ku (2006) consistently refers to “the Morrisons” or “Toni
and Slade Morrison” (p. 618) as “co-authors” (p. 615). Beyond this, most discussions of the
books among critics or reviewers (e.g., Publishers Weekly, 1999; Rochman, 1999; Sutton,
1999) do not think seriously about the fact that Slade Morrison’s ideas as a child were the
origin of these books. For example, a review in Publishers Weekly mentions that The Big Box
“is inspired by a story made up by Morrison’s then nine-year-old son” while also claiming
that the child characters’ refrain in the book is an “unchildlike response” (p. 95).
Why do most critics and reviewers fail to adequately acknowledge Slade Morrison’s agency
in conceiving of the ideas that are the basis of these two books? How is it that even scholars
sympathetic to the ideas conveyed in the books, and the books’ “subversive” qualities (Ku,
2006, p. 614; Lester, 2007, pp. 137, 140; Ropero, 2008, p. 55)—a term Morrison herself applies
to The Big Box (Hyperion, 2003) in challenging adult authority—fail to fully recognize and
explore the fact that a child conceived of this challenge? The obvious answer is that young
people are not typically positioned as authors. Since, for the most part, young people are excluded
from the privilege of authorship, even when they have co-authored a text the collaboration
may not be recognized or may be collapsed into the identity of the adult co-author. James
(2007) has referred to continued challenges in critically including, interpreting, and responding
to the “voices of children” (p. 261) in the context of sociological and anthropological
approaches to childhood studies:

Despite such representations of the ‘voices of children,’ children themselves may,

nonetheless, continue to find their voices silenced, suppressed, or ignored in their everyday
lives. Children may not be asked their views and opinions, and even if they are consulted,
their ideas may be dismissed.
(p. 261)

Furthermore, the importance of children’s standpoints—the fact that children have ideas
and lines of inquiry, owing in part to the social position of childhood, that may not be available
to adults—is not fully understood. This may be the most “subversive” element of The Big Box
and The Book of Mean People: the books’ ideas about children’s rights derive from the perspective
of a young person. When Toni Morrison was asked “What do you hope children will hear
in the language of [The Big Box],” she responded: “The voice of another child who had the
same questions they have” (Hyperion, 2003).

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The next sections of the chapter are discussions of Toni Morrison and Slade Morrison’s
books The Big Box and The Book of Mean People. While produced as collaborative efforts between
the adult writer and her grown son, both books present storylines that derive from Slade
Morrison’s ideas as a child. These two picture books are valuable in thinking about children’s
rights in terms of their content, which presents child characters’ ideas about freedom, power,
knowledge, and rights; their process, whereby a child formulated the books’ key ideas; and
their product, which involves artistic interplay of a child’s and adult’s ideas (though pro-
duced by two adults). Consideration of these books helps illuminate a still underappreciated
issue connecting agency with children’s rights: the right for young people to creatively exer-
cise the power of their own ideas which may contribute uniquely to social, cultural, and
political life.

“[I]f freedom is handled just your way/Then it’s not my freedom

or free”: Young People’s Freedom in Toni Morrison and Slade
Morrison’s The Big Box
Even in the physical presentation of the book The Big Box, the first collaborative book project
between Toni Morrison and her younger son Slade Morrison (1999), the fact of the
collaboration is variously acknowledged. The author credit on the cover reads “Toni Morrison”
in large font “with Slade Morrison” in smaller font that is roughly the same size as the font
of the illustrator’s name, Giselle Potter. The biographical note for Slade Morrison on the back
flap of the book jacket reads: “He was nine years old when he devised this story and let his
mother impose the rhyme,” which indicates original invention and permission for adult
mediation. Yet the text on the front flap of the book jacket introduces the book as “this first
story for children by Pulitzer Prize-winning author Toni Morrison,” without mention of Slade
Morrison. Co-authorship is emphasized more clearly and consistently in the presentation of
their second book collaboration, The Book of Mean People, where the front cover lists the authors
as “Toni & Slade Morrison” with their names in same-sized font, the text on the front flap
of the book jacket reads “So begins Toni Morrison’s second picture book collaboration with
her son, Slade Morrison,” and the biographical note on the back flap of the book jacket
introduces Slade Morrison as “a painter and musician” who “co-authored The Big Box with
his mother, Toni Morrison.” Although there may have been differences in the process of these
two collaborations, the inconsistent reference to Slade Morrison’s contribution in the physical
presentation of The Big Box itself is worth noting.
The text of The Big Box was originally published in a 1982 collection, Stories for Free Children,
edited by Letty Cottin Pogrebin. Authorship was listed there as “By Toni Morrison in
collaboration with Slade Morrison,” who was about 17 years old at the time, and was identi-
fied by his birth year and family relationships in the biographical note at the end of the story:
“Toni Morrison is the author of Song of Solomon and Tar Baby. Slade Morrison was born in 1965.
He lives in Rockland County with his mother and brother.” In the 1982 version, the story is presented
as a narrative poem, framed in a line drawing of a box, with a few simple illustrations. Most
of the differences between the text of the 1982 version and the book-length version of 1999
that is fully and richly illustrated by Giselle Potter are some minor changes in punctuation and
updating of cultural references from the 1980s to the 1990s, from Farah Fawcett to the Spice
Girls. The most significant difference is the addition of a final line of text in the 1999 version:
“Who says they can’t handle their freedom?”2 In the 1982 version, the closing stanza is set up

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for a final rhyme with “freedom” with its last two lines—“And beavers chew trees when they
need ’em/But Patty and Mickey and Liza Sue”—that end seemingly in mid thought, probably
as a printer’s error, but it is an ironic omission nonetheless.
In an interview (Hyperion, 2003), Toni Morrison reported that the story of The Big
Box originated in Slade Morrison’s report of a teacher’s comment that he discussed with
his mother:

My younger son was hurt and mystified by a teacher’s comment (a common nostrum in
education at the time) that he “couldn’t handle his freedom.” We talked about it off and
on, trying to figure out what, other than the obvious, was meant. I jotted down his
comments and complaints and later organized them and turned them into rhyme. His
observations I expanded and shaped into an admittedly subversive story of adults not listening
to children and retreating into “rules” that protect the adults—not the children.3

At the heart of the text of The Big Box are the “comments and complaints” voiced by young
Slade Morrison in reaction to his teacher’s attitude toward him as a schoolchild, and yet it is
precisely this fact that is typically lost in public and critical accounts of the book. Seeing young
people as creators and innovators whose voices can convey new ideas runs against received
ideas of children and youth. While it is worth noting that by the time the book-length version
of The Big Box was published in 1999, Slade Morrison was in his thirties, he initiated and
communicated these ideas originally as a 9-year-old child. Of course, his ideas take their present
form due in large part to Toni Morrison’s stature and skill as a writer, yet young Slade Morrison’s
standpoint and the collaboration between mother and son never fully receive the critical attention
they deserve.
In one of the most cogent discussions of the Morrisons’ first two collaborative books,4 Neal
Lester (2007) writes of Toni Morrison as “an advocate for children” (p. 135) in her fiction for
adults such as The Bluest Eye. Lester writes insightfully about The Big Box as a text wherein
the child characters’ imaginative acts and questioning of adult authority “affords these children
an agency the adult world seeks to deny them” (p. 146); yet interestingly, Lester consistently
positions Toni Morrison as the agent who has crafted this narrative, despite indicating at the
outset of his discussion that the text is “Based on her then nine-year-old son Slade’s responses
to a teacher’s rather loaded comment that he ‘couldn’t handle his freedom’ ” (p. 138). Although
Lester acknowledges that The Big Box is “[b]ased on” Slade’s ideas, throughout his discussion
of both books, he refers to Toni Morrison as their sole author. For instance, he makes the
important point that The Big Box and The Book of Mean People present children’s viewpoints
about adult attitudes and actions, yet he does so by referring to Toni Morrison as the singular
author rather than acknowledging, as Toni Morrison herself does, that “a child thought it up
in the first place and I just recorded it” (Capriccioso, 2003):5

Both books challenge adults to listen to and to respect even children who seemingly
occupy socially and legally powerless positions. Morrison’s [singular] subversiveness comes
in creating children’s texts that are not tools for adult control over children’s behavior
but rather tools adults can use to better understand children’s emotional positions and
children’s perspectives on and interpretations of adult behavior.
(Lester, 2007, p. 137)

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While Lester doesn’t directly grapple with the complexity of Toni Morrison’s mediation
of the recorded words of young Slade Morrison in collaboration with adult Slade Morrison,
he is aware of the problem of youth authorship, as he indicates at the end of his chapter in a
pertinent “Ideas for Discussion” question that he raises but does not discuss: “Is Toni Morrison’s
son and co-author Slade ‘silenced’ in our reading and talking about these books and these
stories? How so?” (p. 157).
In The Big Box, three child characters come to “Live in a big brown box” with “three big
locks” that function simultaneously to protect and punish.6 While differentiated in terms of
gender, race, and environment, each child has “made the grown-ups nervous” through her
or his behaviors: Patty “talked in the library and sang in class,” Mickey “played handball/Right
where the sign said not ta,” and Liza Sue “took the bit from the horse’s mouth/And fed honey
to the bees,” which has led to the judgment of parents and teachers that “Those kids can’t
handle their freedom.” The adults commit the children to a literal big box, where they are
given material goods—toys, food, and representations of the outside world (e.g., “a picture of
the sky/And a butterfly under glass”)—and are visited once a week by their parents. In their
judgments, the adult characters express views of developmentalism in valuing children for
the future or for the sake of adults’ desires: they refer to “a lot of potential inside” Patty, to
the “wonderful future before” Mickey, and to their idea that Liza has “to know how far
to go/So the grown-up world can adore you.” Toni Morrison has indicated that in her view,
The Big Box is centrally concerned with adults’ construction of a “wholly commercialized
environment that equates ‘entertainment’ with happiness, products with status, ‘things’ with
love, and that is terrified of the free (meaning un-commodified, unpurchaseable) imagination
of the young” (Hyperion, 2003). Alongside these themes are ideas about freedom, rights, and
agency that originated with young Slade Morrison.
The Big Box is a meditation on freedom, on who defines it, possesses it, and controls it.
Each child character speaks after the adults’ judgment is rendered, and the conclusion of each
child’s response is identical: “I know you are smart and I know that you think/You’re doing
what is best for me./But if freedom is handled just your way/Then it’s not my freedom or
free.” The notion of “my freedom” raises important questions about a young person’s ideas
of freedom and sense of ownership over the definition and achievement of such freedom.
Although the child characters are all put in the “big brown box” after their speech, they each
have the last word following the adults’ judgment. The final page of the book repeats a refrain
about the natural world that positions the child characters as challenging the viewpoint of the
adults and escaping from the box into the natural world, not through the door with three
locks placed by the adults, but through the open roof that perhaps has been open all along,
since the roof of the box is not depicted until the final illustration:

Oh the porpoises scream

And the rabbits hop
And beavers chew trees when they need ’em
But Patty and Mickey and Liza Sue—
Who says they can’t handle their freedom?

As the book’s closing line indicates, the entire book can be read as a response to the comment
made by young Slade Morrison’s teacher that, as Toni Morrison reports, “he ‘couldn’t handle
his freedom’ ” (Hyperion, 2003). The Big Box presents young Slade Morrison’s conceptualization

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that young people should be involved in determining what constitutes their freedom and rights,
and what it means to live according to this freedom (“my freedom or free”). Alongside this
is the theme of children’s resistance to living in commercialized worlds that may have been
more of a concern to Toni Morrison and to Slade Morrison as an adult. Toni Morrison describes
the initial response of publishers to the manuscript of The Big Box as unfavorable given that,
since adults purchase children’s books, “No children’s book that did not offer a reconciliation
with the adult view was marketable” (Hyperion, 2003); this view that presupposes “a conflict
between a child’s point of view and an adult’s” to Toni Morrison “seemed to be a strong
dismissal of children’s intelligence” (Hyperion, 2003). While The Big Box challenges these
assumptions and constraints applied by publishers of children’s literature (as Ropero, 2008, also
discusses), Toni Morrison and Slade Morrison’s second collaboration, The Book of Mean People,
raises even more explicitly the question of whether children have the right to express their
points of view on adults even if these views are unflattering.

“I never would have developed that kind of inquiry”: Youth

Authorship and Perspective in Toni Morrison and Slade Morrison’s
The Book of Mean People
The protagonist of The Book of Mean People, the second collaboration between Toni Morrison
and Slade Morrison, is a young rabbit in overalls who, for most of the text, carries with him
an oversized book entitled The Book of Mean People. It is not clear whether the protagonist has
written the book he carries with him, since the title page shows him with a look of tentative
surprise discovering the book lying about and depicts him on the first page sitting against a
tree intently reading it. What is clear is that the protagonist adopts the book as his own, and
the book reflects his perspective as he brings it with him throughout this first-person discussion
of the “mean”-ness he encounters—from adults and children—in his daily life. His descriptions
of “the mean people I know” are usually accompanied by his own viewpoint, e.g., “My baby-
sitter is mean. She says, ‘Hurry up. You are wasting time!’/How can I waste time if I use it?”7
At the book’s conclusion, he throws off his overalls and shoes—the trappings of civilization—
and leaps toward a blossoming natural world, yet still carries The Book of Mean People with him
in his outstretched paw. In this closing image, the young rabbit uses the book, which has been
constructed through his own perspective, to lead the way in his resistance.
In an interview in 2003, Toni Morrison makes clear that the central ideas of The Book of
Mean People were authored by her son Slade Morrison as a child (Capriccioso, 2003). When
asked “Why do some children understand that message while it goes over their parents’ heads?,”
Toni Morrison replies:

Well, a child thought it up in the first place and I just recorded it. My son—that’s him.
That’s what he was telling me and his brother and his grandmother. And I would just
write it down because I thought it was funny.
(Capriccioso, 2003)

Then she states that children’s shared experience of child status leads to shared understanding:
“So, it’s really a child talking—child language to other children. I never would have developed
that kind of inquiry” (Capriccioso, 2003). Toni Morrison clearly recognizes that she “never
would have developed that kind of inquiry”; instead, it was formulated by her young son whose

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ideas and words she recorded at the time, while the two of them years later—when Slade
Morrison was in his thirties—mined this material to craft the 2002 book. One interesting
convergence between The Big Box and The Book of Mean People is their similar ending in which
the young character(s) escape into the natural world. Toni Morrison recounts how when a
young reader of The Book of Mean People was asked by her mother why she laughed about the
ending of the book, the girl replied, “ ‘He got away, he got away.’ And it’s true” that in the
final picture, “he is just free” (Capriccioso, 2003). Thus The Book of Mean People shares with
The Big Box a notion of children’s freedom that involves escape from the constraints of adult
control and, we might say, adult authorship.
In the same interview, Toni Morrison discusses the complicated multiple meanings of “mean
people.” Responding to critiques from parents who dislike The Book of Mean People, presumably
because, in Toni Morrison’s words, they “don’t like to be criticized,” Morrison continues:

But what they miss is that these mean people are not really mean. They are simply speaking
a language that [the child is] trying to learn. What does it mean to waste time? What does
it mean to sit up and sit down? This is the time when children are learning syntax and
double entendre and what you really mean. That’s the point of the “meanness.” [The
child is] not around villains. He’s trying to wade his way through what for a six or seven
year-old is a very complicated world.
(Capriccioso, 2003)

Thus “the point of the ‘meanness’ ” is the difficulty of discerning what people mean, especially
when their words and/or behaviors are opaque, confusing, or contradictory. For example, in
one sequence, the text reads: “My grandparents are mean. My grandmother tells me to sit
down. My grandfather tells me to sit up. HOW can I sit DOWN and sit UP at the same
time?” Another spread describes writing as regulated by adults—“My teacher is mean. He says
my letters are not on the lines. But his letters are in the spaces and on top of mine”—with an
illustration of a huge composition book that dwarfs the small rabbit (and his dog) whose words
are written over by the teacher’s red print: “poor spelling.” Time is also shown to be a bone
of contention in a sequence that reads “My baby-sitter is mean. She says, ‘Hurry up. You are
wasting time!’ ” and shows the babysitter holding up an enormous clock to the napping rabbit
who opens one eye; he responds, “How can I waste time if I use it,” with an illustration depicting
his dream of himself and his dog reaching the clouds. Thus, The Book of Mean People
demonstrates multiple ways in which the young rabbit’s priorities, understandings, and
opportunities to express agency are not at the center of his interactions with older people (and
sometimes other youth), and presents his ideas and critiques as sound and well-founded.
The Book of Mean People offers a critique of assumptions that adult viewpoints, practices, and
uses of language are inherently more legitimate, valid, and mean-ingful than young people’s ideas
and perspectives. Here, “meanness” signals breaks in intersubjective understanding, which
psychologist Jerome Bruner defines as “a mutual sharing of assumptions and beliefs about how
the world is, how mind works, what we are up to, and how communication should proceed”
(1986, p. 57). While in a developmental view of human capacities, children are held to be less
competent than adults and their behaviors in need of correction, the protagonist of The Book
of Mean People calls out “mean people” who are “big” or “little,” older or younger, though
most of the “mean people” he knows are adults. While the protagonist works hard to figure
out what others mean, the “mean people” unilaterally pursue their own agendas without working
toward successful transactions of meaning.

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Toni Morrison reports that Slade Morrison was not initially enthusiastic about her idea to
produce these two books based on his ideas as a child. In the interview with Rob Capriccioso
(2003) cited above, Toni Morrison recalls:

Well—the first two books, he was embarrassed. He’s in his thirties now! [laughs] I told
him I was doing these books and he went, “eh.” I said, “What if I put ‘with Slade Morrison’
and share the royalties?” He said, “OK.” [laughs]

In this account, the publication of books based on Slade Morrison’s ideas as a child is more
palatable to him when publicly acknowledged authorship and payment, recognition and
compensation, are involved.
The value of Slade Morrison’s contributions to The Big Box and The Book of Mean People
underscores the fact that commonly absent in “children’s literature” are young people’s
representations of their viewpoints on childhood and adulthood, on children’s rights and agency.
Another example of a text with a young person’s critical viewpoint on adults is young
writer/cartoonist Alexa Kitchen’s book Grown-Ups are Dumb! (No Offense), published in 2009.
Alexa Kitchen’s age is highlighted in the presentation of her books: she is identified on the
cover of Grown-Ups are Dumb! (No Offense) as “The World’s Youngest Professional Cartoonist,”
having written and illustrated the book at age 10; and her earlier how-to book on cartooning,
Drawing Comics is Easy! (Except when it’s Hard), identifies her on the cover as author/illustrator
“Alexa Kitchen age 7” (2006). Many of the cartoon strips in Grown-Ups are Dumb! (No Offense)
depict a parent or teacher as engaged in predictably controlling attitudes toward child characters
and as oblivious to young characters’ intentions and thoughts. For instance, one strip depicts
the character Lucy being commended by her teacher–“It’s nice to see you doing some work,
Lucy! Keep going!”—while a subsequent panel shows that Lucy is actually busy doodling and
writing “Teacher stinks.”8 Another strip presents Lucy’s understanding of the quandaries of
youth status, with her mother speaking to her offstage while Lucy moves further into the center
across three panels:

Lucy: Mom, can I please be baby-sat tonight?

Mother: I think you’re a bit grown up for that.
Lucy: Then can I baby-sit someone else on our road?
Mother: Good heavens, Lucy, you are way too young!
Lucy: I hate being a middle-aged kid.

As this example shows, one reason that adults are “dumb” according to Alexa Kitchen is that
they don’t demonstrate an awareness of the sometimes contradictory assumptions and practices
concerning age, and they fail to recognize or take seriously young people’s perceptions,
intentions, and ideas.
Alexa Kitchen’s father Denis Kitchen is a cartoonist who facilitated the publication of at
least the first of his daughter’s books that appeared under his own publishing imprint, while
the second book was published by a mainstream publishing house. Thus, one contemporary
route to children’s participation as producers of children’s literature is through well-positioned
parents, as was also the case with Slade Morrison. What would it take for young people to
achieve authorship without such sponsorship and endorsement? In the US, a few mainstream
literary journals have taken steps either to integrate young writers into existing formats or to

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create opportunities for them. For instance, the literary magazine Rattle recently began inviting
young poets—aged 15 years or younger at the time of writing—to submit their work for
consideration for an annual young poets anthology (Green, 2014), and selected poems from
this anthology are integrated with adults’ poetry on their website. The literary journal Hanging
Loose has had a section for high school-aged poets and fiction writers for years, and has produced
four anthologies to date of young writers’ work (e.g., Pawlak, Lourie, & Hershon, 2010). In
addition, a number of teachers of poetry have compiled anthologies of their students’ work
(e.g., Lyne, 2004; Nye, 2000) and some youth creative writing contests and programs produce
print anthologies of young writers’ work (e.g., Levithan, 2012; Michael, 2008; WritersCorps,
2008). In recent years, young people have pursued their own writing projects through zines
(Green & Taormino, 1997; Guzzetti, & Gamboa, 2004) or online platforms (Thomas,
2007). How else can young people’s right to write be recognized and supported? What
opportunities for youth-produced literature can be created, and to what extent should these
outlets be mediated by adults?
Facilitating young people’s participation in literary practices can involve promoting activities
that are directed by adults, by young people, or by collaboration among youth and adults.
Increased access and invitations for young writers to submit to adult-controlled publishing venues,
such as print and online literary journals, is one strategy. Adult editors should consider not
necessarily specifying the age of young writers, which is a practice that can encourage
judgmental comparisons between younger and older writers and perpetuate adults’ develop-
mental thinking about young people. Greater visibility for young writers can enhance young
people’s exposure to creative writing by other youth and prompt their awareness that children
can be writers who deserve and can receive audiences’ attention. Another means of supporting
young people’s agency involves including young writers in public events such as writers’ festivals,
reading series, and spoken word events in which both young and adult writers can perform.
In addition to participating in adult-controlled public spaces, young people could position
themselves (or be invited by adults) to help select, edit, and design literary publications. Young
people’s involvement on editorial boards that select the work of other young writers and in
the creation or collaborative co-creation with adults of publication venues are prime means
of realizing young people’s agency and participation in literary practices.

Implications of Youth Authorship for Children’s Rights and Agency

This chapter examined two books co-written by Toni Morrison and Slade Morrison, The Big
Box and The Book of Mean People, as sites of “struggle over recognition” (Fitzgerald et al., 2010,
p. 293) in terms of content as well as how they have been produced, published, acknowledged,
and interpreted. The Big Box and The Book of Mean People complicate questions of youth
authorship due to the production of the books during Slade Morrison’s adulthood and the fact
that Toni Morrison’s prominence as a writer facilitated the publishing of these works. As her
discussion of the writing process (Capriccioso, 2003; Hyperion, 2003) suggests, Toni Morrison
may have taken the lead in writing these books, while the central ideas were the invention of
Slade Morrison as a child. Despite these particular circumstances, thinking about the content,
production, and reception of these books offers opportunities to reflect on the importance of
young people’s ideas about childhood, adults, agency, and rights; on barriers to the recognition
of young people as authors; and on the value of young people’s representations of their ideas
in creative works, which can help reveal the diversity as well as potential similarities across

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young people’s ideas. Considering these issues through the prism of children’s rights is
productive for our thinking about children’s rights as well as for our thinking about young
people as writers.
As stated in Articles 12 and 13 of the CRC, children have a right to express their ideas
and have them heard and taken seriously and, as acknowledged in Article 31, a right to con-
tribute to the cultural and artistic life of their societies. Cultural and artistic realms are poorer
for the lack of children’s standpoints, drawing not only from their individual perspectives
but from their experiences and understandings of their status as children, which can include
their understanding of their rights. Children have a right to formulate artistic works and have
them recognized, taken seriously, and considered valuable contributions to their social and
cultural worlds.
Thinking seriously about young people’s participation in literary culture as authors, or
children’s right to write, depends on recognition of youth agency, respect for young people
as cultural producers and innovators, and acknowledgment of the value of “children’s stand-
points” (Mayall, 2002, p. 177) or children’s perspectives on their lives and worlds that emerge
in part from their status as children. Children’s standpoints can contribute to a dynamic con-
ception of children’s rights, such as Hanson and Nieuwenhuys’s notion of “living rights” (2013,
p. 3) that take shape in relation to children’s ideas and practices. Thus, a children’s rights
framework encompasses young people’s right to produce creative works that not only contribute
to cultural life but are also contexts for expressing and representing children’s agency that can
illuminate children’s perspectives on their social position and rights.

Notes
1 Engberg (2010) independently used the phrase “right to write” in her study of eighteenth-century
American writers Anne Bradstreet and Phillis Wheatley. Though Engberg does not make use of human
rights discourses, she explores how these women writers gained access to literary production in a male-
dominated society.
2 The Big Box and The Book of Mean People are unpaginated.
3 The text of this interview is unpaginated.
4 Toni Morrison and Slade Morrison collaborated on many subsequent book projects before Slade
Morrison’s untimely death in 2010.
5 The text of this interview is unpaginated.
6 Quotations from The Big Box (1999) by Toni Morrison with Slade Morrison are used by permission.
7 Quotations from The Book of Mean People (2002) by Toni Morrison and Slade Morrison are used by
permission.
8 Alexa Kitchen’s book Grown-Ups are Dumb! (No Offense) is unpaginated.

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 30
Children’s Free Association
and the Collective Exercise
of Their Rights
Bijan Kimiagar and Roger Hart

Introduction
In this chapter we review the historical background and conceptual issues associated with Article
15 of the United Nation’s Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC; United Nations
General Assembly, 1989)—children’s right to freedom of association and peaceful assembly—
and explore the types of associations that children and adults have been creating to collectively
exercise children’s rights. While Article 15 is no more or less important than any of the other
articles of the CRC, it provides a foundation for children to come together with other children
and adults and exercise the full range of their rights. For this reason, it deserves critical reflec-
tion in the same way the right to be heard (Article 12) and freedom of expression (Article 13)
have received attention; so we focus here on Article 15 of the CRC, because of the dearth of
discussion on it. Article 15 is a challenging article to consider because of the different
conceptions of childhood around the world, including different views of children’s evolving
capacities and the norms regarding their socialization. Central to this discussion are issues of
justice and equity in the power dynamics between children and adults, as well as between
children and other children.
In this chapter we focus largely on those institutional settings where children’s self-
organizing has been the subject of discussion rather than the important and equally interesting
questions of how children come together informally to protect themselves and their rights.
Our examples are drawn from working children’s social movements, children’s rights
membership groups and clubs in the Majority World, and children’s group decision making
in educational settings. We connect the discussion to reflections on our experiences with the
Article 15 Project, an international, participatory research partnership committed to supporting
children’s rights and capacities to self-organize. Based on these reflections and our historical
and theoretical review, we conclude with what a fuller recognition of Article 15 might mean
for changes in policy, practice, and research on children’s rights.

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 Children’s Collective Exercise of Rights

The Importance of the Freedom to Associate for the Fulfillment

of Children’s Rights
Delegations involved in the drafting process of the CRC called for inclusion of civil and political
rights.1 The CRC’s Traveaux Preparatoires documents early Working Group sessions that
proposed rights identified in the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (1966). Later
sessions of the Working Group discussed separating the single statement of civil and political
rights into the five separate rights in the CRC at present: respect for the views of the child
(Article 12), freedom of expression (Article 13), freedom of thought, conscience, and religion
(Article 14), freedom of association and peaceful assembly (Article 15), and right to privacy
(Article 16). According to one of the observers of the drafting of the Convention, this was a
“turning point in the rights of children” because it shifted the focus from rights of care and
protection toward rights children could exercise themselves (Cohen, 2006, p. 189).
As with existing agreements for adults, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948) and
the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (1966), Article 15 of the CRC, on freedom
of association, is closely linked to the right to be heard (Article 12), freedom of expression
(Article 13), and access to information (Article 17). The African Charter on the Rights and Welfare
of the Child also establishes children’s right to freedom of association and peaceful assembly.
Freedom of association is the right to join or leave groups of a person’s own choosing, and
for the group to pursue the collective interests of members. The establishment of this right to
gather and make decisions together was an extremely important moment for improving
children’s self-determination. Being able to come together with their peers is a fundamental
element, along with the other civil rights, of children being able to collectively share
experiences, learn about, speak out about, and act upon their life situation as ways of protecting
themselves and addressing injustices.
Article 15 is also a powerful legal device to promote children’s access to public and private
spaces to engage in their self-directed activities. For example, the domestic workers’ movement
in the Philippines is rooted in public parks in Manila where young working girls come together
on their day off to recreate and discuss their shared experiences, and organize themselves.
Organizations that continue to advocate for the rights of child domestic workers continue to
use public parks for outreach efforts (Balanon et al., 2003, p. 73; Vanqu-Mgijima, Wiid, & du
Toit, 2013, p. 300). Such free access to public space is particularly important in light of a
disinvestment in public infrastructure for young people and increasing surveillance of young
people in public space (Ruck, Harris, Fine, & Freudenberg, 2008; Zako, 2009) and explicit
prohibitions on children’s right to association, such as curfews (Hodgkin & Newell, 1998;
Morrow, 2002; Travlou, 2003). It is not surprising, then, that Article 15 has one of the highest
rates of reservations by State Parties to the Convention (Daiute, 2008).

Some Conceptual Clarification

In this section we review a number of concepts that relate to children and youth participating
in groups with the goal of highlighting those that we think best expand the progressive meaning
of the group of articles in the CRC for children’s right to come together with other children
and adults to learn about, speak about, and act upon their rights. Each term has different origins,
but together they strengthen the idea that children’s rights are a collective exercise, rather than
an individual one.

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Children’s Collective Participation

Hodgkin and Newell (1998) argue that—together with the individual empowerment articulated
in Article 12 and 13—Article 15 adds the concept of “collective participation.” Although the
CRC specifically addresses the rights of individual children, children’s rights as a whole, and
particularly the right to form associations, suggests that both individuals and groups enact these
rights. Children and adults exercise children’s rights together; and children, as a demographic
of their own, also act on their rights. A collective approach by children to work together for
their rights might easily be thought of as simply the attempt to have a greater impact through
the accumulation of many voices. However, there is also an important qualitative dimension
for children when children come together to understand their rights with others who face
similar infringements of their rights.
Collective participation is a critical component to Paulo Freire’s notion of conscientização,
or critical consciousness, whereby a person engages with his or her own history, and the history
of others, about the power and livelihoods they possess or do not possess in relation to others
(Freire, 1970). In the Freirean sense, when children reflect on their rights through dialog with
other children like themselves living in unjust situations that are not of their own making,
they are more likely to develop a critical consciousness of their lives in relation to their rights.
Understood in this way, children’s right to freely associate with other children has profound
implications for children’s sense of ownership of their rights and, hence, it is an important
foundation for supporting the full range of children’s rights.

Children’s Protagonism
Building from ideas similar to Freire’s conscientização, many social workers supporting working
and street-connected children in Latin America use the concept of protagonism.2 The term
describes the capacity for children and youth to act on their rights to overcome injustices they
face and, in doing so, advocate for the rights of others who experience similar injustices. Although
individuals exercise protagonism, Alejandro Cussiánovich uses the example of NATs—an
acronym that translates to English as working children and adolescents—to explain how children’s
collective protagonism makes their individual protagonism possible:

It is only their collective protagonism that allows NATs to develop the personal and social
levels of self-esteem necessary to exercise their individual protagonism within the ‘horizon
of solidarity’, within the social dimension of their individual options. Thus, organisation
makes possible the positive socialization of the individual’s rights to be himself, and to be
so as part and parcel of a broader, collective drive.
(Cussiánovich, 2001, p. 168)

Here, Cussiánovich argues that the association of children with similar experiences strengthens
their individual exercise of their rights. We agree. And we also agree with other scholars who
argue that the concept of protagonism is useful for moving the concept of children’s participation
away from a simplistic usage meaning “involvement”, and toward a view that children need
not wait for adults or until they are older to exercise their rights (Kina, 2012).

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Children’s Self-governance
It is also important for us to address the issue of children’s self-governance. Article 15 of the CRC
“recognizes the rights of the child to freedom of association and to freedom of peaceful assembly.”
This statement does not refer to children needing to exercise this right in the company of
adults, and so we may infer that children have the right, according to their evolving capacities
(Article 5), to self-govern their behavior. Children governing themselves may seem like a
challenging idea to many readers due to the current construction of childhood as one of
protectiveness and hyper-supervision in some places of the world (Katz, 2001). But it has
generally been true in most countries of the Majority World that children are free to associate
and assemble in public spaces (see the chapter by Couzens in this volume for a consideration
of children’s participation in local governance). We should remember, after all, that children
as young as three and four years of age begin to manage their play in groups and, within a
few years, can create their own complex structures and processes for maintaining friendship
groups (Corsaro, 1985). Whether adult caregivers encourage children to self-govern their
activities and find ways to help them develop their skills of self-organization in ways that they
find acceptable (e.g., respectful, inclusive, etc.) is an issue that varies greatly within and between
cultures and ideologies on child rearing.
Most nations have a history of institutional approaches to socialize young people to come
together in organized ways that is more about organized association than “free association.”
For example, we discuss in more detail below how some organizations in Europe and North
America, such as the Scouting Movement, emerged to guarantee such qualities as obedience,
loyalty, and good behavior ahead of those of self-determination and the skills of social co-
operation. We also know that adolescence is a period of life where social and political
awareness emerges strongly and many have observed that revolution often arises with teenagers
and those who are a little older (Elshtain, 1996). Children coming together in the streets of
cities, even at an early age, were often seen as a threat (Goodman, 1979; Hart, 2002). But
there have long been more enlightened views of socializing children that recognize the societal
benefits of children being able to learn how to come together to manage their own activities
and build their capacities to self-govern (e.g., Goodman, 1979; Ward & Fyson, 1973). We
look to these and other authors as we seek guidance in how to interpret Article 15.

Child and Youth Leadership

Leadership in child and youth organizations is a largely taken-for-granted concept that deserves
much attention now that we are seeing the emergence of more participatory organizations of
young people. It has served the organizers of child and youth associations to have a clearly
hierarchical model of leadership extending down from adult leaders to youth leaders, selected
by the adults, to maintain order and to guide the, presumably, less competent or less engaged
and generally younger members of a group. Perhaps it is a growing awareness of the inappro-
priateness of this phenomenon for the fostering of participatory cultures in a contemporary
democratic society that has led organizations, such as the Boy Scouts, to begin talking of servant
leadership, which “is about making the choice to lead, to give more than you receive, and to
make a difference” (Boy Scouts of America, 2011, p. 23).
While there are a plethora of leadership training programs for youth around the world,
there seem to be few programs that emphasize the skills of collective self-governance. This is,
of course, part of the training of some of the more progressive leadership training programs,
but it is a small component of them and we are hard pressed to find alternatives.

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As Heifetz (1994) argues, the concept of leadership is conceived of in terms of “prominence,

authority, and influence” and these qualities of leadership are typically taken for granted, with
no arguments for their necessity.3 He argues for the importance of making a distinction between
authority and leadership. While these two concepts are understandably related, they are not
the same. It is possible to have authority through a formal position, such as a group facilitator,
and not demonstrate leadership at all. Typically, youth establish leadership because it has been
handed down to them by adults in power; they may not have much authority at all among
their peers, but they do have designated power. In summary, the language that we use to describe
children’s right to freedom of association is nuanced and deserves further inquiry.

The Evolving Capacity of Children to Form Associations

Article 5 of the CRC is the first instance that the concept of “children’s evolving capacities”
was used in an international human rights treaty (Lansdown, 2005). It emerged to address
concerns about children’s capacities to exercise their civil and political rights, including the
right to form associations. But Manfred Liebel (2012b) notes that discussions about children’s
capacities to organize themselves into associations took place in Europe long before the CRC,
during the drafting of the Moscow Declaration of Children’s Rights in 1918. Article 15 in
this early document reads:

Every child enjoys the right to establish organizations, associations or similar social con-
nections with other children or adults and have this right to the same extent as adults.
The possibilities for limitation, which are dictated by the best interest of the child and his
normal physical and mental development, must be strictly regulated by law.
(Pridik, 1921, p. 40–42; translation from German, as cited
in Liebel, 2012b, p. 33, emphasis added)

Here, the drafters of the Moscow Declaration put children on par with adults in their
entitlement to this right. The point of this claim, according to Liebel, was to strengthen children’s
position as individuals capable of self-determination and move beyond the protectionist view
of rights that pervades even contemporary discussions of children’s rights.
It is commonly thought that it is not until the teenage years that children have the capacity
for self-determination (for reviews, see Peterson-Badali & Ruck, 2008; Ruck, Abramovitch,
& Keating, 1998; Ruck, Peterson-Badali, & Helwig, 2014). This probably explains, in part,
why adolescents are more often the focus of the right to freedom of association. In fact, records
of the 1987 Working Group session of the CRC drafting process state:

The representative of the United States said that the protection of children’s civil and
political rights was of fundamental importance to his country, particularly because the
“child”, as defined in the draft Convention, included adolescents who had often acquired
the skills needed to participate fully and effectively in society.
(Detrick, 1992, p. 250)

A range of arguments have been made for why children’s civil and political rights are
particularly relevant to adolescents’ lives, and this older cohort of children deserve appropriate
consideration and support for their maximum capacities to exercise these rights (Ruck, Keating,
Saewyc, Earls, & Ben-Arieh, 2014). Nevertheless, it is too limiting to think of freedom of

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association as being relevant only to children in the adolescent years. First of all, it is important
to note that many pre-adolescent children throughout the world find themselves in situations
where they are abandoned or have had to run away from their families and are without caring
adults. Many of them turn to peers living in similar situations as their first avenue of support
(Beazley, 2003; Mizen & Ofosu-Kusi, 2013; Stephenson, 2001). For them, opportunities to
come together with peers to learn about and act on their rights can be critical. But clearly we
need to find ways to support all children in developing a sense of themselves as rights holders
through collective work with them, such as the Rights-Respecting Schools initiative in the
UK.4 We would like to go even further here and argue that even for very young children the
best way to come to see themselves as active rights holders may be by having a voice on daily
matters well before they might be in a situation that is deeply threatening to their lives.
The degree to which children are enabled to exercise this varies greatly according to the
child rearing practices within and between different cultures. While contemporary theory and
research in the academic fields of developmental psychology and early childhood education
support children’s independent freedom to play with other children in the early years, some
caregivers believe in a more controlled, adult-directed progression (Walkerdine, 1984). Also,
while many Western early childhood educators argue that allowing young children to practice
self-determination at an early age is valuable for their development as autonomous or
independent individuals, some educators outside of the Western tradition believe that this
emphasis on individual autonomy may work against a society’s goals for promoting “inter-
dependence” (e.g., Kaǧitçibaşi, 1996). We will not pretend to be able to resolve these different
perspectives here because this is a complex issue related to the different societal values within
and between different cultures, but it does raise the thorny issue of the trend for Western theories
of child development and children’s education to be broadcast globally as norms for all
countries (Boyden, 1997; Burman, 2007). With this proviso in mind, we believe that there
may be significant protective value for children having opportunities to be with their peers in
rights-respecting settings that allow for autonomy and for collaboration with their peers, even
before they have heard the word “rights” or have any conception of its meaning.5 The value
of the daily practice of their rights with their peers is not, of course, to prepare such young
children for any collective action regarding their rights, but rather for better enabling them to
see themselves as rights holders through how they interact with their fellow rights holders in
their daily play and, thereby, to begin to have a greater sense of their own rights and hopefully
a greater willingness to speak up when those rights might be threatened. We are not willing
to make any universal statement about this, but we believe that it is an important issue for
further reflection by child rights advocates and researchers globally.

The Changing Roles of Adults in Controlling Children’s Time

Together
The story of how adults control children’s free association is complex whether we look
historically within any culture or contemporaneously across all cultures. For most of history
in all cultures it seems that children did not belong to any special membership groups of the
type we see today. When children were not needed for work, they spontaneously came together
and invented their own activities together (Goodman, 1979). This began to change towards
the end of the nineteenth century with industrialization and rapid urbanization in some countries.
“Idle” children were believed to be at considerable risk of “immoral” activities, and membership
organizations were formed with the purpose of adults guiding children socially and morally

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into what were considered to be healthy attitudes and behaviors (Macleod, 1987). It was not
until more recent decades that new types of children’s groups emerged with mutual respect
and shared decision-making power between children and adults, such as the working children’s
movements. With the global ratification of the CRC there has been a dramatic growth in
recognition of children’s rights to self-determination and a related growth of children’s
membership organizations with the fulfillment of children’s rights at the core of their mission.

The Emergence of Child and Youth Associations in Relation to

Industrialization
The first half of the twentieth century saw a surge in the number of children’s associations in
many nations of the Minority World countries. The Woodcraft Movement, the Scouting
Movement, YMCAs, Wandervogel Movement, and many other child and youth societies all
were officially formed early in the twentieth century, though many had roots years earlier
(Beachy, 2014; Macleod, 1987). Each grew considerably in both chapters and membership
throughout the following decades. Most were primarily adult solutions to ensuring children
engaged in and focused on physical, mental, and spiritual well-being, though the origins and
ideologies of these groups were not singular. Certain groups, including the Boy Scouts of
America, provided opportunities largely for middle class children. Membership fees and class
discrimination prohibited many of the increasing number of children on the streets of urban
centers to join groups, especially those without parental care (Macleod, 1987).
There were also organizations focused on the needs of children living in poverty and without
protection from various forms of exploitation, such as the Boys Clubs in the UK and the USA.
However, they were rarely concerned with enabling children to self-organize in order to address
their collective vulnerabilities. Instead, they addressed children’s most basic needs of
nourishment, shelter, and socialization. Rather than fostering the development of cooperative,
mutually caring groups, they saw children’s social and moral development as necessarily guided
entirely from above by adults. They catered almost exclusively to boys’ needs because they
were on the streets and their vulnerability was more visible.
As the child and youth membership organizations developed throughout the twentieth
century there was remarkably little discussion over the years about how they were internally
organized. Morris (1970) provides evidence from an interesting struggle in the early decades
of the scouting movement between Lord Robert Baden-Powell and youth organizers in the
UK and the USA who had a less authoritarian vision of children’s organization. Baden-Powell
made the “patrol”—a subgroup of six to eight boys—the basic unit of the organization. This
structure, used effectively by the military, lent itself to both internal loyalty and to discipline
from above. In contrast, Ernest Thompson Seton, who started the Woodcraft Folk movement
in the UK, advocated a very different organizational principle for the scouts (Morris, 1970).
Seton believed in children governing themselves democratically in their own council.6
While the scouts became an extremely successful global model for the organization of children
in groups, the Woodcraft Folk continued in the UK in a much smaller way to this day as an
interesting alternative. It is important to note that the worldwide scouting movement operates
in a much more benign manner than the original quasi-military structure might suggest, and
they are managed in different ways according to their scoutmaster leaders, some of whom
offer considerable room for cooperative activity by all members, and others whom do not.
For example, a recent change to the Boy Scouts of America’s Adult Leadership Policy, which

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allows chartered organizations within the Boys Scouts of America “to use religious beliefs as
a criterion for selecting adult leaders, including in matters of sexuality” (Boy Scouts of America,
2015), exposes divisions in how scouting troops govern themselves. Although this policy change
does not go far enough to end discriminatory practices, it is reflective of how many child and
youth groups began to change towards the end of the twentieth century, particularly in relation
to the core principles of CRC. We discuss this further in a later section of this chapter.

The Parallel History of Children’s Self-governance in Progressive

Educational Settings
The largest literature on the subject of children’s democratic and participatory group work is
in the field of education, but because the vast majority of schools are designed for adults to
impart their greater knowledge and skills to children, most school settings are less interesting
to us in this debate. Findings from research on school councils, even those utilizing a child
rights framework, suggest imbalances of power between students and school teachers and
administrators. Many school councils have yet to allow for students to form models of self-
governance that are truly their own (Alderson, 2001; Allan & I’Anson, 2004; Tisdall, 2010).
We are more interested in learning from the more radical end of the continuum of adult–child
power relations in schools, especially from what are called “democratic schools,” as well as
from voluntary educational settings that recognize and build upon children’s own interests and
capacities, which includes all kinds of organizations for children—after-school clubs,
membership groups, recreation centers and so on.
The democratic schools movement provides lessons for building educational settings that
provide students, parents and community members more opportunities to engage in decision
making (see Apple & Beane, 1995). Within this more radical continuum of educational settings,
the free-school movement provides the greatest number of examples of children’s self-
governance with other children and adults. The Summer Hill School in England is likely the
most well-known free-school (see Neill, 1960). Summer Hill and many other free schools
around the world provide opportunities for children to manage daily curricular and
extracurricular activities, and there are surely examples of intrepid educators who develop similar
types of “free schooling” programs even within less progressive schools (see Hart, 1997).7 In
his book Streetwork: The Exploding School, Colin Ward details the defining characters of this
type of programing that privileges children’s ownership over their educational experience through
encouraging children to work with one another, and adult educators, to examine the conditions
of their own lives (see Ward & Fyson, 1973).

Social Workers Discover the Benefits of Participatory Group Work

Psychological studies on children’s capacity to spontaneously self-organize and the qualities of
child and adult leadership in these groups have been available for decades (Lewin, Lippitt, &
White, 1939, 1947; Lewin et al., 1947; Sherif, Harvey, White, Hood, & Sherif, 1961). But
social workers were perhaps the first to recognize children’s capacity to organize themselves
in groups as a means toward building trust and mutual aid that supports therapeutic goals. Adults
are by no means absent in these therapeutic settings; they play a critical role in the development
of a group’s ability to balance authority and mutual support (Fatout, 1996). Balancing authority
and children’s right to participate in decision making is complex, and social workers’ views

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on this right of children often influence the degree to which children are allowed to participate
in decision making in care settings. In addition to therapeutic settings, social workers often
work in the field helping children and youth find ways to survive and to support one another
in facing difficult conditions.
The “playwork” profession is related and located in European countries. Playworkers
commonly work in lower income communities, often with fragmented families and poor
resources. They play a valuable role through their skills of observing and respectfully listening
to children and supporting ways for children to play cooperatively and form meaningful
associations with one another (Benjamin, 1974; Voce, 2015). Street workers, often called “street
educators,” are similar professionals who are also experts in finding horizontal ways to relate
to children and build their confidence and social capacities. They work on the streets of cities
in developing countries with homeless or “street-connected children.” They make themselves
available to children who have had to abandon their homes for one reason or another and
have no choice but to turn to their peers or to try to find trusted adults, such as street workers,
to find a healthy way to survive and to move forward with their lives. Some impressive
organizations have emerged out of this work that focus on the self-governance among groups
of children who have experienced different forms of exploitation.

The Emergence of Self-governed Organizations for Exploited Children

Living in the Majority World
During the 1970s, a movement of organized children emerged to address the concerns of
working children. Working children’s associations or working children’s unions, as they are
named in some places in the world, were a new setting where children could come together
as a group to collectively address the exploitative conditions they faced even from people
who were supposed to protect them, such as police (Chacaltana, 2000). The working and
street-connected children’s movements that exist in Africa, Latin America, and South Asia, in
multiple cases, operated with a children’s rights-based approach even in the absence of the
CRC.
Working and street-connected children’s associations have much to offer to a critical and
collective exercise of children’s rights. It is with this perspective that Manfred Liebel (2003)
argues that working children are more than the subject of rights. Rather they are social subjects,
a concept that “stresses the ability of the individuals and of the organizations created and
maintained by the children to play an independent role in life and society, based on the
individuals’ own judgment and capacity to act” (Liebel, 2003, p. 268). This perspective of
working and street-connected children helped shape, in part, the origins of some working
children’s associations and the manner in which they structure and govern themselves. For
example, in Latin America, children and adults worked together to form working chil-
dren’s unions that were autonomous from adult labor unions. In this way, working children
could create and follow their own agenda that addresses and resolves issues of importance to
them (Chacaltana, 2000; Taft, 2014). Additionally, we believe the self-determined nature
and structure of these organizations is also what makes it possible to build trust among
members. There is a small but strong and growing body of evidence about how working and
street-connected children provide mutual support and protection to one another (e.g., Beazley,
2003; Ennew, 1994; Mizen & Ofosu-Kusi, 2013; O’Kane, 2003; Stephenson, 2001; Swift,
1997).

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The Emergence of Child Rights-based Groups and Clubs in the

Majority World
In the wake of the CRC, multiple international child-centered community development agencies
increased efforts to support organizations focused on children’s rights. The degree to which
children “lead” these organizations is variable, as are the measurable benefits on children’s lives.
What is more certain is that the benefits children gain in these settings are greater when children
have greater autonomy over the purpose, goals, and decision making of their own associations
( Johnson, 2009; O’Kane, 2007). Some scholars and practitioners have done well to document
the opportunities and challenges of collaborations between children and adults in children’s
associations (Liebel, 2012a; O’Kane, 2003, 2007; Pal, 2008; Reddy & Ratna, 2002; van Bijleveld,
Dedding, & Bunders-Aelen, 2015; White & Choudhury, 2007); but these studies are few relative
to the great number of children’s associations operating around the world. Reports from the
organizations that support children’s associations laud them as spaces that support the fulfillment
of children’s rights and well-being and as opportunities for children to learn and exercise
democratic values (see, for example, Cox, 2009; Hart, 2002; Rajbhandary, Hart, & Khatiwada,
1999; Save the Children, 2006, 2010).
There is virtually no research on the organizational structure and decision-making processes
of these clubs, or on the individual and group-level outcomes on children’s participation in
these clubs. This is surprising when considering that number of child rights associations around
the world and the size of their membership. For example, as of 2011, there were over 13,000
child rights clubs in Nepal alone (UNICEF, 2012). An extensive and participatory study
documenting the democratic structures and strategies of the child rights clubs in Nepal took
place over a decade earlier (see Hart, Rajbhandary, & Khatwada, 2001), and more recent research
has looked to these clubs as a setting to promote peace building around former and ongoing
political and social conflicts (McGill & O’Kane, 2015). But there remains much to learn from
the Nepali clubs and the other, countless, child rights clubs in multiple countries around the
world (see also Chigunta, 2005).
Building on this work with child rights clubs, the Article 15 Project of the Children’s
Environments Research Group partnered with colleagues at Save the Children, World Vision,
and UNICEF to address three main goals related to supporting children’s right to freedom of
association and capacities to self-organize in partnership with adults: (1) provide information
about children’s right to association and research how children’s capacities to self-organize impact
their well-being; (2) Support participatory processes that strengthen child–adult partnerships
with mutual understanding, trust, and respect; and (3) develop tools for establishing, managing,
and sustaining child-managed groups. This initiative took place in the form of regional
workshops and field visits with representatives of children’s groups or entire groups. These
workshops focused primarily on the development of visual and highly participatory methods
that would allow groups to reflect critically on the degree to which their group promotes
inclusivity and equal treatment of members, and transparency of the group’s organizational
structure and decision-making processes.
In our collaborative work with children’s groups associated with World Vision, Save the
Children and, more recently, Plan International, we have conducted participatory workshops
in multiple locations around the world since 2011; and we have begun to learn about how
children’s groups are organized, what the relative roles of children and adults are in these
organizations, and how children would like improve their associations. In the following section,

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we merge our findings with reports from many colleagues who have also been documenting
the emergence of this fascinating and important new phase in the development of children’s
associations and child–adult relationships around the world.
At the time of this writing, the USA remains the only country that has not ratified the
CRC. But, parallel to the development of the child-rights based groups in many countries of
the Majority World, there has been a significant emergence of youth justice groups in some
cities of the USA (Ginwright, Noguera, & Cammarota, 2006). These associations of youth are
addressing injustices that are gross violations of their rights and are finding effective ways of
working in the Minority World that are similar in many ways to the new kinds of associations
of children and youth in the Majority World.

Some Challenges for Rights-based Children’s Groups

New kinds of power relationships between adults and children. The majority of children’s associations
that we have worked with in the Article 15 Project have shared remarkably positive stories of
collaboration among children of different ages, and between children and adults. This is likely
related to the fact that they operate from a children’s rights perspective and, because of this,
are conscious of the imbalance of power between children and adults in society at large. More
often than not, members from these groups discussed how adults supported their activities.
However, we are made aware that even well-intentioned adults may overtake decision-making
responsibilities; providing children their own space that is less influenced by adult-run
bureaucracies is a difficult but necessary condition for allowing children to be advocates for
themselves and for other children like them.
A desire of children to network with other children’s groups. There is a strong desire among groups
to network with other groups of young people and to mobilize resources from adult groups,
public agencies, and even private donors. This view came across strongest during our discussions
with groups from Latin America, where nearly all the groups we spoke with were part of some
subnational, national, or regional network of child and youth organizations. The members of
these groups identified how the opportunity in the workshops to share organizing structures
and strategies with one another helped them reflect on their own internal structures and provided
ways of thinking about their networked organizations they had not previously had the
opportunity to think about. These dialogs among members of different groups were most
impressive and warrant further support and research.
Based on our analysis of data from the Article 15 Project, there are surprising similarities
among child rights clubs around the world in terms of the organizational structures they employ.
The majority elect members to executive positions common in many adult organizations, such
as president, vice president, secretary, and treasurer. The members typically elect older children
or youth as group leaders, but some groups create more opportunities for young children to
take on specific organizational roles within teams that coordinate specific types of activities,
such as a committee that organizes sports or a particular collective action. For the most part,
participants in the Article 15 Project workshops reflected positively on how their organizations
functioned, but the opportunity to see how other groups do or do not share decision-making
power among group members offered an avenue for friendly questioning and critique, as well
as realizations of alternative organizing strategies. Indeed, these discussions led participants to
identify the ways they might improve their decision-making processes, for example, to be more
inclusive of a particular demographic of marginalized children, such as children who do not
attend school.

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Children’s groups as a site for transforming social norms. For the children’s groups that we worked
with the equal participation of girls and boys in both group membership and in elected positions
was generally the norm rather than the exception. Of course, some groups are more aware of
this need than others and have developed formal strategies to ensure gender equity. Based on
these findings, we believe that children’s groups are potential sites for promoting gender equity
even though the larger societal context in which they are embedded may not provide similar
opportunities. Creating opportunities for all children to participate in an organization’s decision
making also includes transforming all social norms that marginalize children. Our analysis of
data from the Article 15 Project suggests that some groups reproduce social norms by electing
leaders who are children from prominent families in their communities, or children who are
more well spoken as a result of greater access to education. Through facilitated discussions,
most groups recognize these biases, and those that do vow to address the issue.
We are just beginning to scratch the surface of how children’s groups promote the collective
exercise of children’s rights. And since the majority of children’s groups we have worked with
are connected to international organizations, they are likely to be influenced by this relationship.
There is a pressing need to explore and compare the various opportunity structures for children
to come together with other children and adults to exercise their rights. This is important for
enhancing the effectiveness of these groups to improve children's awareness of their rights and
their abilities to act on them. Below, we conclude this chapter with some directions for future
research to investigate and promote this goal.

Reflections on the Future of Children’s Associations

Creating Time and Space for Children to Self-determine Their Activities

Before we address specifically the issue of children’s organizations, we must respond to the
current trend in many countries of the loss of children’s free access to daily spaces that allow
them to spontaneously initiate activities with one another. We believe that this kind of free
association in public space is important to the maintenance of a democratic, inclusive, civil
society, and its erosion is not irreversible. Many policy options are available that would enable
girls and boys to step out of their homes and initiate a game of marbles, soccer, or an imagined
disco. These include traffic and pedestrian circulation policies, alternative housing layouts and
public space planning and design.

The Promotion of Child-managed Associations as a Strategy for the

Continued Advancement of Children’s Rights
We argue that children’s associations have been an important setting for the education and
realization of children’s rights, and it is necessary to continue to promote these child-managed
spaces as important components to the collective exercise of children’s rights. In some con-
texts, this might mean supporting the creation of new associations in order to involve more
children, while in other situations it might mean strengthening existing associations with the
resources they have already been requesting from individuals and other associations in their
communities.

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The Need for Critical Reflection, Networking and the Sharing of Practices
Between Children’s Associations
As we discuss above, the opportunity for children from different associations to compare how
they differently run their organisations can be valuable for strengthening children’s rights. We
are encouraged that there are many child rights advocates who wish to find ways to help children
reflect critically with one another on their rights and some who, like us, have been compiling
resources to enable children to do this better (e.g., Madoerin, 2008). We look forward to an
increasing international sharing of such resources (see crc15.org).

The Recognition and Further Development of the Professions

Associated with Child-managed Groups
The adults who support child-managed groups appear to be drawn from a wide range of fields
including social work, youth work, community development, progressive education, and the
play and recreation professions. To our knowledge, they do not seem to have distinct networks
as professionals working with children or youth’s self-managed groups and, hence, have had
very little opportunity to share knowledge of ways of advising and supporting these groups
across the boundaries of their particular professions and national boundaries. We hope to have
illustrated in this chapter that they have been doing important work in helping to build the
capacities of children and youth to self-organize. The development of professional networks
in this area would enable the sharing of experience on how young people are building their
organizations and how they are dealing with the different challenges that they face in this.
Such networks could enable many more children and youth to have the opportunity to learn
about their rights and to develop their capacities as active citizens. Some international
organizations that support large numbers of children’s associations, such as Save the Children,
Plan International, and World Vision International, are making efforts to improve the capacities
of staff working as facilitators of children’s associations through online digital platforms for sharing
these types of knowledge. However, there is a need for greater networking among young people
themselves and their adult supporters from all types of child-managed groups and at all
geographical scales to enable a sharing and cross-pollination of experiences, ideas, and resources.

The Need for Longitudinal Research on Outcomes of Participation

in Children’s Associations
Community-based organizations, such as children’s associations, are important settings for child
development (Hart et al., 1997), and yet there is virtually no research that examines the specific
opportunities and challenges in these settings for supporting children’s rights and capacities
for self-governance or on outcomes related to the well-being of individual children or the
sustainability and capacity of groups. There are examples of evaluations that suggest such
associations where young people come together to discuss their common challenges may act
as a protective and enabling factor, including improving school attendance and reducing early
marriage for adolescent girls (e.g., Erulkar & Muthengi, 2009). Presumably, children’s
associations that focus on children’s rights create the conditions for members to better
understand and act on their rights. There is a need for longitudinal research that critically
examines the potential for these types of outcomes, but more importantly, the qualities of the
settings that make these outcomes possible.

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In addition to looking at children’s associations as providing protection, it is reasonable to

expect these settings will also contribute to members’ civic engagement and political
participation and their capacities to the current and future builders and managers of their
communities (Hart, 1999), and there is a need to include child and youth associations in plans
to address some of the most important issues facing communities, such as adaptation to and
mitigation of climate change related events (Hart, Fisher, & Kimiagar, 2014).
In conclusion, the rights to form associations and peaceful assembly are foundational to the
collective exercise of children’s rights, and there is much work to be done to recognize and
research children’s evolving capacities for self-governance in collaboration with adults. The
histories of children’s associations are rich with lessons on how to support children’s associations.
But now with the recognition of this as a right and with increased awareness of children’s
capacities to self-govern, we can expect to see continued experimentation on how children
and youth collectively exercise their citizenship as they act upon their rights, and what new
kinds of roles there will be for adults in the process.

Acknowledgments
We would like to thank the anonymous reviewer and the editors for their critical feedback
on an earlier version of this chapter. We would also like to thank Manfred Liebel, Philip Mead,
and Iven Saadi for their critiques and ideas for strengthening and expanding our arguments in
this and future research. Analysis of data from the Article 15 Project was supported by a New
Civics grant from the Spencer Foundation.

Notes
1 Given that the United States of America never ratified the CRC it is ironic that the delegation from
this country was the most vocal in arguing that the civil rights of children should be included.
2 The original term in Spanish is protagonismo infantil. Manfred Liebel (2012a) argues that the term translate
poorly in English, and we generally agree. But we use the term protagonism because it is the most
common translation found in the literature.
3 As cited and discussed by Max Klau (2006).
4 Please see unicef.org.uk/rights-respecting-schools.
5 The municipal government of Bogota initiated a very interesting experiment in the promotion of
children’s rights as citizens in 2002, “New Voices of Citizenship”, and even preschool children were
involved (Ortiz & Ortega, 2003). Teachers experimented with new ways of working with their children.
For example, they worked with their four and five-year-olds to establish, through group discussion,
collective sets of rules and scripts about what constitutes caring behavior for their classroom community,
building from children’s own observations of norms of social relations that they had observed in their
own homes, together with their reflections on their individual rights.
6 This concept of children’s self-governance in councils emerges again in the following section on the
emergence of progressive schools.
7 The Alternative Education Resource Organization provides further resources, including a list of some
democratic schools around the world. Please visit educationrevolution.org.

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 31
Child Participation in
Local Governance
Meda Couzens

Introduction
The UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, 1989 (CRC, United Nations General
Assembly, 1989) has made child participation more visible, and its wide ratification has given
more weight to claims for child participation in diverse settings. The CRC has not necessarily
made child participation easier to understand or practice. It has, arguably, made it more complex.
While in the past child participation was a social practice with little formal recognition, the
CRC now recognises a legal claim to participate. The strength of a legal claim to child par-
ticipation in public decision-making is still to be proved, and confusion remains over whether
such participation is a legal right or simply a (unenforceable) principle of good governance.
The CRC has also led to the proliferation of a wide range of participation initiatives of variable
quality, which raises further questions about what participation is or ought to be, and what
the CRC sought to achieve by legally protecting it. These difficulties are compounded by the
CRC’s strong emphasis on the protection of children, which is at times difficult to reconcile
with its support for child participation and the assertion of agency by certain groups of children
(i.e. working children). Despite many issues that still require clarification in the child
participation discourse, meaningful child participation remains a goal intensely pursued. As many
decisions affecting children are made locally, attention has turned to children’s participation
in local governance, the topic of discussion in this chapter.
This chapter contains reflections on the literature and practice of child participation in local
governance, with a focus on selected aspects such as the legal framework for child participation
at local level, and the constraints and opportunities this raises. I look briefly at how children
participate in local governance and then offer three examples of different types of engagement
with local authorities, ranging from highly structured (from within the government structures)
to informal (from outside of the governance mechanism). Factors facilitating and hindering
participation will be discussed, with more focused attention being given to the role of the
adults and the sustainability of participation in local governance.

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Child Participation in Local Governance: Definition and

Legal Framework

Governance: A Brief Definition

The term ‘governance’ is an umbrella term that reflects the multitude of factors that affect the
exercise of power by governments, including the interaction between state institutions and
those governed. Definitions vary, and I will rely on a World Bank definition, that, according
to UNICEF, approaches governance as ‘the traditions and institutions by which authority in
a country is exercised for the common good’ (2011, p. 3). A wide variety of state functions
falls within this definition, such as making laws and policies, implementing and enforcing laws,
and providing services. Good governance rests on several principles, such as transparency,
responsibility, accountability, people’s participation and responsiveness to their needs (UNICEF,
2011) (see the chapter by Maclure in this volume on the topic of children’s rights as an issue
of state governance).
Seen from this perspective, the participation of children in governance has a wider scope
than the involvement in deliberative, political decision-making such as drafting laws and policies,
or allocating budgets. It extends to the engagement of children, individually or collectively,
with state bodies that exercise public powers or functions (legislative, executive, administrative
and judicial), through which children pursue their interest as children or as members of the
wider society. Participation in governance defined as above will include children sharing in
the political power of the state and holding the state to account, but also instances where children
assist the state in exercising its functions. As approached in this paper, child participation in
governance assumes a certain acceptance of the existing (albeit dynamic) governance framework,
and thus excludes, without negating their legitimacy, forms of political participation through
which children, alone or together with adults, seek radical political change. As the relationship
between the state and those governed is central for the definition of ‘governance’, the civic
participation of children is not discussed here, save to stress that active civic participation may
enable participation in governance and that civic participation may help children enhance their
‘social and cultural capital’ (Tisdall, 2008, p. 426) and thus strengthen their legitimate claim
to participation.
Although participation in governance is approached here as different from the political or
democratic participation of children, it is acknowledged that child participation in governance
is not a politically neutral concept. Children’s rights are not necessarily politically neutral,
solidarity-generating or un-contentious. Realising children’s rights involves hard decisions, such
as policy priorities, budgets, balance of competing interests, or institutional design (see,
generally, O’Kane & Karkara, 2007). These may be sensitive political decisions that often involve
fraught political disputes. Children’s participation in governance can only be efficiently explored
if such difficulties are acknowledged.

The International and National Legal Framework for Child Participation

in Local Governance
Participation in governance takes place through electoral and non-electoral mechanisms.
Electoral mechanisms have limited relevance for children, as only a limited number of states
have recognised children the right to vote (Child Rights International Network, 2012). Thus,
in most countries children’s participation in governance will be a non-electoral participation,

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aimed at addressing to a certain extent children’s lack of formal political power. At the
international level, non-electoral forms of public participation are not strongly protected, save
for environmental decision-making and indigenous rights. In the current interpretation of human
rights bodies, the right to participation in the political life is dependent on the right to vote,
and the protection of non-electoral forms of participation remains largely at the discretion of
the states (see Couzens, 2012). Children thus derive limited benefits from the political rights
enshrined in general human rights documents, such as the 1966 International Covenant on
Civil and Political Rights, the 1981 African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights and the
1969 American Convention on Human Rights. Several ‘soft law’ international documents
encourage child participation in governance, including at the local level (Couzens, 2012), and
although they have a lesser legal force than human rights treaties, they indicate an international
interest in having children and young people involved in governance.
Arguably, the strongest international support for child participation in governance is in the
CRC, which states:1

States Parties shall assure to the child who is capable of forming his or her own views the
right to express those views freely in all matters affecting the child, the views of the child
being given due weight in accordance with the age and maturity of the child.
(Article 12[1])

The generality of this provision supports interpretations in favour of children’s involvement

in governance decisions that affect them, a position supported by the Committee on the Rights
of the Child (the CRC Committee), which reminds us that attempts to limit the scope of
Article 12[1] to specific matters failed during the drafting of the CRC (General Comment 12,
para. 27). The Committee supports children’s involvement in governance at all levels, including
law and policy making, and budget allocation. It encourages the institutionalisation of child
participation through ‘regulations and arrangements which are firmly anchored in laws and
institutional codes and are regularly evaluated with regard to their effectiveness’ (General
Comment 12, para. 49).
The Committee acknowledges that opportunities for participation are greater at the
community level and welcomes the growing number of formal representative structures for
children at municipal level (General Comment 12, para. 127). It stresses, however, that
opportunities to participate in formal representative structures for children are limited to relatively
few children and encourages states to explore other means of communication between children
and local authorities (General Comment 12, para. 127). The quality of participation is
important. Children need to be provided with information, processes for involvement need
to be made accessible to them, and their views must be given due weight according to their
age and maturity (General Comment 12, para. 12). States are under an obligation to enact a
legal framework and adequate mechanisms to facilitate the involvement of children in matters
affecting them and for giving such views due weight (General Comment 12, para. 81). The
interpretation of Article 12[1] of the CRC by the Committee so as to include a positive
obligation to facilitate participation in governmental decision-making is important considering
that participation in governance requires access by children to processes traditionally reserved
for adults. From this perspective, the Committee’s emphasis on procedures and remedies for
situations where the right to be heard is disregarded or violated is also important (General
Comment 12, para. 46).

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Children’s right to be heard receives some recognition at regional level in child and youth
specific instruments. The African Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child (1990), which
although does not explicitly guarantee a right to be heard in all decisions affecting the child
(see Article 4[2]), recognises that children have certain responsibilities toward their families
and the wider community (Article 31). This may provide opportunities for practical participation
in social and communal life (Sloth-Nielsen & Mezmur, 2008). Other relevant regional
instruments include the African Youth Charter (African Union, 2006), which requires states
to facilitate youth (aged 15 to 35) participation in governance (Article 11[2]); and the Council
of Europe Recommendation CM/Rec (2012)2 of the Committee of Ministers to member
States on the participation of children and young people under the age of 18, which encourages
children’s participation in public life and democratic bodies.
In the national context, the explicit recognition of the right to be heard in governance is
rather isolated. There is a limited number of constitutions explicitly recognising a child’s right
to be heard, such as the constitutions of Angola, Colombia, Ecuador, Finland, Paraguay, Poland,
Romania and Switzerland (Tobin, 2005). Some such constitutions require the state to create
conditions for children (or youth) to participate in, inter alia, social and political life (Angola,
according to Tobin, 2005; Article 49[5] of the Constitution of Romania, 2003), while others
limit the constitutional protection to proceedings concerning the safety and the welfare of the
children and their adoption (for example, section 42A of the Constitution of Ireland as amended
by the Thirty-first Amendment of the Constitution [Children] Act 2012). Disappointingly,
constitutions hailed for their child-centredness, in countries where children have taken an active
political role in the past, have failed to recognise explicitly a right to be heard (see Moses,
2008 about the South African Constitution).
A child’s right to be heard is sometimes protected in child-specific legislation. However, a
limited number of states recognise a general right to be heard in this way (UNICEF, 2007a).
The protection of child participation in governance through statutes providing for a general
right to be heard depends on whether they can be interpreted to extend to children’s
participation in governance, or whether they have a limited scope, and protect child
participation only in specific settings (i.e. child protection or juvenile justice).2
Further support for child participation in local governance may be found in statutes
regulating the functioning of local authorities. For example, legislation governing the
functioning of local governments in Sweden recognises that all citizens, regardless of their age,
have the right to provide input to local authorities (Stern, 2006). In South Africa, legislation
regulating the functioning of local authorities and access to administrative justice can be
interpreted to accommodate children’s participation in local governance or in local
administrative decisions affecting them (for details, see Couzens, 2012). Statutes that allow for
a certain level of non-electoral public participation in governance can therefore be used to
accommodate child participation when they do not exclude children explicitly or implicitly.
The difficulty with relying on general laws that provide for public participation is that the
state can argue that it has discharged its obligations to facilitate child participation by simply
providing a legal framework in which public participation can take place. However, a legal
framework and mechanisms that suit adults may not suit children. For children’s participation
to be meaningful, the state’s positive obligations to facilitate such participation need to be
recognised, as advocated by the CRC Committee. National judiciary can play an important
role in this regard, by developing these positive obligations, with due regard to the most
vulnerable sectors of the public, including children.3

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While support for participation in governance may be found in constitutions or statutes,

the explicit recognition of children’s right to participate in governance takes place to a greater
extent by way of official documents with lesser legal force, such as policies, strategies, or plans
of action. Although states have wide discretion in terms of complying with Article 12 of the
CRC, providing for child participation in governance in instruments with lesser legal force
may indicate certain reluctance by states to be held legally accountable for it.
Despite the formal recognition of child participation in governance being patchy, such
recognition is important. Although the use of remedial action to protect the participation in
governance is underdeveloped, legal recognition opens opportunities for children to access legal
or other remedies (i.e. access to independent human rights institutions, as suggested by the
CRC Committee, General Comment 12, para. 46). Formal recognition of children’s partici-
pation in governance may also contribute to its sustainability, although this is a contentious
issue, as discussed below. Further, promoting participation through laws and policies creates
opportunities for child participation in domains where participation may not have occurred
spontaneously. The effectiveness of introducing child participation through laws and policies
in the absence of more profound social change may be questioned. The importance of social
support for child participation cannot be discounted. However, examples from the Philippines
and Tanzania (discussed below) show that poor implementation and lack of accountability,
rather than the legal framework being an inherently poor strategy, have significantly undermined
the success of the pro-participation normative framework.
The sphere of competence of local authorities has a bearing on local child participation. A
careful analysis of the competences of local authorities needs to take place in each national
context to assess to what extent local authorities can make decisions affecting children, and
the level of control that local authorities have over their own governance. Percy-Smith (2006)
shows, for example, how input by children, received positively by local authorities, failed to
produce the desired impact because the local authorities ‘felt constrained by obligations to
implement government policies. Budgets are tied to certain initiatives, leaving little autonomy
and flexibility for local authorities to be responsive to communities’ (Percy-Smith, 2006,
p. 171). Wider economic and political factors may also make participation at local government
level an ineffective strategy, when such participation takes place far away from the economic
and political centres of power (Hart, 2008).

How Do Children Participate in Local Governance?

As mentioned above, children rarely take part in local governance by exercising a right to
vote. The literature hardly (if ever) mentions children being individually involved in local
governance processes. Most often the attention is turned to the participation of children organised
in groups, whose members are either elected or selected. These collective structures and their
functioning often resemble adult bodies (Smith, 2007), and some receive formal recognition
by the state. Although there are concerns about over-reliance on such collective bodies to
facilitate child participation, they seem to remain the most popular way in which children
engage with local authorities.
Organised collectively, children may have more political clout and better chances to
influence public decisions (Arnott, 2008; also see Kimiagar & Hart in this volume on children’s
right to freedom of association and assembly). Official recognition given to child participation
organisations may project children as ‘a legitimate group in the policy process’ (Arnott, 2008,

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p. 364). Further, such recognition suggests that the state, rather than NGOs, is willing to take
some responsibility for supporting child participation, and this may provide some hope for
sustainable participation. Also, formal representative structures for children create longer-lasting
channels of communication between adult decision-makers and children (Williams, 2004).
Various concerns have, however, been raised about such collective bodies as mechanisms
for making children heard. It was argued, for example, that facilitating collective participation
is a convenient choice for adults, because collectively organised children are easier to reach,
interact with and obtain parental consent for their involvement (Protacio-de-Castro, Camacho,
Balanon, Ong & Yacat, 2007). Over-emphasis on collective participation leaves unexplored
opportunities for individual participation. Questions are also raised about the representativeness
of children’s organisations that speak for the children, although the representativeness of such
structures may not always be a relevant issue. According to Sinclair (2004):

If it is to give generalised representation to the views of children as whole then it

[representativeness] is vitally important. If it is to broaden the range of perspectives that
are informing decision-making, say in an ongoing forum, then statistical representativeness
may be of less relevance.
(p. 112)

A further concern is that by creating such bodies, states may be under the impression that they
have fulfilled their obligations in terms of facilitating child participation. This is perhaps illustrated
in the eagerness with which many countries have created children’s parliaments, and their
presentation of such structures as being one of their achievements in complying with Article
12[1] of the CRC. Meaningful participation of children requires much more, from spaces where
children feel comfortable to express views (Mniki & Rosa, 2007; Naker, 2007), to adults willing
and capable of understanding children’s input (Naker, 2007), to providing support and taking
children’s views seriously.
Other significant concerns pertain to the inclusiveness of representative bodies for children
and their impact on the legitimacy of other forms of child participation. Although such structures
may aim to be inclusive, they remain an avenue for the participation of a few, selected children.
For example, researchers from the Philippines, a country where child participation in local
governance has long been institutionalised (see below), found that many child-representatives
have a higher socio-economic and educational background than children they purport to
represent; and that other children, especially the working children, are less involved in official
representative structures because they need to work (Protacio-de-Castro et al., 2007).
The quasi-official status recognised to such structures runs the risk of de-legitimising
mechanisms for child participation that lack an equivalent official endorsement (Harris, 2012
cited in Collin, 2015). The participation of children in state-endorsed collective bodies takes
place in a space controlled by the state, based on an agenda provided by the state. Many children
are disillusioned with formal politics and may be reluctant to get involved in formal structures
for child participation (Collin, 2015; Roodt & Stuurman, 2011; Wyness, Harrison & Buchanan,
2004). This does not mean disengagement with political issues but rather a rejection of the
space created by the state for such participation. Such rejection is in itself a political statement.
Children may, for example, show interest in ‘single issue campaigns and one-off political actions’
(Wyness et al., 2004, p. 86) that are more directly accessible to children and provide ‘clear
reward (that is, influence on decision-making) for doing so’ (Wyness et al., 2004, p. 87).

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What local governance activities may children participate in? Official documents recognising
child participation are often very general, and, while they may provide that children have a
right to participate, they do not mention exactly in what processes, how and what is the value
of the input so received (see the Tanzanian case study below). Although research shows that
children can be successfully involved in governance (see, for example, children’s successful
involvement in local budgeting in Brazil discussed by Guerra, 2005), concerns may still be
raised about the complexity of governance processes and the ability of children to become
meaningfully engaged. The CRC Committee cogently counters these arguments, stating that
children do not need to have a comprehensive understanding of all the aspects of the matters
affecting them; it is sufficient for them to have an understanding that enables them to form
their own view (General Comment 12, para. 21). Indeed, as Hart (2007, p. 6) shows, expecting
a level of ‘professional standards of competence’ from children may drastically limit their
opportunities to participate.
Children’s participation in policymaking and budgeting appears to be highly valued, possibly
because such participation shows children as able to share political power with the adults. In
most cases, however, such forms of participation are heavily dependent on adult support (see,
for example, Mniki & Rosa, 2007), which may not be available everywhere. But these ‘high-
end’ forms of participation are not the only ways in which children may participate in local
governance. Most local authorities will engage in some form of planning and service delivery
to children. This opens possibilities for children to be involved in such processes in a wide
variety of ways, ranging from consultation, information gathering and research, service delivery
(i.e. peer support, linking children with available resources in the community) or monitoring
of government performance.

Snapshots of Child Participation in Local Governance

There is a great variety of forms of child participation in governance, and such variety reflects
the diversity of contexts and issues in which children’s participation occurs. A comprehensive
discussion of participation projects cannot be made here. Instead, I have selected a few
examples to illustrate the potential and the challenges of different approaches, and ultimately,
the complementarity of different forms of participation. One is an example of collective
participation through government-created structures (The Philippines). The second is arguably
a hybrid form, where children’s organisations have received some formal recognition from the
state but enjoy some (full or partial) independence from the government (Tanzania). The third
is an account of participation through mechanisms outside government structures (India).

The Sangguniang Kabataan in the Philippines

The Republic Act no. 7160 of 1991 (an act providing for a Local Government Code) (the
Act) mandated the creation of Katipunan ng Kabataan (KK), a grass-roots organisation open
to all youth aged 15 to 21.4 KK members vote for the Sangguniang Kabataan (SK), its executive
structure at the local level and a statutory body for the representation of youth in local
governance. The functions of the SK are, inter alia, to make proposals to the local legislatures
for the adoption of youth-related by-laws, to initiate youth related activities and consult with
youth organisations in terms of policy formulation (Section 426 of the Act). The chairman of
the SK is automatically a member of the local legislature, and enjoys the same status and voting

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rights as his/her adult counterparts (Section 430). Ten per cent of the municipal budget is
earmarked for the SK.
The SK has therefore been a long-lasting form of official youth participation at local level,
with a strong formal basis: it is mandated by statute and created throughout the country; gives
children direct access to the local law-making process; and gives SKs the power to initiate
activities for youth and a budget to implement them. However, there have been numerous
recent legislative initiatives to either reform or abolish the SK (Malaluan, Baja, Carandang,
Justin, Vergara, & Tamayo, 2014). Indeed, apart for some successes, evaluations of SKs show
significant problems in their functioning (Malaluan et al., 2014; UNICEF, 2007b). So
controversial is the existence and the role of the SK, that elections have been suspended from
2013 to 2016, pending legal reform. This has resulted in the SKs being de facto disbanded as
new members have not been elected.
The SKs have initiated a limited number of youth-related local laws, have insufficiently
promoted youth development and have not adequately consulted with their constituency
(Malaluan et al., 2014; UNICEF, 2007b). The projects initiated by SKs were generally focused
on sports, infrastructure development and environmental protection (UNICEF, 2007b), and
did not match the concerns of the youth in their communities (education, health and nutrition,
drug abuse and livelihood; UNICEF, 2007b). Although an official budget is reserved for the
SKs, this has been difficult to access given the complexity of the process (UNICEF, 2007b)
and the inability of some SKs to plan adequately, sometimes due to education commitments
(Malaluan et al., 2014). Also, the SK members may be unable to commit to the SK funds
because of their lack of contractual capacity. The main strengths of the SKs seem to be their
potential as representatives of youth and the benefits derived by the SK members in terms of
personal development (UNICEF, 2007b). Arguably, having a (yet to be realised) potential is
not sufficient to recommend a structure in existence for more than 20 years, which purports
to promote the interests of all young people.
There is lack of confidence in the SKs from both adults and children (UNICEF, 2007b).
Concerns were raised about children’s political manipulation by adults, their marginal-
isation in the decision-making process, the limitation of SKs programmes to low-impact activities
such as sport and street-cleaning, and a general perception that SK members are ‘incompetent,
inefficient, and lacking initiative’ (UNICEF, 2007b, p. 23). The accountability of SKs
has generally been weak. There have been very few draft reports about their activities
(UNICEF, 2007b) and there is little engagement between the SKs and youth in their
constituency. Conversely, there is little interest by youth in being involved in the SK
(UNICEF, 2007b).
One of the most striking features of the SKs is that unlike other participation initiatives of
a similar nature, they seem to have little adult guidance from the government or NGOs.
Commenting more widely on child participation structures in the Philippines, Bessel (2007)
argued that ‘converse of the problematic conceptualisation of children as lacking in competence
and capability is the equally problematic romanticisation of children as fully equipped to assume
complete responsibility and to act in unfamiliar environments without support’ (p. 11). This
seems to be largely the case with the SKs, and it left them exposed to abuse and manipulation.
Adult mentoring and support from committed local officials may, however, occur on an ad
hoc basis, with positive effects on the work of some SKs (UNICEF, 2007b). Other studies
also showed that when adult officials mentor SK members, the work of the SKs may improve
(Malaluan et al., 2014).

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Children’s Councils in Tanzania

The Tanzanian children’s councils are similar to the Makkala Panchayats functioning at the local
level in Karnataka, India. Although recognised officially as legitimate representative structures
for children, the Makkala Panchayats remain independent structures, often successful in
advocating for child-related issues at the local level and negotiating with local governments
for positive outcomes for children. Makkala Panchayats are often discussed in the literature (for
example, Reddy & Ratna, 2002; Saeed, 2014) and little can be added here. It may be of interest,
however, to show how a similar model has operated in a different context and, in the process,
to reflect on some of the pros and cons of institutionalisation of participation. The information
discussed below draws from several studies on child participation in Tanzania in which I was
involved.5
The Tanzanian legal and policy framework is supportive of child participation, and includes
policies containing commitments to create mechanisms for the inclusion of young people in
community decision-making, including at local government level (Couzens & Mtengeti,
2011). The 2011 National Strategy for Child Participation further reflects the government’s
commitment to support child participation generally, and in governance in particular. The
official discourse in Tanzania favours the creation of formal child participation structures (the
children’s councils) at all administrative levels.6 In 2002, with UNICEF and NGO support,
the government created the Junior Council of the United Republic of Tanzania ( JCURT) or
Baraza la Watoto in Swahili, a representative structure for children. Although initially created
at national level, the JCURT was to have elected structures at all administrative levels. The
objectives of the JCURT were to act as a voice for children, to strengthen the links between
children and the government, and to allow for the members of the councils to be involved in
decision-making in matters concerning children at all levels of the government. The functioning
of the councils was to take place with support from local officials.
Despite official endorsement, the creation of local children’s councils remained isolated,
and often took place at the initiative of NGOs and development agencies. Child participation
official documents do not always reach local administrations or are not accompanied by guidance
and training (CDF, 2014). Official documents have often been unclear about how to integrate
the councils in official decision-making. There is confusion, for example, as to whether children
can attend official meetings, and some local officials denied children access to ward meetings
invoking a lack of official directives in this regard (CDF, 2011). These practical issues remain
unclear as the 2011 National Strategy for Child Participation does not completely ‘unpack’
the rhetoric of child participation. The strategy expects children to be involved in local
governance but says nothing, for example, about how children can access information necessary
to form their views, or about involving children in adult meetings, or about what are the
consequences for children not being involved in government decisions. Instead, it burdens the
local governments with designing ways to involve children in decision-making and to integrate
the councils’ input in governance (National Strategy, para. 3.10). These are complex issues,
over which even experienced professionals find it difficult to agree (e.g. see Naker, 2007), let
alone local politicians and administrators who may lack the understanding of or the commitment
to child participation.7 Further practical difficulties were raised by ‘housing’ the local official
support for the children’s councils given the cross-cutting nature of children’s issues (CDF,
2014). Unlike the SKs in the Philippines, the JCURT has had an uncertain legal status that
compounded the practical and administrative challenges discussed above. The JCURT has not
been integrated into the political or administrative structures of the state and has not been

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registered as a formal association because the age of its members is under 18. It is no surprise
that local governments did not know how to approach the councils: whether as a part of the
official administration or as a part of the civil society or simply as a lobby group with unusual
membership.
The government did not take formal financial responsibility for the functioning of the
councils. As NGO support was strong for some councils (i.e. the councils supported by Save
the Children), confusion sometimes arose as to who carried the responsibility to provide the
councils with financial and technical support, whether the NGOs or the local governments
(Couzens & Mtengeti, 2011). Although some officials accepted the responsibility to support
the local children’s councils, others saw their role limited to ensuring the protection of most
vulnerable children (CDF, 2014).
The children’s councils in these Tanzanian studies functioned with adult support (advice,
financial, logistical) but generally decided their agenda and activities independently. Adults
(officials or civil society representatives) were elected or appointed as advisors or ‘guardians’
of the councils. Interestingly, the children’s councils created with Save the Children support
opted for local officials to serve as the guardians of the councils. This was a strategic decision
by children, supported by Save the Children, and was aimed at strengthening the support of
the councils within the local governments (Couzens & Mtengeti, 2011). Despite some tensions,
children did ‘not perceive as oppressive’ their relationship with the adults (Couzens & Mtengeti,
2011, p. 27). They were appreciative of local officials who encouraged them to remain active
(CDF, 2011), and used their relationship with local officials to pursue the goals of the councils.
This relationship was unilateral in the sense that the contact was most often initiated by children.
Only in a limited number of cases, and at the discretion of local officials, the councils were
requested to participate in official meetings or to provide input in child-related local decisions.
Children’s councils that enjoyed a tension-free relationship with local officials were more likely
to be invited to contribute to formal, municipality processes (CDF, 2011; Couzens & Mtengeti,
2011). This raises concerns that it is mainly compliant children who get to speak to the
government on behalf of other children. Indeed, in the site with the longest-serving council,
tensions started to develop between children and the officials when the children became more
assertive, with children being seen by some officials as being arrogant, ill-disciplined or defiant.
But children had a different understanding of their attitude:

We don’t understand about the work plans of our area, the community income,
infrastructure, etc. Although we are the part of the society, we are not aware of anything
and if we ask they said we are making a noise.
(Focus Group, Temeke, as cited in Couzens & Mtengeti, 2011, p. 36)

This attempt to hold officials accountable was not welcomed, confirming concerns about the
ability of official-endorsed structures for child participation to exact accountability from the
state.
Avoiding confrontation may suggest, however, that children have used the political space
strategically in order to achieve their aims, as done by children elsewhere (Reddy & Ratna,
2002). In the Tanzanian studies discussed here, children were most successful when approaching
local officials (guardians of the councils or other officials) in connection with child protection,
delivery and monitoring of essential services. Arguably, pursuing child protection-related issues
is fairly uncontroversial from the perspective of children challenging adult power. But, there
is another way of looking at this. First, Tanzania lacks a comprehensive child protection system

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staffed by trained professionals and child protection is addressed locally, mainly through the
intervention of a limited number of officials, assisted largely by NGOs, community organisations
and development agencies. In this context, the fact that children’s councils can contribute to
protecting their peers should be positively acknowledged, despite its various complexities.
Second, although children’s participation in the protection of their peers did not result in the
councils being involved in wide-impact decision-making, as envisaged by the government itself,
it offered a less controversial entry point for child participation in local government work,
which can be built on to allow the children to develop their ‘social and cultural capital’ (Tisdall,
2008, p. 426) and consolidate their claim to participation.
This experience of participation shows the merit of a wide definition of child participation
in governance. Children in the Tanzanian studies discussed here were not involved consistently
or to any significant extent in official decision-making and did not share the political power
of adults. Nonetheless, they contributed to the local governments discharging their statutory
duties pertaining to child protection. Reducing child participation in governance to only those
instances in which children share the political power of adults means turning a blind eye to
situations in which children act for the common good and, consequently, it denies them public
recognition for their participation. This, arguably, may undermine children’s collective effort
to build the much needed social and cultural capital referred to above.
The councils explored in the Tanzanian studies discussed here were the result of externally
driven initiatives, facilitated by the official, top-down requirement that the councils be created
locally. Such interventions are generally regarded with suspicion. Without minimising potential
concerns, in the Tanzanian context this approach resulted in creating a certain space for children
to be heard in governance, which might not have developed spontaneously in the near future.
The official endorsement of the councils sent a political message that the state values child
participation, and it generated opportunities for adults to develop positive attitudes to child
participation.
The ambivalence of the government in supporting the councils presented challenges as
well as, paradoxically, opportunities. Despite a formal commitment to the children’s councils,
the government failed to ‘drive’ the creation and the support of these councils at local level.8
This shows that attempts to institutionalise participation may be fruitless in the absence of some
form of accountability. At the same time, the hands-off attitude of the government meant that
the existing children’s councils had significant freedom in deciding their agendas, and there
was sufficient space for specialised NGOs to nurture children for their participation in the
councils and for their interaction with local governments.

Child Participation in Local Governance from ‘Outside’ of Government

Structures
The following example is of participation from outside the government structures, and
illustrates the importance of preserving the space for such forms of participation. Chatterjee
(2007) documented the opposition of children in Delhi to their forceful eviction and their
relocation. Children were brought into the struggle against eviction only when the adults’
efforts to prevent the relocation failed. Nonetheless, children made the struggle their own, and
with support of a local NGO well-anchored into the community, children designed a strategy
to determine the authorities to stop the eviction. Children met with local officials, and took
their story to the press. The wide dissemination of the children’s story led to professionals in
Delhi offering their support, including with litigating against the state and demanding that the

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eviction be postponed. Although the children’s application was unsuccessful, the court decided
that in relocation disputes, the state had an obligation to secure basic facilities to the relocation
site before a community could be resettled (Chatterjee, 2007). This was a significant legal victory,
with a wider impact in relocation disputes. Children’s activism did not stop once the relocation
took place. They secured a meeting with Delhi’s highest official, who upon being informed
of children’s struggle to attend schools in the relocation area, ordered neighbouring schools to
enrol the evicted children. Children continued lobbying for better services to their community
and for making their resettlement site a decent place to live. They secured government, businesses
and community support for planting trees in their new neighbourhood; their efforts also resulted
in the community acquiring schools, better transport, water, electricity and green spaces. Indeed,
they made their resettlement space ‘the first choice of resettlement for a family facing forced
eviction’ (Chatterjee, 2007, p. 214).

Factors Facilitating and Inhibiting the Participation of Children in

Local Governance: An Ambivalent Issue
The diversity of child participation experiences prevents a comprehensive review of all factors
that facilitate or hinder successful participation in local governance. Indeed, there is often an
ambivalence, a duality, inherent in the impacts such factors have. What may be assumed to
constitute a facilitating factor may in fact operate to undermine participation, or vice versa.
This ambivalence is illustrated below in relation to the formalisation of child participation and
the role of adults. The analysis shows that assessments as to whether certain factors facilitate
or hinder participation are context-dependent and should not be made in abstract. A legal and
policy framework that provides for child participation is no doubt a facilitating factor in that
it transforms children from outsiders in the public decision making to rightful inhabitants of
such space. It may also lay the foundation for sustainable participation in governance. However,
official instruments may be informed by ideas of social control rather than by the desire to
foster child empowerment and social and political transformation (Rogers, 2006; Saggers, Palmer,
Royce, Wilson, & Charlton, 2004). Consequently, while the state dedicates its attention to
the child elite or those at risk of developing antisocial behaviour, ordinary children may be
left without participation opportunities (Nairn, Sligo, & Freeman, 2006).
The abundance of child participation instruments may have the perverse effect of suggesting
that there are significant opportunities for children to participate, and that it is their responsibility
to seize such opportunities. Should they choose not to do so, they would be labelled as politically
apathetic and not interested in contributing to their communities. Worse even, they may be
seen as marginal and ‘by exclusion, involved in anti-social behaviour’ (Collin, 2015, p. 62).
What may be missed here is that some children’s non-participation in the form prescribed by
the state is in itself a political statement of rejection of such avenues that they consider to be
an inadequate means to foster their involvement. Further, the formalisation of participation
projects an image of child participation as a professional-facilitated, state-endorsed activity,
presenting thus a truncated image of child participation, and marginalising other forms of
participation.
The nature of governance leads to child participation being inherently dependent on some
form of adult support, more so than child participation in other spheres of activity. When
participating in governance, children are in a multi-dependent relationship with several
categories of adults: their carers (who may consent or withhold consent to such participation),

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officials (who may welcome or may hinder children’s participation) or those whose services
are necessary to facilitate their participation (often the NGOs). Adults may facilitate but may
also hinder children’s involvement in governance. Supportive adults have assisted children in
setting up organisations and successfully interacting with local governments (for example,
Chatterjee, 2007; Hart, 2007; Reddy & Ratna, 2002). Quality support has come from adult
organisations with strong community links (Chatterjee, 2007) and from those who have
developed a sense of solidarity with the aims pursued by children (Hart, 2007, p. 20). Partici-
pation supported in this way is elevated from the ‘didactic and superficial’ experimentation
with child participation supported by good-willed international donors (Hart, 2007, p. 17).
Formally creating child participation structures without providing quality adult support may
undermine such structures, as the case with Sangguniang Kabataan. Adult involvement may
also be important to ensure the sustainability of participation. Successful child-led organisations
have at times collapsed because, inter alia, children did not ensure the succession in the mem-
bership of their organisation (Muñoz Chacón, 2007).
But adults may also seriously hinder children’s participation. Adults, officials or carers may
not see it as children’s rightful role to engage with the state or speak up more generally. Adults
may see children as apolitical or as social actors with a fragile claim to the political space. Children
taking a political stance are often frowned upon (Moses, 2008; Smith, 2007). This is so even
when ‘the root causes of child rights violations are often political in nature’ and ‘involve power
relations and the distribution of resources’ (O’Kane & Karkara, 2007, p. 138). There are also
practical challenges when ‘ “empowered” children interact with adults who are not ready for
the power shift’ (Mniki & Rosa, 2007, p. 89). This is valid for children interacting with officials
as well as their communities. In many such communities adults themselves are not sufficiently
empowered to participate meaningfully in governance and thus promoting child participation
may be viewed with suspicion (Mniki & Rosa, 2007; Protacio-de-Castro et al., 2007).
While in some cases adults may try to overtly manipulate child organisations for their own
political gain (Sancar & Severcan, 2010), the adult influence may also be more subtle and even
involuntary. It may result from the age, the education and, potentially, the race of the adult
involved (White & Choudhury, 2010); from insisting on ‘professional standards of competence’
(Hart, 2007, p. 16), or from simply not knowing how ‘to define their own roles in these
processes’ (Liebel, 2007, p. 68). Some adults may support participation at an intellectual
level, but they yield to more traditionalist views on the role of children in society when the
participation rhetoric clashes with long-accepted societal norms (Naker, 2007). These obstacles
to participation are created not necessarily because adults ‘are . . . callous or unsympathetic to
children’ (Naker, 2007, p. 157) but rather because they ‘may be unsure of what the redis-
tribution of power means’ (Naker, 2007, p. 157) and ‘what the rhetoric of children’s partici-
pation meant for the adult–child relationship’ (Naker, 2007, p. 154). Adults may also be genuinely
concerned about negative consequences, such as overburdening children, tokenism or the
adversity of other children (Bessel, 2007).
Children’s participation in governance remains fragile in the face of local and wider politics.
The refusal of successful child-led organisations to be used by adults for political gain may
threaten the very existence of such organisations (Sancar & Severcan, 2010). For example, the
involvement of children in local budgeting in Barra Mansa, Brazil is often presented as a success
story of children’s participation. Children had an important say in budgeting and were given
a portion of the budget to spend on child-identified priorities (Guerra, 2005). The positive
outcomes of such initiative did not deter, however, the newly elected politicians from

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restricting the participation of children, relegating it to mere consultation (Barceló, 2005).

If child participation is not supported by more powerful political constituencies, the political
risks faced by local politicians could alter their support for child participation (Saggers et al.,
2004).
Government-sponsored forms of child participation are unlikely to challenge the existing
governmental structures and processes (Collin, 2015), or should they do so, they may be seen
as being politically manipulated or marginalised. For example, when the children involved in
budgeting in Barra Mansa asked for feedback from local politicians, they were perceived
as being politically manipulated and had their institutional position ‘downgraded’ (Barceló,
2005). In Tanzania, the children’s council that asked questions of the government were seen
as defiant of adult authority and were marginalised (see above). In contrast, participation from
‘outside’ the government may be more effective in exacting state accountability. In the
eviction example discussed above, children had strong support from a local NGO and skilled
community members. Working children, for example, rely on their ‘more influential role in
society, and . . . more equal terms in their relationships with adults and other traditional
authorities’ (Liebel, 2007, p. 68).
However, while weak in terms of exacting accountability, state-endorsed participation
structures may contribute to the responsiveness of the state to children’s needs.9 In a South
Asian context, Williams (2004) found that when child-led organisations confronted authorities
they were less successful in moving them to adopt policies sought by children, while
organisations employing less confrontational means were more successful. A similar conclu-
sion was reached when studying the children’s councils in Tanzania (Couzens & Mtengeti,
2011). One should not discount the fact that a non-confrontational approach may be a strategic
decision by children. Reflecting on their rich experience with child participation organisations
in India, Reddy and Ratna (2002) argued that children opt for approaches that enable them
to preserve a positive relationship with the adults with whom they live and whom they do
not want to hurt.

Some Thoughts on Sustainability

One of the main challenges in relation to child participation is to ensure its sustainability. Child
participation seems a never ending pilot project, although it is clear by now that fostering quality
child participation takes time (Theis, 2010). Participation projects supported by NGOs or donor
agencies are generally too short to create the bases for sustainable child participation (Hart,
2008). Therefore, ensuring the stability and the continuity of child participation in governance
through laws and policies is a positive strategy. However, the examples from the Philippines
and Tanzania discussed above show that a supporting legal framework is unlikely to lead to
sustainable child participation if it is not accompanied by accountability mechanisms and access
to appropriate remedies.
Sustaining children’s own interest in their participation is important for longer-lasting
participation. Participation initiatives that are relevant for children’s everyday lives, and that
lead to tangible results and engage children in ‘doing’ things themselves are more likely to
succeed than abstract and infrequent calls to participate in consultations or policy design (Collin,
2015). Children’s commitment to their participation in governance is encouraged by officials
publicly showing appreciation and respect for their contribution (Saggers et al., 2004). Self-
reflection and evaluation of children’s participation by children themselves serves to strengthen
their own participation (Malaluan et al., 2014; O’Kane & Karkara, 2007).

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Many initiatives to promote child participation in governance are supported by NGOs and
development agencies. These organisations may be better at facilitating participation than
governments themselves (Theis, 2010), but relying heavily on them may affect the sustainability
of child participation. The skills to facilitate public participation will continue to be built in
the NGO community but remain undeveloped in the government sector, where the power
to make decisions is located (Rogers, 2006). Over-reliance on NGOs may shift the responsibility
to support participation from the states to NGOs, further affecting the sustainability of
participation (Saeed, 2014).

Conclusions
Despite great support from states, the international community, academic and practitioners’
community, child participation in governance remains a complex and much debated field of
child participation. The difficulties start with the process of defining governance, and it was
argued here that only definitions of governance that look beyond participation in high-impact
democratic decision making can fully recognise the diverse ways in which children contribute
to local governance processes. Restrictive definitions obscure children’s contributions to
improving the lives of children and adults, and ultimately undermine their efforts to build stronger
social support for their participation. With reference to the Tanzanian example, I argued that
low entry points for participation in governance, in matters over which there is a certain level
of local cohesion (such as child protection or essential services), may be a good starting point
from which participation can grow. I share Theis’ view that ‘[s]tarting low is acceptable, as
long as there is movement’ (Theis, 2010, p. 352).
There are numerous formal commitments (in laws or policy) to child participation in local
governance, for which state should be commended. The attraction of relying on legal arguments
to claim participation comes from the opportunities that it opens for accessing legal or other
remedies should a failure to comply with enforceable legal provisions occur. But the legal
provisions protecting child participation in governance are still to produce tangible legal effects,
as the jurisprudence is severely underdeveloped in this regard. Hopefully, with current child
participation practice, research and debates maturing, the commitment of the states to child
participation in governance will soon be tested in national courts or by resorting to other remedial
action.
The over-emphasis on collective forms of child participation endorsed by the state may
limit opportunities for participation for children wishing to participate individually or for child-
led organisations not endorsed by the state as ‘official’ or accepted for child participation. The
right to be heard is recognised for all children, and thus a conscious decision needs to be made
to secure the cohabitation and the equal respect for diverse forms of participation, which often
complement each other.
The chapter showed the complexity of establishing what constitutes a facilitating or
hindering factor for child participation in local governance, with some factors having ambivalent
effects (i.e. institutionalisation and adult support may facilitate participation, but may also create
obstacles to it). This calls for accountability mechanisms for adults and perhaps some form of
independent oversight. The difficulties raised by giving legal recognition and protection to
child participation need to be navigated in full recognition of the fact that without such
recognition children are left vulnerable (Van Bueren, 2011).

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Notes
1 The right to be heard rests on other civil rights, such as the right to freedom of expression, freedom
of association and access to information.
2 Article 16.IV of the Statute of the Child and Adolescent, 1990 of Brazil is a significant exception in
that it explicitly provides a child’s right to participate, inter alia, in community and political life.
3 For a discussion on how the jurisprudence on public participation of the South African Constitutional
Court can be used to advance children’s participation in law-making, see Couzens, 2012.
4 An SK candidate needs to have an age between 15 and 18 at the time of election. Those elected are
allowed to complete their mandate even if they turn 18 during their term of office (Section 423(b)
of the Act).
5 The studies were conducted between 2009–2014, with the support of various organisations, such as
Research on Poverty Alleviation (REPOA), UNICEF and Children’s Dignity Forum (CDF), whose
support is acknowledged here. I would also like to acknowledge Mr Koshuma Mtengeti, the Executive
Director of CDF, with whom I worked closely on these projects, and Save the Children, Tanzania,
for enabling us to study the way in which the councils they supported worked in Temeke and Lindi.
6 The National Strategy for Child Participation 2011 does acknowledge some drawbacks of this type
of participation, and takes note of the fact that child participation may occur in other forms. However,
in my view, as far as the participation of children in governance is concerned, it remains biased in
favour of the children’s councils.
7 The Ministry of Community Development, Women and Children has developed a toolkit for child
participation, to be used by, among others, local officials. While the toolkit provides useful guidance
on how to engage with children, it does not provide guidance on how to navigate local administration
and political processes and structures so as to make space for children and their input.
8 In a 2014 study of child participation structures in six Tanzanian districts, CDF found that there were
no existing children’s councils. Such councils were occasionally created to allow for children’s
involvement in various events, but they collapsed thereafter (CDF, 2014).
9 Responsiveness of the state is one of the principles of good governance, as mentioned in the second
part of the chapter.

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Children’s Rights to
Child-Friendly Cities
Louise Chawla and Willem van Vliet—

Introduction
In 1874, at age 10, Mary Ellen Wilson stood in a New York court room, dressed in ragged
clothing, undernourished and bruised, testifying to a history of abuse and neglect. Her case
was brought to court by Henry Bergh, a leader of the animal humane movement in the United
States and founder of the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA).
His action must be seen in the context of the absence of a formal child protection system at
a time when prevailing statutes still called for neglected, poor, and vagrant children to be
indentured with a master or placed in an almshouse. The case attracted extensive media coverage,
resulting in intense public indignation and catalyzing promulgation and enforcement of legal
approaches to child protection. It became an impetus for the children’s rights movement in
the US (Watkins, 1990, pp. 501, 503).
In her testimony of many examples of maltreatment, Mary Ellen noted: “I have no recollection
of ever being on the street in my life.” Her exclusion from the street, and hence from public space
and the city at large, relates directly to children as city residents today. Historically, city residents
in medieval Europe were granted privileges that included aspects of governance and individual
freedoms not available to those living outside cities. Being a resident of a city conferred certain
legal rights.
Critical analyses of inequities resulting from private, profit-oriented urban development have
spurred renewed interest in “rights to the city” (Attoh, 2011; Harvey, 2003; Lefebvre, 1968;
Mitchell, 2003). As Harvey (2003, p. 939) defines them, “The right to the city is not merely
a right of access to what already exists, but a right to change it after our heart’s desire.” To
be just, this change must be collective and inclusive. It must aspire to “a new urban commons,
a public sphere of active democratic participation” (p. 941). However, attention to children
as city residents with rights is noticeably absent from these discussions.
This chapter addresses this gap. It first briefly traces historical antecedents of child-focused
rights and then connects this development to the emergence of rights-based approaches to
child-friendly cities (CFCs). This discussion leads to the view that children are actors with
rights and responsibilities in the public sphere, appropriate to their competencies. We further

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develop this point by highlighting children’s participatory abilities, and the need to mainstream
their involvement in urban development. We orient this discussion to children’s experience
of physical and place-based aspects of their communities, and emphasize that governments must
create processes and structures to support the fulfillment of children’s rights and the development
of their capabilities.

Emergence of Child-Focused Rights

The rights to “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,” enshrined in the US Declaration
of Independence, can be traced back to Locke’s Second Treatise of Government with its doc-
trine of natural rights of the individual to be safeguarded by government. Locke’s ideas
contributed to the Enlightenment, which further elaborated emancipation from absolute
authority, liberty to build one’s own life, and expression of self-awareness (Gay, 1969). The
notion of a social contract between sovereign individuals and a governing authority is rele-
vant to children’s rights to the city in at least two ways. First, it assumes rough equality: that
people are free and independent agents in the formation of their government, with general
equality in their physical and mental powers. When comparing children with adults, this is
clearly not so. Therefore children require special support to enable them to experience their
rights (Dixon & Nussbaum, 2012).
Second, Locke’s social contract accentuates the personal aspects of freedom and self-
determination. This orientation to more individualistic perspectives also entered the realm of
education, initially through Rousseau’s notions about education through personal experience
and self-discovery. Tolstoy, who, in his own words, “admired Rousseau with more than enthus-
iasm” (Bullitt, 1979, p. 13), was deeply influenced by these ideas when he implemented his
school for peasant children, where pupils had the right to self-direct their education. The Polish
pediatrician Janusz Korczak embedded children’s rights in a collective context in a Jewish orphanage
he established in Warsaw in 1912. As young citizens, the children had responsibilities for daily
tasks, ran their own parliament, court of peers, and newspaper. Korczak believed that in the
process of working together, they would learn consideration and fair play, and develop a sense
of responsibility toward others that they would carry with them into the adult world (Lifton,
2006). Important to note here is the coupling of individual rights and responsibility to others.
Korczak demonstrated his personal commitment to this moral principle by declining a chance
to escape from the Warsaw ghetto, choosing instead to stay with the orphans when they were
taken to the Treblinka death camp, where he perished with them (Lifton, 2006).
Korczak and Eglantyne Jebb, a British reformer, played leading roles in drafting the 1924
Geneva Declaration of the Rights of the Child, adopted by the International Save the Children
Union and the General Assembly of the League of Nations. This document became the basis
for the Declaration of the Rights of the Child, adopted by the UN General Assembly in 1959.
It was superseded by the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) that the UN
General Assembly adopted in 1989 (www.unicef.org/crc/). All rights guaranteed in the CRC
can be seen as extensions of four key principles. Article 2 states the principle of nondiscrimination:
that children’s rights will be respected regardless of race, color, sex, language, religion, ethnicity,
disability or other status. Article 3 requires that, in all actions that concern children, the best
interests of the child should be a primary consideration. Article 6 requires governments to provide
optimal conditions for the survival and development of the child. Article 12 notes that children
have a right to participation in all matters that affect them, through opportunities to express
their views freely in accordance with their abilities. Associated rights to freedom to seek and

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share information, freedom of thought, conscience and religion, and freedom of association
and peaceful assembly are guaranteed by Articles 13, 14, and 15. These principles became the
impetus for the Child Friendly Cities Initiative of the United Nations Children’s Fund
(UNICEF) in the 1990s.
Rights-based approaches to children in cities aligned with two broader approaches to urban
development that emerged in the mid 1960s. The first of these was the rise of advocacy plan-
ning and citizen participation in North America and Europe. During the same time, the urban
poor in many Latin American and Asian countries turned to self-help approaches (Turner,
1977). Coinciding with this trend was the academic articulation of “rights to the city,” advanced
initially by Henri Lefebvre (1968). Children’s rights to cities and in cities must be seen in this
context.
Children’s rights to the city do not merely refer to their individual access to urban resources
such as schools, medical care, play spaces, libraries, museums, and transportation, but also to
their ability to affect urban decision making with a common voice. Two forms of participation
in city life are implicated. The right of access involves children’s informal participation in the
culture and spaces of their society, through their presence in places that adults have made, and
through opportunities to colonize and transform spaces for their own uses. The right to affect
decision making requires formal participation through opportunities for civic engagement and
shared decision making with adults. Both kinds of participation form a foundation for
democratic attitudes and behavior (Hart, 2014).
An individualistic orientation to children’s rights to the city loses sight of two important
points. First, rights stand in reciprocal relation to responsibilities. Rights are meaningless unless
there is an actor with assigned responsibility for their fulfillment. On this point the CRC is
unequivocal: It makes State Parties responsible (Article 2). On the other hand, just as State
Parties have responsibilities to children, so also do children have responsibilities to the
communities and societies in which they live. The 1959 Declaration made this clear, stipulating
that the child must be brought up “in full consciousness that his energy and talents must be
devoted to the service of his fellow men” (United Nations, 1959, p. 20). The African Charter
on the Rights and Welfare of the Child carries this idea forward in Article 31. Although the
CRC dropped this explicit language, the principle of reciprocal responsibilities remains im-
plicit in Article 29, which requires that children’s education shall be directed to the develop-
ment of their fullest potential, preparation for responsible life in a free society, respect for
nature, and respect for their parents, cultural identity, national values, and the value of other
civilizations.
A second, related and often overlooked point concerns collective aspects of rights to the
city. Children’s right to participate in decision-making processes that shape cities is as
fundamental as their right to individual access to city resources. This right implies a need to
empower children to become partners in deliberative democratic practices, teaching them skills
of collaboration and empathy, and imparting to them recognition of interdependence as both
an inescapable fact and a positive principle.

Emergence of a Child Friendly Cities Framework

In 1991, shortly after the United Nations’ adoption of the CRC in 1989, UNICEF organized
a Mayors for Children Conference in Rome. It led to a network of Mayors-Defenders of
Children that gathered annually in the early 1990s to involve municipal authorities in imple-
menting children’s rights (Riggio, 2002). Like many organizations involved in international

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aid, UNICEF had been working primarily in areas of rural poverty; but recognizing the rapid
pace of urbanization, lead staff realized the need to address children in conditions of urban
poverty as well, and saw local authorities as essential allies to achieve this.
In preparation for Habitat II, the UN Conference on Human Settlements in 1996, UNICEF
convened experts to create a guiding document on the implications of the CRC for the
governance of cities and to insert children’s issues into the Habitat II agenda and action plans.
Entitled Children’s Rights and Habitat: Working towards Child-Friendly Cities, the document lined
up articles of the CRC in one column, next to implications for city policies, services, and
physical facilities to support children’s realization of these rights in a parallel column (UNICEF,
1997). A book that elaborated these connections followed, Cities for Children: Children’s Rights,
Poverty and Urban Management (Bartlett, Hart, Satterthwaite, de la Barra, & Missair, 1999).
Children’s Rights and Habitat identifies in detail what it means to embody the CRC at the
local level, with attention to supportive physical environments and particular attention to children
in poverty and other difficult circumstances. A major part of the document identifies “Obstacles
and Constraints” to municipal action for children. To create better conditions for children,
recommendations advocate children’s inclusion in community decision making, education
regarding children’s rights, legal frameworks that conform to the CRC, better government
coordination, and better information—including involving communities in determining CFC
indicators. The book Cities for Children (Bartlett, Hart, Satterthwaite, de la Barra & Missair,
1999) maintained this emphasis on reaching children in situations of disadvantage, with
examples of responses that even resource-poor municipal governments can achieve.
This work laid a foundation for the Child Friendly Cities Initiative (CFCI) at UNICEF’s
Innocenti Research Centre in Florence in 2000 (Riggio, 2002; Malone, 2006). By the time
the International Secretariat for Child Friendly Cities launched its website and published its
booklet on Building Child Friendly Cities: A Framework for Action (UNICEF, 2004), the emphasis
on children in poverty and conditions in low- and middle-income countries had been removed
in favor of more neutral language that could apply to any city, rich or poor. Critical remarks
about obstacles were dropped in favor of discrete steps that municipal authorities or child
advocacy organizations could take to increase awareness of children’s rights and cultivate political
sympathy for child-friendly policies. Children’s rights to participation, however, remained salient.
According to the definition on UNICEF’s CFCI website:

A child friendly city is the embodiment of the Convention on the Rights of the Child at the
local level, which in practice means that children’s rights are reflected in policies, laws,
programs and budgets. In a child friendly city, children are active agents; their voices and
opinions are taken into consideration and influence decision making processes.
(www.childfriendlycities.org)

The Initiative has since moved from Florence to UNICEF’s New York headquarters.
The CFCI organizes steps for developing a child-friendly city around nine building blocks:
children’s participation, a child-friendly legal framework, a city-wide children’s rights strategy,
a children’s budget, a children’s rights unit or coordinating mechanism, a child impact
assessment and evaluation, a regular State of the City’s Children report, a plan for making
children’s rights known, and support for independent advocacy for children. Each building
block is associated with a checklist of questions that a sponsoring agency or organization can
use for self-assessment. The aim of this framework is to establish a structure of governance that
will be responsive to children’s rights. In the process, references to physical places in children’s

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lives that were prominent in Children’s Rights and Habitat, such as housing and public spaces,
have disappeared—perhaps with the assumption that they will re-emerge through the
recommended governance processes. The result, nevertheless, is that a CFC becomes primarily
a procedural and organizational concept, no longer physically grounded in the places of children’s
lives.

A Capabilities Approach to Children’s Rights

At the same time as UNICEF was organizing meetings of mayors as a foundation for the CFCI,
the economist Amartya Sen and philosopher Martha Nussbaum were convening scholars at
the invitation of the United Nations University to articulate the capabilities approach to human
development (Nussbaum & Sen, 1993). A capabilities approach emphasizes that it is not enough
for states to grant citizens abstract rights under the law. Governments at every level must also
create conditions where citizens are able to make choices regarding what they can do and be—
in the process, developing their capabilities and realizing their rights. Denying people oppor-
tunities to fulfill their potential is inconsistent with respect for human dignity, which is the
cornerstone of the philosophy of human rights.
The capabilities approach is rooted in the philosophy of Aristotle, who argued in the
Nichomachaean Ethics that happiness is the ultimate goal of human life—that for the sake of
which people pursue other goals—and it is achieved through people’s full and balanced realization
of their capabilities. Although the development of capabilities requires self-initiative, it also
requires supportive conditions. Nussbaum and Sen (1993) were tasked by the United Nations
with applying Aristotle’s principles to a challenge that the organization faced: how to respond
to member nations that claimed that human rights are an inappropriate imposition of Western
ideas incompatible with cultures that value hierarchy and authority. Nussbaum and Sen (1993)
acknowledged that different cultures express human potentials “to do and to be” differently,
but contended that basic capabilities are universal, defining what it means to be human, and
no government is justified in treating any person as less than human. Sen (1999) also noted
that every region of the world has a history of famous figures who spoke for human beings’
inherent dignity and need for freedom to pursue happiness, using the language of their time
and place, even if their voices were often over-ruled.
Nussbaum (2011) proposed ten “Central Capabilities” of a flourishing life worthy of human
dignity, noting that every society should debate what belongs on this list but arguing that these
ten form a basic minimum. Although her list emerged from her work with women’s collectives
in the developing world, connections can be drawn to articles in the CRC. Some elements
on her list relate directly to statements in the CRC: the ability to live a life of normal length—
not to die prematurely; to enjoy bodily health; to develop the senses, imagination and thought,
which requires access to education, cultural life and the arts; to affiliate with others; to have
time for leisure and play; to develop a relationship with the natural world. Other items on her
list have special meaning in the context of children’s urban experience. Bodily integrity, which
for Nussbaum includes the ability to move freely from place to place, can be applied to children’s
need for independent mobility. The capability to feel a range of emotions that are not
constrained by fear and anxiety is relevant to children’s need for safe communities where they
can engage in diverse activities. Control over one’s environment can be extended to
opportunities for children to create special places, find privacy, and play a role in shaping their
environment. Practical reason—being able to form a conception of the good and engage in
critical reflection about the planning of one’s life—is promoted by children’s participation in

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decisions that affect their communities. Because a capabilities approach values people’s aspirations
regarding what they want to do and be, it recognizes autonomous agency as an essential aspect
of human dignity from the earliest years.
Arguing that the conceptual basis for children’s rights has been under-theorized, Dixon and
Nussbaum (2012) considered contributions that a capabilities approach can make to the
implementation of the CRC, particularly with regard to giving special priority to addressing
children’s needs. They observed that children benefit from protection and support in ways that
are particularly “fertile,” in the sense that basic capabilities developed in childhood form a
foundation for the flourishing of further capabilities later in life, and enable children to become
productive members of their society who can in turn support others in their development.
Disadvantages in childhood can be particularly “corrosive” of lifetime chances, with
correspondingly high costs to society (Dixon & Nussbaum, 2012; Wolff & De-Shalit, 2007).
Early childhood is foundational for the realization of a wide range of human capabilities, and
therefore a capabilities approach affirms the status of even newborns and the very young as
rights-bearers.
Applying principles of the capabilities approach to human rights, it follows that a child-
friendly city must do more than just provide protection, services, and suitable places for children,
important as these provisions are. It must also give children opportunities to make choices
regarding the experiences and competencies that they want to pursue, and it must enable them
to participate in envisioning and working toward conditions for a good life for themselves and
their communities. Although young children may have small spheres for decision making, it
is important to enable children to practice thinking and decision making at every age, as a
measure of respect for their inherent dignity and as preparation for their expanding capacities
for meaningful agency, up to young people’s full assumption of political rights and powers in
adulthood. The participation rights of the CRC are therefore core expressions of a capabilities
approach.

Evaluating Child Friendly Cities from Different Perspectives

A capabilities approach to human rights encourages attention to how children live their lives
in the here-and-now of local spaces, as this is where children find opportunities for action and
experience that are essential to their realization of their capabilities and rights. A similar conclusion
emerges from efforts to evaluate cities’ child-friendliness. Three approaches to evaluating the
child-friendliness of cities can be distinguished: functional assessments based on principles of
environmental and ecological psychology, the extension of findings in child psychology
regarding children’s developing friendship with peers to understand the meaning of friendship
with a city, and children’s own assessments of community features. Each approach makes a
distinct contribution to understanding a CFC, but as there is a great deal of overlap in their
conclusions, they form complementary perspectives that reveal different facets of a CFC.

Functional Approaches to Environmental Child-Friendliness

As a contribution to a theoretical foundation for the CFCI, Horelli (2007) sought to understand
environmental child-friendliness by applying ideas from environmental and ecological
psychology. Building on work by Lewin (1939), Wicker (1972), Michelson (1977), and Stokols,
(1979), she proposed that the concept of person-environment fit or congruence can be evaluated
by investigating whether urban places support people’s pursuit of personally significant projects

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(Little, 1983; Wallenius, 1996). Personal projects change with age, and therefore cities need
to include environmental choices and spaces that children can adapt to their changing needs.
A related concept, affordances (Gibson, 1979), describes fine-grained relationships between
people and their place. An affordance refers to the physical opportunities and risks that a setting
presents to a child, or any other living creature, relative to an individual’s intentions and
capabilities for action. A push-button signal to stop traffic on a busy street, for example, affords
street crossing for an older child who can reach the button and heed the signal to cross in
time, but the street remains an impassable barrier and serious threat to the safety of young
children who do not know how to use the signal and cannot reach the button. Horelli (2007)
drew on the work of Kyttä (2003), who observed that children’s use of affordances in their
environment is regulated not only by qualities of the environment and characteristics of
individuals, but also by social and cultural rules and practices.
Horelli noted that, whereas individuals are the holders of rights in human rights theory,
urban planning seeks to create environments for groups of people. Therefore, the concept of
person–environment fit needs to be complemented by collective environment fit that refers to the
relationship of a group of people with their environment (Stokols, 1979). The concept of a
behavior setting (Barker, 1968) is relevant here: a prescribed pattern of behavior in a specific
setting such as a classroom, youth center, or playground. Horelli suggested that the availability
of behavior settings that afford many opportunities for meaningful action, including settings
that children themselves can influence, forms an indicator of collective environment fit (see
also Chawla & Heft, 2002).
One of the most important functions that a city can afford is free movement through a rich
array of places and behavior settings. Whitzman, Worthington, and Mazrachi (2010) argued
that children’s right to the city, in the form of freedom to move through public spaces, is
essential for their realization of other rights. They illustrate the importance of autonomous
movement by telling a story about the Danish urban designer Jan Gehl, who recalled that his
mother could not understand why it took him eight minutes to get to school when he was a
boy, but two hours to get home. “The eight minutes was a trip,” he explained, “but what
happened in the two hours was the stuff of life” (Whitzman, Worthington, & Mazrachi, 2010,
p. 483). Free movement is necessary for children’s informal participation in their society, as it
enables them to learn about a variety of people and activities, encounter different environments,
access services, make choices, manage challenges, build self-confidence, and find places for
privacy, sociability, and creative play. These opportunities depend not only on adults’ permission
and protection, but also on the physical affordances of neighborhoods (Churchman, 2003;
Freeman & Tranter, 2011).
Kyttä (2004) also put independent mobility at the heart of children’s realization of their
rights in a city. To evaluate child-friendliness, she developed a model of four types of
environments in towns and cities. The most child-friendly community enables children to move
freely across a wide territory and find dense and diverse affordances where they can develop
expanding spheres of competence and learn about their physical and social world. In some
communities, however, children find themselves in a glasshouse where they can see that the
environment contains a multitude of affordances but they are prevented from engaging with
them, a cell where their mobility is so restricted that they are unaware of the wider world
beyond their home, or a wasteland where even if they are free to move around, there is little
to discover. Kyttä found that these categories effectively distinguished different types of
communities that she studied in Finland and Belarus.

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Friendship with a Place

From the perspective of child psychology, Chatterjee (2005) explored the question, what does
a friendly relationship between a child and city mean? In early childhood, she notes, attachment
relationships with caregivers who provide security are primary, but as children grow, so does
their capacity for friendships with peers based on interdependence, mutual sharing, doing things
with each other, and doing things for each other. Childhood friends give each other confidence
to explore their surroundings, meet new people, learn new skills, and acquire new knowledge.
Chatterjee suggested that place friendship implies similar reciprocity. A city is friendly to a
child when it promotes the child’s exploration, self-actualization, and self-expression. Children
reciprocate when they find opportunities to participate in maintaining and caring for their city,
enhancing the city through their energy and creativity.
The goal of a child-friendly city, Chatterjee (2005) concludes, can only be successful if a
city is “made up of numerous and interlocking child-friendly places that children themselves
explore, engage with and develop emotional and affective relationships with through their own
experiences” (p. 18). Policymakers can facilitate these experiences by providing safe access to
a city’s resources and by establishing guidelines for welcoming settings in all the spheres of
children’s lives. This means, Chatterjee observes, that policymakers cannot rely solely on health
and education statistics to measure children’s well-being, but must facilitate the creation of
physical settings where children can flourish.

Children’s Self-Assessments of City Quality

A close “cousin” of UNICEF’s CFCI is the Growing Up in Cities program of the United
Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), which was revived in
preparation for the Habitat II Conference in 1996 with a focus on implementing the
participation articles of the CRC (Articles 12–15). The Committee on the Rights of the Child
ruled that participation rights extend to children’s expression of their views regarding their
physical environment (Hodgkin & Newell, 1998). It follows that children must be involved
in assessing city quality and planning for change. During preparations for Habitat II, leaders
of the CFCI and leaders of the revival of Growing Up in Cities collaborated closely and served
as advisors for each other’s initiatives.
Growing Up in Cities was originally conceived in 1970 by Kevin Lynch, MIT professor
of urban design, in response to the resurgence of the environmental movement and UNESCO’s
establishment of the Man and the Biosphere Program. As a contribution to this new program,
Lynch created Growing Up in Cities to explore people’s developing relationship with their
city in childhood through simple techniques for participatory urban evaluation (Lynch, 1977).
In an interview in 1976, Lynch told the environmental psychologist Florence Ladd, “What is
of most interest to me is what kind of an environment helps people develop into rich full
human beings who reach their potential” (Ladd, 1985, p. 6). He sought to enable children to
document their experience of their cities, and then bring their recommendations for better
urban spaces forward to city councils and planning agencies. To his discouragement, municipal
authorities showed little interest in children’s ideas. The United Nations’ adoption of the CRC
in 1989 created more favorable conditions, encouraging UNESCO to revive the program in
eight countries in 1996 (Chawla, 2002). The program still serves as a model for participatory
planning and urban design with children (Derr, Chawla, Mintzer, Flanders-Cushing & van
Vliet—, 2013; Malone, 2013).

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Chawla (2002) synthesized the views that children expressed in Lynch’s original nine sites
and ten revival sites. Children ages 9 through 15 described how they used their communities,
their feelings about problems and resources, and their visions for improvements, using a variety
of media that included drawings, photography, role playing, interviews, group discussions, and
child-led tours. There was general consistency in what children desired and feared across the
years, as well as across diverse sites that included inner city neighborhoods in Poland, Argentina,
the United States and Norway; communities built around industrial brown fields in Australia
and the United Kingdom; informal settlements in India and Mexico; and a squatter camp in
South Africa. Children talked about the social qualities of their communities as much as physical
features, and these social and physical dimensions were linked. Social relations influenced whether
children were free to move about their communities safely, and physical surroundings were
barren or inviting in different degrees.
On the social side, children evaluated their communities as good places in which to grow
up when they felt welcomed by adults, integrated into community spaces, and safe from bullies
and crime, and when they experienced a cohesive community identity, a tradition of
community self-help, and secure housing tenure for their families. Physically, supportive
communities provided places for peer gathering, a variety of activity settings that children could
observe or join, safe green areas, basic services such as clean water and sanitation, freedom
from physical dangers such as heavy traffic, and pathways for free movement. New program
leaders had better success than Lynch and his colleagues in gaining the attention of municipal
authorities to hear children’s views, but still encountered barriers (Chawla et al., 2005).

Bringing Children’s Rights Home to Localities

To bring the ideas in this chapter home to the places where children live, this section presents
examples of real children making resourceful use of opportunities in their communities, and
even leading efforts to improve community conditions. A major argument of this chapter is
that the concept of child-friendly cities cannot be left to abstract legal frameworks and
structures for governance, essential as these measures are. Children experience a city as child-
friendly only if ideas about children’s rights are translated into “numerous and interlocking
child-friendly places that children themselves explore, engage with and develop emotional and
affective relationships with” (Chatterjee, 2005, p. 18). The following examples from Rio de
Janeiro and Delhi show that supportive places can be created even in difficult circumstances,
and that they are vital for young people’s well-being. These examples also illustrate children’s
agency through both informal and formal participation in their communities, and reciprocity
between rights and responsibilities.

Beating the Odds in Rio de Janeiro

The story of Thiago is part of a project on the everyday lives of children living in poverty
(UN-Habitat, 2008). Thiago was 14 at the time of fieldwork to gather his story, living alone
with his mother in a tiny apartment in Rocinha, one of Rio’s most notorious favelas. It is
estimated that young people 18 and younger form 60 percent of Rocinha’s population of more
than 250,000 people, who live in haphazard squatter housing that climbs a steep mountainside
overlooking the Guanabara Bay. Residents lack adequate access to utilities, sanitation, trash
collection, and police protection. As a central location in the illegal export of cocaine, Rocinha
was a haven for heavily armed drug gangs that ruled its narrow, twisting streets and alleys.

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Fights between rival gangs and against police punctuated daily life. Boys such as Thiago ran
the risk of being mistaken for a member of a rival gang and killed if they ventured outside
their neighborhood.
Thiago’s ability to create a positive, hopeful life for himself despite such a setting is a testament
to the “fertility” of investments in children by governments and community organizations (Dixon
& Nussbaum, 2012; Wolff & De-Shalit, 2007). Thiago’s mother Goretti came to Rio to work
as a maid. When Thiago was two years old, she was fortunate to get a job in a daycare center
where she could bring him with her. The city-run center gave Thiago and his mother strong
roots in their community. After Thiago became old enough to attend public school, he returned
to the center as a volunteer when he was ten, and four years later, he continued to go three
days a week to read and play with the children and lead art activities. “There are many children
for the teachers to care for,” Thiago explained, “and usually they don’t have time to play with
the kids so I play with them. . . . It makes me happy to see them happy.” This generosity is
consistent with Thiago’s self-assurance that, as he said, “I have a conscience of what is right
and wrong.”
Three evenings a week, Thiago attended dance classes in a two-room studio run by a young
woman who raised money for the program herself, with the aid of a benefactor who paid the
rent. Once a week, he took theater classes as well as flute. These nonprofit organizations were
sanctuaries that took children and youth away from the dangers of the street (see chapter by
Raffaelli & Koller in this volume on the human rights of street-involved youth). Participating
in rehearsals and public performances gave Thiago pride and pleasure and took him to new
places around the state. When he had time, Thiago played soccer with friends in their quiet
one-block street that was too narrow for cars, or walked with friends to the public beach two
kilometers away.
A major advantage for Thiago was that when he was 9 years old he took an exam to enter
Dom Pedro II, one of Rio’s oldest and most prestigious public middle and secondary schools,
and he came in second out of 350 applicants—despite the fact that he was attending an
overcrowded public elementary school with minimal resources and competing against children
attending private schools and taking special courses to prepare for the exam. Only 15 applicants
were accepted. A nearby city bus and student bus pass enabled him to get to his new school.
Success at Dom Pedro prepared him for a good chance of gaining admission to one of Brazil’s
universities, which are also entered through competitive exams. In Thiago’s dedication to
education, he was following the example of his mother, who earned a basic university degree
in education at the same time as she worked and raised her son by herself. Today, she directs
a daycare center, and after graduating from Dom Pedro, Thiago dances professionally and teaches
dance classes. He plans to take university admissions exams in the coming year, with the aim
of becoming an architect.
Thiago’s story illustrates key protective factors in the lives of resilient young people. On
the personal side, he showed intelligence, self-control, self-efficacy, a motivation to succeed,
a belief that life has meaning, and a close attachment to a loving parent. In his environment,
he found relationships with other capable adults, friends, an effective school, and collective
efficacy in the organizations that nurtured him (Masten, 2014). Within the limited circumstances
of his life, he managed to realize most of the Central Capabilities that Nussbaum (2011) described:
survival; bodily health; development of his senses, imagination and thought; social affiliation;
leisure and play. Despite Rocinha’s high level of violence, he was able to move through a
network of safe spaces and exercise some control over his environment, experience a range
of positive emotions, and act on his sense of right and wrong. These safe spaces—home,

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neighborhood street, daycare center, dance studio, music and theater lessons, school—helped
him grow into a young person who is an asset to his society. Government support in his life
was limited but vital: the daycare facility, access to Dom Pedro II, public transport to get to
school, the possibility of a university education. Also vital was the initiative and goodwill of
the adults in his community who established and maintained the dance studio and free classes
in the arts. Many other children in Rocinha, lacking the protective factors that Thiago enjoyed
and unable to escape inadequate local schools, faced a foreclosed future or entered the ever-
present drug world.

Children’s Role in Humanizing Forced Resettlements in Delhi

Squatters gravitate to land near essential resources—food, water, opportunities to earn cash,
schools for their children (Swart-Kruger, 2002). When they are evicted, they lose not only
their homes and belongings but also vital networks. Article 16 of the CRC states that, “No
child shall be subjected to arbitrary or unlawful interferences with his or her privacy, family,
home or correspondence”; but as land values rise in urban areas, many governments remove
the poor from their marginal spaces on short notice.
Children and their families suffer evictions as collective groups, and efforts to improve their
lives need to involve them as collectives. Chatterjee (2007) tells the story of children from
Gautampuri, a squatter settlement on the banks of the Yamuna River in Delhi that was in the
view of a new secretariat building for the Chief Minister of Delhi. Soon after the building’s
construction, the government ordered Gautampuri flattened. With the support of a consortium
of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), the 529 families organized to get a stay of eviction
at least until their children could complete their approaching school exams, but the petition
was denied. After this failure, the adults decided to involve the children. Central to this process
was the NGO Ankur, which had been operating libraries and literacy programs in the slums
along the Yamuna and organizing periodic Bal Sabhas, or large children’s meetings. Ankur
organized a three-day community workshop for all school-going children—258 7–16-year
olds—where they created a plan to meet city officials to petition to stay in their homes until
after their annual exams; and 100 representatives from the group staged a sit-in outside the
office of the commissioner responsible for slums until he agreed to meet with them. He too
refused their plea. The children were in despair, but at this point, an NGO took their story
to the press, and three leading newspapers carried accounts of the children’s struggle, along
with their writings and drawings about the suffering associated with forced evictions. For the
first time, the children felt that people with influence were listening to them.
The children’s story attracted the attention of a senior advocate for the Delhi High Court,
a lawyer, and an urban planner, who helped the community file legal notices on behalf of
urban slum dwellers against the city. The children were involved in every step of this process,
and joined the picket line outside the Delhi High Court on the day of the ruling. The court
ruled against the stay of eviction, but ordered that the state must first secure basic facilities at
a site before resettling people. It was a limited victory for the children of Gautaumpuri, but a
landmark case in the history of forced evictions in Delhi.
Families were taken by truckload to barren land in Bhalaswa, on the outskirts of Delhi,
where they were allowed to buy small plots with a 5-year lease. A predetermined plan was
going to be imposed on the community, but the NGO consortium supported women and
adolescent girls in evaluating and rejecting the plan on the grounds that it was unsafe, and a
modified layout was adopted. Ankur continued to work with the children, with the aim of

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nurturing their social, environmental and political learning, including awareness of their rights,
and improving their lives. Ankur staff trained the children in surveying baseline conditions in
their own and other resettlement sites, which provided the only detailed documentation
of living conditions in new settlements, as the government maintained no records. Jawaharlal
Nehru University in Delhi invited the children to share their findings through an exhibit and
theater performance, which enabled the children to reflect on their experience with university
students, academics, activists, and other concerned citizens.
As this process evolved, it moved from adult-initiated actions in which children were involved
in decision making, to child-initiated actions in partnership with adults (Hart, 1997). As the
children became increasingly skilled at developing plans and strategies, they decided that their
barren new settlement needed trees. Representatives of their group and an Ankur facilitator
met with officials of the Municipal Corporation of Delhi to get their planting scheme accepted,
with success. The children invited the manager of a local nursery on a tour of their site and
he helped them with their plant list. Children met again as a group to decide where the plants
should go for the benefit of the community as a whole. With financial help and materials from
Ankur, the Municipal Corporation and the nursery, they planted 225 trees, watered them,
guarded them from grazing cattle and the hot sun—and maintained them so well that the nursery
pledged more plants for the following year. Through ongoing advocacy with children at the
core, Bhalaswa gradually acquired a primary school, a senior secondary school, buses to the
heart of Delhi, water, electricity, and green surroundings.
In this example, supportive spaces were created by NGOS that brought rights-based
advocacy into the children’s community in defiance of government neglect and discrimination
against the poor. Other sympathetic adults in the press, law, urban planning, and higher education
gave the children confidence that they and their families had a right to decent living conditions.
With this encouragement, children were in the forefront of efforts to secure essential services
for their resettlement site. Ankur focused on nurturing the children’s capabilities for imagination,
thought, social affiliation, and practical wisdom through the children’s libraries and Bal Sanghas
that it organized; and in these spaces the children could safely experience a range of emotions
from despair, fear, pain, and indignant anger to social solidarity, hope, and the satisfaction of
success. These spaces gave them a measure of control over their difficult environment.
Empowered by the adults who came forward to help them, they developed leadership skills
that fulfilled Ankur’s aims: to promote an active citizenry by making the children aware of
democratic ideals such as human rights, equality, and social justice, and through this means,
to contribute to the children’s social and environmental learning and improve the quality of
their community.

Governance Structures and Processes that Support Child

Friendly Cities
The preceding examples illustrate a paradox of cities. On one hand, the dense populations,
domination of space by adults, and inequitable economic regimes in cities expose many children
to harsh conditions that violate their basic rights. On the other hand, the diversity of people
and talents that cities bring together create conditions for human enterprise, creativity, problem-
solving, and social justice activism. Children can be both beneficiaries and contributors in these
initiatives to improve urban conditions. By focusing on children’s resilient agency, the
preceding examples do not mean to condone violent neighborhoods or evictions at short notice,
which are undeniable violations of children’s rights. These stories illustrate, nevertheless, the

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types of initiatives that can be supported and leveraged to create more child-friendly spaces
even in very difficult circumstances.
Major obstacles to CFCs that the document Children’s Rights and Habitat (UNICEF, 1997)
identified remain, including discrimination against the poor and a view of cities as engines for
economic growth rather than environments for people. CFCIs cannot change these global struc-
tures. Nevertheless, strategies that bring different sectors of society and government together
to make cities more supportive places for children can have a significant impact. The idea of
a CFC functions much like the idea of sustainable development: It is an idea that can mobilize
action rather than a reality that is comprehensively achieved at one point in time. It is not a
definitive outcome or product to be accomplished and done with, but an ongoing process
of progressive realization, reflecting the dynamics of changing conditions. This conclusion
considers key steps to embed children’s rights in the culture of city governments and governance
more broadly.

Information Collection, Monitoring and Communication

To create more child-friendly cities, it is necessary to know how children are faring and whether
initiatives to improve their lives are having intended effects. Many squatter settlements such
as Rocinha and Gautampuri are unmapped and therefore invisible on official city maps, or if
data is collected, it is often not disaggregated by age or sex, or designed to include indicators
that most directly affect children, such as the location of schools, student–teacher ratios, and
the proportion of children attending school in a locality (Bartlett, 2005). Therefore a major
thrust of the CFCI has been developing indicators of child well-being, including data gathered
by children and their communities. A partnership between UNICEF, the Children’s Environ-
ments Research Group at the City University of New York, and numerous country-based
research institutes and child-advocacy organizations created Child Friendly Places, an inter-
generational assessment and planning methodology that cities, towns, and institutions such as
schools can adapt to evaluate conditions for children, forge rights-based action plans, and assess
progress (Wridt, 2015).
As the children in Bhalaswa showed when they surveyed conditions in resettlement sites,
young people can gather and analyze data effectively when they have the support of advisors.
Using hand-held tools that are now available for GPS (Global Positioning Systems) and GIS
(Geographic Information Systems), young people can learn valuable social, political, and
technical skills as they map their communities (UN-Habitat, 2009). Equally important is
qualitative data about lessons learned from challenges, failures, and successes in the process of
trying to improve community conditions. The Child Friendly Places methodology includes
all of these approaches.
Other ways to gather and apply information are Child Impact Assessments (Yates, 2005)
and budget reviews through the lens of child rights (Office of the Children’s Commissioner,
2013). Some regional networks of countries and city networks are developing their own
accreditation programs to establish formal mechanisms to gather data and assess progress in
meeting CFC goals. A group of countries or cities decide on criteria that are relevant to their
local conditions, create a monitoring system, and submit applications to a panel of judges for
review. Accreditation is valid for a set number of years, when reapplication becomes necessary
(Blanchet-Cohen & Torres, 2015; Malone, 2010).
Sharing information strategically is as important as gathering it. The example of Gautampuri
shows that children’s voices and community surveys can strengthen the effectiveness of civil

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society groups that seek to pressure governments to fulfill their obligations under the CRC.
When governments commit themselves to action for children, indicators of child well-being
form measurable goals to aspire to as well as markers of progress. One of UNICEF’s most
successful CFC initiatives has been the Municipal Seal of Approval, which was initially
introduced in the state of Ceará in northeastern Brazil (Fuentes & Niimi, 2002). By introducing
competition among municipalities and allowing city governments to use the Seal on official
stationery and promotional material, the program encourages cities to collect, monitor, and
publicize child-based indicators, resulting in dramatic improvement in some indicators. Measures
include children’s views on how well their city is serving them. City report cards, State of the
City’s Children reports, and local CFC websites are other ways to make information public
(Bartlett, 2005).
Public and professional education about children’s rights is also necessary. The daycare center
where Thiago volunteered, for example, had posters about the CRC on its walls. Such a space
can be a locus for staff training regarding the implications of the CRC for daily practice, lessons
about rights for children, and outreach to families. Responsibilities to communicate children’s
rights also rest in schools, police departments, court systems, social welfare systems, and health
care systems (Bartlett, Hart, Satterthwaite, de la Barra & Missair, 1999). Government officials
make decisions in distant offices that often impact the quality of children’s environments in
major ways, and they need to understand their impact in the context of the CRC. Whitzman,
Worthington, and Mizrachi (2010) note that children’s right to the city, as well as their realization
of other rights, cannot be achieved without integrating the language of children’s rights into
all levels of planning that govern land use, urban development, and transportation, and training
planners in how to consult with children of different ages.

Broad-Based Partnerships and Coordinating Structures

Gathering and promoting indicators of CFCs and training government officials and professional
staff regarding children’s rights require partnerships between governments and organizations
in civil society, such as international NGOs, e.g., UNICEF, NGOs that work on national and
local levels, universities, and community-based organizations. The private sector also plays a
role: for example, by helping to provide affordable housing for low-income families. These
types of partnerships among government, civil society, and the private sector characterize effective
initiatives to create livable cities for all ages (van Vliet—, 2008). Formal structures are needed
to coordinate and sustain these partnerships. Structures of this kind include a Child Rights
Advocate or Child Ombudsman in city government, Child Rights Committees that bring
partners together, and Children’s Councils (Bartlett, 2005). Children’s Councils can be effective
if they are representative, accountable to the children they represent, and have authority to
review decisions that affect children, such as the allocation of resources for children’s needs in
the city budget (Flanders-Cushing & van Vliet—, in press). Nevertheless, only a few children
sit on a council, and to give as many children as possible practice in participatory democracy,
children need to have a voice in the everyday spaces of their lives (Driskell, 2002; Hart 1997,
2014).
We close this chapter with reflections on a program to make our own city, Boulder,
Colorado, more child-friendly. Named Growing Up Boulder by a vote of the children who
helped launch the initiative, it fuses participatory methods for urban evaluation and action,
promoted by the Growing Up in Cities program of UNESCO, with the CFCI goals of
UNICEF. Through a formal Memorandum of Understanding, the City of Boulder, Boulder

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Valley School District, and the Children, Youth and Environments Center of the University
of Colorado agreed in 2009 to work together to bring participatory urban design and planning
into classrooms and other sites in children’s lives, as a way to provide input of immediate
relevance to the city, such as children’s priorities for the city’s Comprehensive Plan or
Transportation Master Plan or children’s visions for areas targeted for redevelopment. A Steering
Committee includes representatives of the city, school district, and university, as well as numerous
community organizations that work with children and advocate for their interests. This broad
alliance ensures that children from low-income and ethnic minority families, who are least
likely to be heard in the political process, participate in a sustained way (Derr, Chawla, Mintzer,
Flanders-Cushing & van Vliet—, 2013).
Growing Up Boulder could not function without a paid coordinator—or currently, two
part-time coordinators who are based in the university. Their salaries come from the city’s
departments of Community Planning and Sustainability, Parks and Recreation, Open Space
and Mountain Parks, and Transportation, as each department includes public outreach and
participation in its mission, but busy staff do not have time or expertise to work directly with
children on a regular basis. Growing Up Boulder coordinators collaborate with classroom teachers
and staff in youth organizations, taking participatory activities into children’s spaces. Because
the coordinators are based in the university, they are able to enlist undergraduate and graduate
students in design and education, visiting scholars, and design faculty, who engage whole classes
in service learning through program-based projects. In the process, students who aim for careers
in architecture, landscape architecture, and urban planning learn about children’s rights,
children’s needs, and participatory processes for working with children. On their side, children
have opportunities to understand their city better, learn how city government works, share
their ideas with city staff and politicians, and see university students as role models.
Like all alliances, Growing Up Boulder is in some ways fragile. It depends on funding from
city agencies for the coordinators who hold the partnership together. It appears to be growing
stronger with time, however, as the benefits of the partnership become evident to everyone
involved. School teachers and university faculty see the advantages of student learning through
real-world experiences, and city staff see that their projects are more responsive to the needs
of children and their families. Community organizations have more open channels of
communication with city government. The long-term relationship has enabled participants to
come to know each other personally, build trust, see the skills and talents that each person
brings, and learn what works best through trial and error. The result is a perceptible change
in the city’s culture, as the integration of children into urban planning and design becomes an
expected part of decision making.
In closing, we observe that this chapter describes what Wridt, Atmakur-Javdekar, and Hart
(2015) term the “spatializing of children’s rights”: recognition that children’s rights need to be
embodied in the material forms of human settlements. Bringing rights down to earth requires
linking planning at different levels of governance to community-based initiatives to improve
local conditions for children, and including children as citizens who can contribute valuable
ideas. Only then do rights to the city become, in Harvey’s (2003) words, “not merely a right
of access to what already exists, but a right to change it after our heart’s desire” (p. 939).
Achieving this goal, this chapter shows, involves a reciprocal view of rights and responsibilities.
Responsibility rests on governments to ensure that cities comprise humane spaces where children
can fulfill their rights and develop their capabilities, and by this means, children find
opportunities to grow into full-fledged and responsible citizens with the knowledge and skills
needed to manage their cities wisely.

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Acknowledgements
For this chapter’s examples from Rio de Janeiro and Delhi, we are grateful to Illène Pevec, a
graduate of the Ph.D. Program in Design and Planning at the University of Colorado, who
followed Thiago through different spaces of his life to gather his story, and Sudeshna Chatterjee,
architect, researcher, and advocate for the rights of urban children in India. For the unfolding
example of Growing Up Boulder, we owe a debt to the program’s strategic management by
our colleagues Victoria Derr and Mara Mintzer.

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 33
Visual Methods in Participatory
Rights-Based Research with
Children and Young People
in Indonesia and Vanuatu
Harriot Beazley

Introduction
Over the last three decades there has been a major shift in the way childhood and children’s
place in society has been understood. In turn these shifts in conceptions of childhood have
impacted on the ways in which research has been conducted with children and young people.
It is now well acknowledged that ‘childhood’ is a culturally and historically specific institution
(Ansell, 2005; Aries, 1962; Holloway & Valentine, 2004). It is also recognised that notions of
childhood often relate to the global capitalist economy, and the subsequent ways in which the
élite of different countries have been influenced by the ‘global export of modern childhood’
(Stephens, 1995, p. 15). Such a critique points to the Euro-centric construction of an idealised
childhood and the Western export of standardised, ‘best practice’ for improving conditions for
children around the world, irrespective of local community and cultural contexts (Nieuwenhuys,
2003; Stephens, 1995). Ideas about how children should live are often embedded within Western
notions about what is considered acceptable, and unacceptable for the ideal childhood. Children
living in poverty in developing country contexts, for example, are often cast within a Western
centric lens as unfortunate and vulnerable ‘victims’ who need to saved and protected by adults.
These constructions often deny the children themselves any agency and actually conflict with
the lived realities of many children in developing country contexts, particularly those from
poor and marginalised communities. This is because childhood and youth are not universal
categories even within one geographical region such as Southeast Asia or the Pacific, and the
expectations of how children should behave (including when and if they should work) vary
between countries, and in relation to age, gender, ethnicity, religion, culture, geographical
location and the socio-economic status of the child and their family.
Recent work within childhood studies has argued that the construction of a child or young
person’s vulnerability should be challenged through recognition of their own agency, and how

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this agency is cast. The focus on children’s own perspectives of their lives is positioned within
children’s geographies, a discipline that increasingly highlights the multiple identities and realities
that exist for children in the global context (Ansell & van Blerk, 2004, 2007; Beazley, 2000,
2002, 2008, 2015a, 2016; Camacho, 2007; Dobson, 2009; Punch, 2002, 2007, 2009). This
body of work argues that the only way to effectively expose children’s complex and diverse
experiences, particularly in a developing country context, is for the inclusion of children and
young people’s own perceptions and perspectives in research (Dobson, 2009; Punch, 2007;
Punch, 2009; Young & Barrett, 2002; Van Blerk & Kesby 2008). Discussion has been advanced
by researchers who have utilised an ethnographic rights-based approach to emphasise children’s
own conceptualisations and accounts of decisions that they make for themselves, and of those
that have been made for them by adults.
In the past children have been the objects of research, but in recent years, new styles of
rights-based research with children have emerged. Shaped by the United Nations Convention
on the Rights of the Child (CRC, United Nations General Assembly, 1989), these new research
approaches have moved to transform children from being the objects of study into research
participants whose human rights, dignity and opinions should be respected throughout the
research process (Beazley, Bessell, Ennew, & Waterson, 2006, 2009). Such child-centred thinking
recognises children as social actors and active agents (not passive victims), and begins with a
position of respect for children as worthy subjects of research in their own right.
The most informative research with children that invites children to participate in the research
process has been through the use of participatory child-centred, rights-based approaches that
focus on children’s views and lived experiences (Beazley, 2016; Beazley et al., 2009; Bessell,
2009, 2010; Chakraborty, 2009; Van Blerk & Kesby, 2008). Through these approaches
children can be understood as the ‘experts’, while challenging dominant protectionist per-
spectives of their lives (Ennew & Connolly, 1996). Understanding children and young people
as social actors in their own right also allows us to appreciate them as active agents, continually
responding to their immediate social and physical environment, to evade or resist oppression
or abuse, or to cope with a particular situation.
This chapter draws on over 20 years of experience in rights-based participatory research
projects with children and young people in Indonesia and Vanuatu, through the utilisation of
a variety of participatory visual methodologies with children (spontaneous drawings, mental
mapping, and the use of photo voice). The focus of the research outlined in this chapter has
been with marginalised children who are ‘living on the edge’ in Indonesia and Vanuatu: children
living in orphanages in Aceh; and young women facing gendered discrimination in urban
Vanuatu. The chapter stresses the imperative that when conducting this type of research all
researchers must have a clear understanding and appreciation of children’s rights, including the
right to participate in matters that concern them, and that both methodology and methods are
undertaken in a systematic, scientific and ethical way (Beazley et al., 2006, 2009; Ennew &
Plateau, 2004).
The chapter is structured by first providing an overview of rights-based research with children
and young people, and their right to be properly researched. The chapter then outlines the
philosophy of participatory research, before explaining the necessity for participatory research
with children and young people, with a particular focus on visual methodologies. Once these
important overarching frameworks have been clarified, the chapter offers examples from the
field to illustrate how visual methodologies have been successfully utilised during rights-based
research with children and young people in different contexts, in order to understand from
children themselves their own views and lived experiences.

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Rights-Based Research
Participatory research with children and young people is an approach that establishes children’s
participation in research as a human right, producing qualitative scientific data that result in a
deeper understanding of young people’s lives. The key children’s rights principles involved in
this kind of research are non-discrimination, self-determination and participation (Beazley et
al., 2009, CRC, 1989). The process required for systematic data collection and analysis has
evolved from pilot capacity-building in several developing country contexts led by the late
Judith Ennew, and sponsored by Save the Children Sweden, Save the Children UK and
UNICEF Indonesia (Boyden & Ennew, 1997; Beazley et al., 2009, 2014; Bessell, Beazley &
Waterson, 2016).
Rights-based research with children acknowledges children’s own agency, not as the
outcome of academic theory but rather as recognition that they are subjects of rights. Rights-
based research also entails adhering to an ethical strategy that is written into a research protocol.
One basic ethical principle is that all research participants provide information voluntarily, and
they have the right to refuse to answer questions or engage in any research activities, and that
they can withdraw from research at any time. They are not to be forced into participation by
dominating adults in their lives, including teachers, carers and NGO workers. Further,
researchers are responsible for ensuring that participants are not harmed by taking part in the
research or by the way results are disseminated. This includes issues of respect, confidentiality,
privacy and anonymity.

The Right to Be Properly Researched

Within the rights-based approach to children and childhood, children have the right to be
properly researched (Beazley et al. 2009). This right is not a specific provision of CRC but
has derived from an interpretation of a combination of provisions from four articles of the
convention:

• Article 12; Children have the right to express their opinions in matters concerning them;
• Article 13; Children have a right to express themselves in any way they wish – not limited
to the usual verbal expressions used by adults;
• Article 3.3; Children have the right to expect the highest quality services;
• Article 36; Children must be protected from all forms of exploitation, including being
exploited through research processes and through dissemination.

In research terms these provisions translate into children being participants in research, and
using methods that make it easy for them to express their opinions, views and experiences.
The articles can also be interpreted to mean that children need to be protected from any harm
that might result from taking part in research, and that all research must be conducted by
researchers who use quality, scientific methods and analysis (Beazley et al., 2009).
The approach now associated with the right to be properly researched was first used in
1979 (Bessell et al., 2016; Ennew & Young, 1982), before the CRC came into force in 1989
(Ennew, 1986; Ennew & Morrow, 1994). The methodology has always involved what are
referred to as ‘child-friendly’ methods, through which children can participate by sharing their
opinions and experiences (Articles 12 and 13 of the CRC), and systematic data-collection that
results in analysis through both statistical and descriptive techniques (Article 3.3).

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Participatory Research
The most influential and popular participatory research approach in developing country
contexts is based on methods developed over three decades by Roberts Chambers and his
associates at the Institute of Development Studies (IDS), University of Sussex, known as
Participatory Rural Appraisal (PRA), (Beazley & Ennew, 2006; Chambers, 1994, 1997, 1998).
PRA methods are now used in rural and urban locations and the approach has developed into
what is known as PAR (Participatory Action Research) (Chambers, 2008). The methodologies
recognise that the conventional research methods used by government, medical and develop-
ment practitioners, and other professionals to understand and interpret problems in a community
(such as questionnaires and formal interviews), often produce skewed interpretations of the
issues people face, and that are different from the realities and perceptions of the communities
they try to reach. Participatory research also helps to identify and respond to the local cultural
factors that influence the behaviour and practices of a marginalised community. It has been
claimed that participation is about ‘giving everyone who has a stake a voice and a choice’
(Cornwall, 2003, p. 1325). The main principle of the participatory approach is that the people
whose lives are being studied should take an active part in both collecting and analysing the
data. The emphasis of participatory research approaches, therefore, has been on generating
knowledge from the perspective of those being researched, rather than from the perspective
of the researcher (Chambers, 1997, 1998).

Participatory Research with Children

In the past researchers have reconstructed children’s experiences based solely on the accounts
of their parent’s or other significant adults (e.g., teachers and carers) in their lives. Such studies
have raised questions about unequal power relations between the child and the adult researcher,
and how the presence of an adult authority figure may intimidate a child, thus limiting the
child’s response and preventing them from voicing their own concerns (Holt, 2004; Kang,
2013). For example, questionnaires and interviews do not usually generate good data during
research with children, as they tend to ask children to passively answer questions that may not
be meaningful to them, while failing to ask the right questions about children’s own concerns
and interests. As Kang (2013, p. 327) has so succinctly observed: ‘Adult-conceived questions
have constraints and limitations on their own . . . because children usually have undisputable
ability of acquiring and producing new cultural forms and knowledge that go beyond adults’
imagination.’
As already described, participatory research approaches have had considerable success in
gathering information on the lives and views of people who lack power and whose opinions
are seldom sought. Since the establishment of the CRC, they have become increasingly popular
for use in research with children, and the most ideal way of obtaining children’s perceptions,
views and opinions in research. This is based on the knowledge that children are active agents
in their own lives and that research should respect all research participants’ own words, ideas
and understandings (Boyden & Ennew, 1997).
The most significant principles of participatory research with children concern the behaviour
and attitudes of researchers towards children, including being self-critically aware, without rushing
the children during the research process. Such an approach enables the child participants to
have the time to express themselves in their own way and to formulate their own analyses of
the data that they have produced (Chambers, 1994). The researcher’s role is to act as a facilitator,

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to establish trust, listen, learn, and – as far as possible – ‘hand over the stick’ – or control – to
the participants (Chambers, 1994). As a result of this approach all the people and organisations
who are affected by the information collected are fully involved in the research process.

Visual Methods with Children

Many methods used in participatory research are visual, and for this reason they are an ideal
means of communication for illiterate and less articulate people, particularly children. Visual
methods (such as mental maps, drawings and photo voice), allow children to express their
perceptions in ways that minimise their lack of power and any verbal inadequacies. The visual
techniques are also very useful when a topic is hard to talk about, such as corporal punishment,
bodily functions (e.g. sexual and reproductive health) or physical abuse. For this reason visual
methods offer the potential to uncover information about a child and a child’s lived experiences
that no other methods can do.
Visual methods have increasingly been used for research with children and young people,
particularly within the sub-discipline of Children’s Geographies (Beazley, 2000, 2002, 2008,
2016; Chakraborty, 2009; Horschelmann & Schafer, 2005; van Blerk, & Kesby, 2008; Young
& Barrett, 2002). The use of mental maps in particular has been well established as a
participatory method within children’s geographies (Beazley, 2000, 2002, 2008, 2016;
Matthews, 1980, 1986, 1992; Ansell van Blerk, 2004; Young & Barrett, 2002). The use of
photo voice is less established within research with children and young people, but there has
been an increase in the use of the method in recent years (Chakraborty, 2009; Vakaoti, 2009).
Such child-centred approaches offer a suitable way to gain deeper understandings of the multiple
lived experiences of children and young people, in diverse contexts (Beazley, 2000, 2002, 2008,
2016; Blaut, 1997; Golledge et al., 1992; Hart, 1979; Horschelmann & Schafer, 2005;
Matthews, 1980, 1986, 1992)
Child-centred visual methods are rights based as they facilitate a transfer of power from
adult researchers to children, who become active participants in the research process. Visual
methods also enable the researcher to understand children’s spatial expressions from the
perspective of the child, while empowering children to reflect on their own lives (Beazley,
2002, 2016). The methods are useful as they are not as rigid as conventional forms of research
and can be utilised with an individual child or in groups, depending on the situation, which
is often unpredictable when conducting research with children. Often it is possible to generate
a focus group discussion around a particular theme that has emerged from the data (e.g., maps,
drawings or photographs), which provides the opportunity to triangulate the data and gain a
deeper understanding of the children’s lived experiences.

Experiences from the Field

The first part of this chapter has described child–focused visual methods in research with children
as a rights-based approach that establishes children’s participation in research as a human right.
It has also explained how this research approach leads to non-discrimination, self-determination
and participation of children in decisions that affect them (Beazley et al., 2009). In this way
the chapter provides an understanding of the necessity of participatory approaches, and visual
methods in particular, in research with children, in order to counteract the dominant
perspectives and representations instilled in adult-centred discourse about children’s lives,
particularly in developing country contexts.

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The remainder of this chapter aims to confirm the line of reasoning presented so far by
providing examples of two research projects conducted by the author for two international
development organisations. Both of these research projects focused on the lived experiences
of children and young people, through the use of visual methods. The examples are from child-
led research with children living in orphanages after the tsunami in Aceh (Save the Children,
US); and research funded by AusAID (Australia) that explored young women’s experiences of
local kastom (culture) in the Pacific island of Vanuatu1. The social and cultural complexity of
these young people’s experiences are revealed through their visual data, offering a stark contrast
to the dominant adult representations of their lives, which is often inculcated within
development discourse and programming. The chapter raises some important questions about
the appropriateness of traditional social science research methods when conducting research
with children and young people. Instead it calls for an increased use of participatory and visual
methods in research with children, to give children the opportunity to convey their own
experiences through their individual stories, and to ensure that children’s rights are not being
violated by dominant adults.

Example One: Children Living in Orphanages in Post-tsunami Aceh,

Indonesia
In December 2004 the earthquake and tsunami in Aceh, Indonesia had a major impact on the
care situation of children in the region. With almost 130,000 people estimated to have died
in the disaster, another 30,000 missing, and more than 200,000 still displaced a year after the
disaster, the capacity of families to care for their children was seriously challenged. The established
response on the part of international relief agencies and the Indonesian government was to
place separated and presumed orphaned children into residential institutions. Subsequently a
deluge of financial aid for ‘tsunami orphans’, led to the rapid construction of over 35 orphanages
in Aceh where 2,600 children were immediately placed (Martin & Sudrajat, 2006).
By 2006, it was determined that more than 85 per cent of the children who were placed
into orphanages or religious boarding schools after the tsunami had at least one parent alive,
(Beazley, 2015b; Martin & Sudrajat, 2006; Riley, 2013; Save the Children, 2006). The vast
majority of the children who were thought to be ‘tsunami orphans’ by international aid agencies
were not actually orphans. Many of the children had been brought to the orphanage by their
own parent(s) or immediate family because of the impact of the disaster on the family’s capacity
to care for their children. International organisations at the time did not recognise the signifi-
cance and resilience of extended family systems, many of whom could absorb children who
had lost their parents (Abebe, 2009; Beazley, 2015b). For many economically destitute and
displaced families living in ‘barracks’ (temporary shelter), institutional care for their children
seemed the only option available since the bulk of relief funding was directed to building
orphanages, rather than providing families with the support they needed to care for their children
(Beazley, 2015b; Save the Children, 2008). Conversely, funding to these institutions was based
on the number of children that they supported; hence, many parents were reportedly
encouraged to place their children in institutional care (Martin & Sudrajat, 2006). For
organisations and administrators, there was an incentive to recruit children and to keep them
as long as possible (Beazley, 2015b; Save the Children, 2006). By 2007 there were over 16,000
children living in over 200 orphanages in Aceh (Save the Children, 2008).
The reliance on residential care for children facing care and protection issues is not unique
to Aceh (Abebe, 2009; Riley, 2013). Millions of children worldwide, including Indonesia, are

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denied their right to live within a family and are placed in institutions instead. Residential care
immediately implies that there is a rigid and organised structure in the living arrangements for
children, and a professional relationship – rather than a parental or emotional relationship –
between adults and children.
With institutional residential care being so deeply rooted into response mechanisms for
both the Indonesian government and local communities, Save the Children decided that it
was crucial to support the re-examination of the assumptions on which these care responses
were based, and to ensure that a fuller picture was provided about children who are living in
the children’s homes. In addition to conducting research into the situation of orphanages it
was recognised that it was crucial that the organisation heard from children themselves about
their lived experiences and the issues that they faced while in residential care. At the same
time, one key strand of Save the Children’s child protection strategy was to empower children
as social agents and provide those facing particular protection risks with the opportunity to
identify strategies and solutions to the challenges they face. Without children’s insights into
the positive and negative experiences about their lives in the orphanages, it was not possible
to identify appropriate responses that may contribute to the protection of these children. This
was essential for building their resiliency but also to ensure that strategies for intervention were
informed by their wishes and recommendations, which has never normally been the case in
child protection approaches in disaster management (Save the Children, 2008).
In 2007–2008 Save the Children embarked on a participatory research project with the
children living in orphanages in order to gain further insight into some of the issues that are
important to them including their living conditions, friends, loyalty, protection and the rela-
tionships they have with the staff. The research project was designed to involve meaningful
and ethical participation of children to put forward children’s perceptions, experiences, and
views regarding their care situation, and their relationships with their carers, families and their
peers. The research teams consisted of six adult facilitators from Save the Children and three
groups of child researchers (six boys and girls) from the three orphanages in Aceh (18 child
researchers in total) between 12 and 18 years of age. These child researchers were trained in
participatory research methods by a consultant/technical advisor in rights-based research,
so that they could conduct the research themselves and collect data from their own friends in
their institution. Guided by the facilitators the children collected data from their peers who
were the same age and gender. This strategy of gathering data from their peers and discussing
it with the facilitators ensured a greater chance of securing relevant information than a Western
(or Indonesian) adult.
The research targeted children who had come to the institutions since the tsunami. On
average, the children who were involved in the research had lived in the orphanage for as
long as a year, although there were children who had only been there for two months. Forty-
nine children from the three children’s homes participated in the research. Of the 49 children
who were involved, 18 were boys and 31 were girls. Twenty children (41 per cent) reported
that they were orphans (14 of whom were girls) and 29 (59 per cent) said they were not orphans.
The children in the orphanages were between the ages of 8 and 17 years old, although the
children selected for this research were 12 years of age or older.
The aim of the research project was to empower and enable children in the children’s homes
to understand child protection issues affecting them; to design pertinent research questions; to
identify, collect, record and tabulate information; to record and document experiences and
views about their lives in these institutions; and to communicate about their care situation.
They were also assisted in considering their rights and protection needs through an analysis of

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their relationships with their carers, families and their peers. The visual methods used in this
participatory research project included mapping, time lines, and thematic drawings (Save the
Children, 2007). Due to space constraints, for the purpose of this chapter only the data that
was generated from the thematic drawing exercises will be presented.

Thematic Drawing
As already explained, participatory approaches offer a wide range of methods to enable young
people to express and share information, and to stimulate discussions and analysis. Many of
these methods are visually based, providing children with easy ways to explore how they
understand and view their lives and environment. In child-centred research drawings help to
externalise emotions and events and is one of the only means of conveying the complexities
of experiences, memories, or unspoken fears, or anxieties. A drawing helps children to quickly
communicate their experiences individually (Figure 33.1) or in a group setting (Figure 33.2).
The aim of using drawings in this research, therefore, was to explore the different types of
activities in the children’s home, to explore the various types of physical punishment inflicted
on the children according to gender, and to ascertain the children’s perceptions of ‘home’.

Research Results
In terms of the feelings and perceptions of children living in the orphanages one thing that
made many of these children happy and proud was the fact that they were studying the Koran,
Arabic and other religious studies. They were also very proud of the fact that they were able
to study when children in their village were not able to go to school after the tsunami disaster.
Many children in Aceh and elsewhere in Indonesia work full time once they have graduated
from primary school, around 12 years of age (Bessell, 2009). It is often considered a privilege
to go to school and to continue an education, instead of having to go out to work, and in
Aceh there is certainly some level of pride attached to gaining a religious education. What was
clear from the children’s drawings, however, was that in an ideal world they wanted to be
able to live at home and go to school, and that their school would be close to their home,
and their parents would take them to and from school. These wishes are clearly depicted in a
young girl’s drawing in Figure 33.3. (See Figure 33.3 in colour at www.routledge.com/
9781848724792.)

Physical and emotional punishment

The research in the three orphanages sought information about children’s experiences and views
about punishments inflicted on children by their carers and according to gender. SC’s definition
of physical and emotional punishment includes physical and verbal attacks, and humiliating
acts (Beazley et al., 2006). Drawings provided a depersonalised method through which children
could easily express themselves without doing harm; they can draw a person that is not them
when describing punishments that have hurt them. In this way the children do not have to
relive, and be re-traumatised by the experience of pain or humiliation as they might if answering
direct questions from researchers such as ‘show me where you were hit’, or ‘have you been
hit on the head?’ Drawings also revealed those punishments that would not have necessarily
been captured by a survey or in an interview. Overall the results highlight the extraordinary
levels and types of violence to which children are subjected in the name of discipline and child
rearing – a violence that then becomes part of the children’s psychological and social makeup
and thus integral to their lives in the orphanage (Beazley et al., 2006).

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Figure 33.1 Boy drawing.

Source: Harriot Beazley.

Figure 33.2 Girls drawing.

Source: Harriot Beazley.

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 Visual Methods in Rights-Based Research

Physical and emotional punishment were common themes in children’s drawings and the
gendered nature of children’s punishments were clear. Boys drew pictures of having cold water
poured over them by the carer if they did not get out of bed in time (Figure 33.6); having to
stand in the sun (Figure 33.4 and Figure 33.7); doing push ups in the sun (Figure 33.8); and
of being whipped (Figure 33.5). Figure 33.5 depicts a drawing of a boy being whipped by the
Tengku2 (religious teacher) with a large metal chain, after which he is forced to stand in the
sun until sunset. One particularly unpleasant punishment reported by boys was when they were
forced to stand in a ditch that was full of filthy black water and mud. Girls reported having
to clean out the filthy ditch and to scrub the toilets clean (Figure 33.4 and Figure 33.6) and
to sweep the yard (Figure 33.7). In one orphanage the manager frequently threatened the children
that he was going to ‘throw you in the sea’ to frighten them to do what was required. This
was a particularly malicious form of psychological abuse, given the recent disaster. (See Figures
33.4–33.8 in colour at www.routledge.com/9781848724792.)
When asked about the physical punishments in Islamic schools one reason given by the
Tengku was that it is culturally appropriate for children to be beaten if they do not memorise
the Koran, or if they do not prepare their homework, and that corporal punishment is widespread
in Islamic schools (Figure 33.7). It is argued that the Koran states that it is acceptable to be
strict with a child if s/he is not learning the text, and if necessary to beat them lightly to make
them work harder. Many people therefore believe that beating is permitted for the sake of
education, although some will argue that there has been a misinterpretation of the Koran and
that it does not say anywhere that teaching should involve beating.

Children’s perceptions of “home”

During the research children often talked to the researchers about missing home, especially in
respect to getting together with their parents and brothers and sisters, as shown in the young
girl’s drawing in Figure 33.9. In Aceh it is still not known how a child’s relationship with a
child’s family has been affected from spending a long period of time in an orphanage, or how
such relationships have changed over time.
As well as missing their immediate family some of the children missed playing with their
old friends in the village. Whenever there is a holiday the children try to go home, and if they
cannot go home, they hope that their mother, father or siblings will be able to come and visit
them. The children wanted to go home more often than they did, but there were strict visiting
times in all three of the children’s homes. In Figure 33.10 a young boy laments how he is not
allowed to go and visit his family whom he really misses. (See Figure 33.10 in colour at
www.routledge.com/9781848724792.)
How often children went home was dependent on the distance involved. If their home
was far away it meant that they rarely went home, because of the cost and time it took to get
there. The research outlined here showed that many children did have close contact with their
families and did go home frequently, while others visited less frequently, if at all. Children
reported going home once a week, once every two weeks, once a month, once every five
months; or once a year. One child reported that he never went home, but just sent letters. In
addition, very few children reported talking to their parents on the telephone. In respect of
their family members visiting them at the children’s home, the children were very unhappy
with the infrequent visits they received. Some children expressed significant anger when their
mother or father did not visit as promised: ‘Im really angry at my father and mother, they said
they would come today but they didn’t come’ (Boy, aged 13). This anger was quickly followed
by sadness and feelings of rejection and loss.

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Figure 33.9 Girl, aged 11: ‘Last night I dreamt I was walking with my family, I really missed
my little sister last night.’

Some children reported that their parents promised that they would come and visit but
then did not. It was possible that some parents or family members did not visit as they did not
have any money for transportation or to give to their child when they arrived, and so they
avoided the problem by not visiting. This had a significant impact on the child’s life in the
orphanage; having no money meant that they could not buy soap, washing powder, medicine,
or snacks to alleviate hunger pains, as the food was often reported by the children to be
insufficient and bad. If they had no money then they had to rely on the generosity of their
friends, who shared with them their snacks and soap, or lent them money until their parents
visited or sent them money by post.

Reflections
Since the tsunami the building of orphanages has enticed aid because of their high visibility
and donor appeal, and also because of the perpetuating myth of the tens of thousands of tsunami
‘orphans’. The aim of this research was to re-examine the assumptions on which the reliance
on residential care for children facing care and protection issues were based, and to ensure that
a fuller picture was provided about the children who are living in the orphanages.
The results from this child-led participatory research into children’s lives in three orphanages
in Aceh provides significant insight into the children’s experiences of care, and their views of
their care system. The graphic images of the punishments they receive and the anguish they

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feel about being separated from their families offer a disturbing insight into the violation of
their rights, including their right of protection from all forms of abuse and neglect (Article 19);
the right to maintain contact with both parents on a regular basis (Article 9.3); the right to
preserve his or her identity (Article 8); the right to family reunification (Article 10) and the
right to assistance to enable the child to fully assume his or her responsibilities within the
community (Preamble and Article 18).
Further, opportunities for attachment and for reasonably continuous relationships with
parental figures are fundamental to child development, especially in the early years (Richter,
2004). As Richter (2004) has said: ‘Sensitivity and responsiveness have been identified as key
features of caregiving behaviour related to later positive health and development outcomes in
young children’ (p. 1). The lack of personal attention, sensitivity and affection shown towards
the children who participated in this research needs to be urgently addressed. Whether the
child has one or both parents, the evidence suggests that for children living in residential
care their contact with parents and the wider family decays over time (Tolfree, 2003).
Such circumstances are a violation of children’s rights and not in the best interests of the child
(Article 13).
This rights-based child-focused research in Aceh’s children’s homes has exposed the
systematic violation of children’s rights that must be addressed in future policy and programme
interventions. It also offers a clear critique of the assumptions made by the development
organisations who funded the building of the orphanages, without seeking the opinions from
the children for alternative solutions to support them and their families. Demonstrating the
importance of placing more emphasis on what children themselves have to say about their
situations, and what constitutes good practice, the research also reveals a clear need to
reconsider child protection strategies for children in disaster situations.

Example Two: Kastom and Cultural Transformation among Female

Adolescents in Urban Vanuatu
This second example of the use of visual methods in participatory research with children and
young people comes from research conducted in the Pacific island of Vanuatu. The research
sought to understand how the infiltration of globalised conceptualisations of ‘childhood’ and
‘youth’ is changing young women’s own constructions of identity and their engagement with
local culture in Vanuatu, and what this means for their position in a patriarchal society. This
investigation evolved as a small research project attached to the larger AusAID (Australian Aid)
funded Vanuatu Kastom Governance Partnership, between the Australian Centre for Peace
and Conflict Studies (ACPACS, the University of Queensland) and the Malvatamauri National
Council of Chiefs in Port Vila, Vanuatu. During workshops on conflict transformation and
governance with the village chiefs, and facilitated by ACPACS staff and local trained facilitators,
both young people and women in Vanuatu were identified as potential ‘tension points’ in
village life due to their increasing rejection of kastom (traditional culture), in terms of their
cultural practices, dress, behaviour and use of language.
In addition to the workshops with the chiefs, focus group discussions (FGD) were organised
with older women when they lamented how young women in particular were rejecting kastom.
When they were asked if things had changed in Vanuatu society since they were young, the
older women felt that the church and the British and French colonial education systems had
led to the curtailment of many kastom activities, and that the ‘White man’s education system
(school) has taken time away from learning about kastom’ (Older woman, FGD, Port Vila).

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They also complained that young girls no longer learn respect, and that they are too influenced
by Western music, dancing, and ‘dressing up’ (hair, make-up, and the ‘new fashion of life’).
The older women also felt that there were strong influences on girl’s sexuality from: ‘TV soap
operas and DVDs, T-shirts, media and drugs which lower their inhibitions. All these influences
make these young women forget their kastom obligations’ (Older woman, FGD). During these
workshops and focus group discussions it was clear that the common perception held by adults
about young women was that they were drifting away from traditional ways of doing things
and that young people were unconcerned about kastom due to the proximity of ‘white man’s
ways’ (Older woman, FGD, Port Vila). This threat of the breakdown of culture was perceived
by both the chiefs and the older women as a threat to village life and contributing to
community conflict and domestic violence.
One of the reasons why young women were seen as a ‘problem’ in Vanuatu by their elders
was because an increasing number of young people – boys and girls – were leaving the domestic
sphere and the islands, and moving to the capital city Port Vila, on the island of Efate. Once
in these new urban environments the processes of globalisation facilitated their access to new
forms of communication and information that enabled them to make newly informed choices
that included appropriation of new cultural expressions and changes in their dress and behaviour
(Ansell, 2005).
A participatory research project was designed to explore where and how these tension points
were emerging, from the perspective of young women themselves. The research was particularly
interested in seeking to understand the lived experiences of young women who were living
in urban areas, and the challenges they are facing through expectations for them to uphold
Ni-Vanuatu culture and kastom in their new globalised worlds. The data for this research was
collected through rights based participatory research with a group of ten female adolescents
aged between 14–19 years old, living in the capital city of Port Vila. The research was conducted
at a development theatre NGO and centre for young people, Wan Smol Bag (WSB), which
greatly facilitated the research process and the recruitment of the young research participants
who attended the youth centre. WSB is core funded (donor funding to cover the operational
costs of the NGO) by Australian Aid, Oxfam and New Zealand Aid.
The participatory approaches employed for data collection included the collection of mental
maps drawn of the city by the girls, and the use of ‘photo voice’ which asked young women
to take photographs of ‘kastom’ in their everyday lives. Focus group discussions were facilitated
on the completion of each method to discuss the visual data that had been generated by the
young women. The research proposal was approved by the Malvatamauri National Council
of Chiefs, the Vanuatu Cultural Centre (VKS), Wan Smol Bag and the AusAID desks in
Canberra and Port Vila.

Kastom
The lives of young women in Port Vila, Vanuatu, cannot be explained without first
understanding the Vanuatu ideological construction of femininity and the ‘traditional’ role of
women within kastom and governance discourse, which is reproduced through kastom, state
and mainstream society discourse. More specifically, it is important to recognise how these
ideological constructions play out in public spaces, and how young women are expected to
conform to specific codes of dress and behaviour within these spaces. In Vanuatu kastom together
with religious ideas and upbringing have been a major influence on women’s role in society.
Specifically, the ideology of femininity within kastom and Christianity narrowly defines the
‘traditional’ role of women as mothers and housewives. To this end there is a gender division

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of responsibility between men and women and this also represents a division between men
and women’s status and privilege under kastom. Men are considered superior, while women
are there to support their husbands, maintain the household, grow and cook food, look after
the children and the elderly and tend to the family garden and animals.
In Vanuatu as elsewhere in the Pacific, gender roles and the cultural expectations of boys
and girls, are taught at an early age. Gendered socialisation begins at birth, with the differential
treatment of parents and caregivers to boy and girl children (Cummings, 2008, 2013; Mitchell,
1998). Children are expected to show obedience to adults, and children are taught their gender
roles and socialised to the correct behaviour for boys and girls. Girls, therefore, are traditionally
expected to inhabit private domestic spaces and are more restricted in their mobility than boys
from an early age. They are expected to dress in a modest way, in ‘Island dress’, to respect
their fathers and brothers, and to help their mothers (Cummings, 2013). Many of the controls
exerted on the girl child – ideas of modesty taught at an early age; correct behaviour; lack of
freedom of movement away from the home – are based on ensuring the virginity of girls until
they marry. Loss of virginity and pregnancy before marriage brings shame on the family, can
change a girl’s life, her education and job prospects and her personal development.

Research Process: Mental Maps

On the first day of the research the group of ten girls and the researcher met at WSB. After
introductions and ice breakers the girls were informed about the nature of the project. They
were asked whether they wanted to participate and if they did to sign an ‘informed consent
form’, confirming their willingness to participate in the research project. They were also asked
to sign that they understood that they had the right to withdraw from the research process at
any time
For the first participatory research exercise the girls were invited to draw ‘mental maps’ of
Port Vila, depicting certain places in the city that were important to them, in order to view
the city of Port Vila from the children’s perspective (Beazley, 2000, 2002, 2008, 2016; den
Besten, 2010; Gould & White, 2012; Matthews, 1980, 1986, 1992; Travlou, Owens &
Thompson, 2008; Young & Barrett, 2002). The maps were then presented to the group by
each individual and everyone was permitted to ask questions about the map drawn. Once all
the maps had been discussed individually a focus group discussion was facilitated, focusing on
the main issues that had been raised by the group.
Asking young people to draw or construct maps offers a rich and layered description of the
mapmakers’ perspective of their local environment. If a young person creates a spatial map of
where they live, they will likely include all the places that are important to them and where
they go every day. Maps are also able to capture emotional and other abstract connections
experienced by the mapmaker, and are a tool for young people to share their stories; about
themselves and where they live. When created in a group setting, the telling of stories not
only reinforces the shared experiences of those involved, but the end product presents a snapshot
of the children’s lives as they perceive it.
The maps in this research were collected to understand the geographical reality of the
participant’s everyday experiences, and to better understand their geographies of emotions,
and any geographies of resistance to traditional cultural expectations of how they should behave
(Beazley, 2016; Blazek & Windram-Geddes, 2013; den Besten, 2010; Kraftl, 2013; Pile &
Keith, 1997; Relph, 1976). To this end, the girls were asked to draw a map or ‘picture’ of
the city, and to mark the places where they spent most of their time or that were import-
ant to them. They were also asked to mark places: ‘Where you go every day’; ‘Where you

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feel safe’; ‘Where you go to relax’; ‘Where you hang out with friends’; ‘Where you don’t feel
safe’; ‘Your favorite place’.
The mental maps drawn by the girls indicated how the urban public space was culturally
managed, arranged, used, and represented by different girls in the same group. The approach
was an attempt to ‘give voice’ to children’s everyday realities, and to identify the range of
places or ‘activity nodes’ that were tied to various aspects of their lives (Matthews, 1992). As
well as enabling a view of the city from the young women’s perspective, the maps were a
great tool for stimulating conversation, helping them to articulate their experiences in different
places. Once the maps were drawn time was spent discussing them, which inevitably stimulated
longer conversations, drawing out more information about their lives, their attitudes and
emotions, and their diverse experiences in Port Vila.
In Figure 33.11 Ranya2 (17) has drawn her favourite place and the places she feels safe: her
family’s house, church, and the NGO WSB. WSB very important in all the girl’s map’s and
was marked as the ‘favourite place’ for many. WSB is a donor funded youth centre that aims
to create awareness and engagement with issues surrounding education, reproductive health,
governance and human rights, the environment and conservation, and gender. It is somewhere
these girls can go to play sports at the sports centre, play music, go on computers, and learn
about photography, nutrition, family planning and reproductive health.
Ranya has also drawn a place on the street where she likes to hang out with other friends,
including boys. When she is at this place she drinks alcohol and smokes cigarettes and
marijuana with her friends. They also sometimes drink kava although she has never been to
the ‘Kava Bar’ which is marked on her map as it is a ‘mans place’ and women are not allowed

Figure 33.11 Ranya’s (aged 17) map.

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inside. Ranya has also never been to the night club marked on her map and says that it is an
‘unsafe place’ because of the men who go there.
In Figure 33.12, Lorie (16) has drawn ‘Smolbag House’ (WSB) and her own house as safe
places and the nightclub as an unsafe place. She has also drawn places she likes to go and shop,
including the market, shopping centres and the secondhand shop where the girls can buy cheap
Western style clothes made in China. As places she likes to go to relax, Lorie has drawn her
friend’s house, the Grand Stand where she ‘like to go rest’, and Dambear Hall to ‘hang
out’ and ‘kilim taem’ (Bislama for ‘killing time’) or ‘waet peij’ (white page) which is slang for
‘doing nothing’. On the right hand side of the map, Lorie has written along a road ‘we like
to walk on the road’.

Figure 33.12 Lorie (aged 16): ‘My own map.’

During discussions Lorie and the other girls said they had to be very devious and create
strategies to find time away from their family to go and hang out with boys in the places marked
on their maps. The girls also openly discussed boyfriend issues and problems of jealousy, their
boyfriends who ‘pass behind’ (are unfaithful), and how it was usually girls who had to pay for
things, and not the boys. For these reasons some of the girls said they only seek older men, for
money and more security.
In Figure 33.13, 15-year-old Amilia drew a map with her house at the centre and all the
important places branching out from there. As with the other girl’s map, ‘Wansmolbag’ was
a central place in her map, and was a safe place for her, along with the church, and her
grandfather’s house. Amilia talked about how although she felt safe in her grandfather’s house
and at church, she had to behave differently to when she was at WSB and she could not talk
about boyfriends or wear Western clothes. All of the girls described how they had to wear
traditional island dress when they went to church, and that they were not permitted to talk at
home or in church. They were also not allowed to smoke or drink at home or bring boys
home. Amilia and the other girls discussed how the church prohibited family planning, going
to the movies and wearing trousers (pants), but how they were encouraged to do all those
things when they went to WSB. ‘This is where I feel safe. WSB help plenty youth for not
getting HIV/AID and STI.’ Amilia also drew the beach on her map, where she likes to go to
relax.

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Harriot Beazley

Figure 33.13 Amilia’s (aged 15) map.

Photo Voice
Photo voice is a research method where cameras are given to young people to enable them
to take photographs of their lived environment (Chakraborty, 2009; Wang & Burris, 1997,
n.d). The cameras are usually disposable or cheap digital cameras that are easy to use. As a
method it can be used with individuals or as a group method, on a single theme or as a photo
essay: ‘Photo voice uses the immediacy of the visual image and accompanying stories to furnish
evidence and to promote an effective, participatory means of sharing expertise’ (Wang & Burris,
n.d., p. 1). Photos from this approach are also potential catalysts for social action and change
to enable young people to record and reflect on their experiences, strengths and concerns
(Chakraborty, 2009). The method is also very useful to promote critical dialogue and knowledge
about young people’s personal issues, through group discussions of the photographs.
On the second day of the research the same girls were given disposable cameras and trained
how to use them and were then asked to go away and take photos of anything that represented
‘kastom’ to them in their everyday lives. They were asked to go away for a few days and take
ten photos each, and to record a note of what they had photographed in a small notebook
they were also given. The group met again to share their photographs and to discuss them in
a focus group a few days later.
The young women were asked to take photographs of what ‘kastom’ was for men and
women and of the places they went to that they felt safe. The photos depicted in Figures
33.14, 33.15, 33.16 and 33.17 provide stark evidence of gender relations for women in
Vanuatu and the young women’s perceptions about these practices. However, the photos
and subsequent discussion also revealed how the young women do not wish to publicly
challenge the culture of kastom, and that generally they wish to play by the rules of patriarchal
society.
During focus group discussions about the photos they had taken the girls agreed that women
have to do much more in terms of kastom than men. The only cultural practice that any of

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Figure 33.14 Girl (aged 16): ‘Lady weaving a mat. We use mat to make
kastom sometime we use it to buy woman with it.’
Source: Harriot Beazley.

Figure 33.15 Girl (aged 15): ‘In Vanuatu the women have to do
everything at home.’
Source: Harriot Beazley.

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Harriot Beazley

Figure 33.16 Girl (aged 15): ‘Woman washing in Tongoa woman do

everything washing etc. – they do everything more than
men do.’
Source: Harriot Beazley.

Figure 33.17 Girl (aged 14): ‘Sewing island dress which is our traditional
dress.’
Source: Harriot Beazley.

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Figure 33.18
Girl (aged 17) Preparing Kava: ‘Some of
these people they don’t have job and
they usually plant kava in the island and
when it’s ready they come to Port Vila
and make money out of it.’
Source: Harriot Beazley.

Figure 33.19 Girl (aged 17): ‘The old man sale kava and also drinking
kava too.’
Source: Harriot Beazley.

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the girls identified for men was growing, making and drinking kava (a traditional intoxicating
brew made from ground kava roots), as shown in Figure 33.18 and Figure 33.19.
During discussions about their photos (and their maps the previous day) the group concurred
that life in the islands was much more restrictive for young people than in Port Vila, particularly
for girls. They said that in the islands there were strict dress restrictions and that they were
required to wear island dress more often (Figure 33.20).
In terms of dress, the girls said that they were also not allowed to wear trousers (pants) in
the islands but that there was more freedom in Port Vila, although many felt uncomfortable
wearing trousers in Port Vila where it is also often met with disproval (see Cummings, 2008).
The young women also explained how their mobility was restricted in the islands and how
girls in particular were not allowed to leave the house while boys had more spatial freedom.
They said there was ‘nothing to do’ in the village where girls learn domestic duties and have
to cook, look after their siblings, clean, collect water, work in the garden, and go to the market
with their mothers. Boys had much more freedom to roam and play with friends far from the
home.
All of the young women expressed how they had ‘more freedom’ in Port Vila in respect
to: ‘how you can dress – where you can go, what you can do.’ One girl commented on how
in the islands girls were not allowed to play sport, but that in Port Vila, at the NGO WSB
girls were able to play basketball, futsul, netball, hockey and volleyball at the sports centre that
was built with donor money from New Zealand Aid in 2005. In Figure 33.21 one girl took
a photo of a team of girls playing basketball at the NGO. (See Figure 33.21 in colour at
www.routledge.com/9781848724792.)

Figure 33.20
Girl (aged 16): ‘Mother and baby. In
kastom we must use island dress coz is
our traditional culture.’
Source: Harriot Beazley.

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Figure 33.22 Girl (aged 15): ‘Most Vanuatu women don’t aloud [sic] to wear short that in the
island = in Port Vila many people come over and change their life style and do
what they want. Girls can play sport too. Most Vanuatu boys playing sport and
not enough chance for girls to play. But from now on girls can play netball
and other sports like football.’

In her note book she also drew a picture of a girl playing basketball (Figure 33.22), and
wrote the caption around it.
The photo in Figure 33.23 is of the research participant’s clothes at WSB, demonstrating
how they are able to wear Western style clothes and shorts, and not island dress when they
are at WSB. (See Figure 33.23 in colour at www.routledge.com/9781848724792.) It was clear
from the maps, photos and the focus group discussions that WSB was an important site in the
research participant’s lives, and a ‘safe place’ and ‘favourite place’ for many of them of (Figure
33.24). It was a place where they could dress as they pleased, and where they learned new
skills. The girls clearly attached positive meanings to WSB and identified with it very strongly
as a place of empowerment.
The young women reported that the youth workers at WSB are very aware of what young
people in Vanuatu need, and provide a safe space for them to hang out, relax, play sport and
engage in other leisure activities. They also learn about their rights as children and young people
through an introduction to the CRC, and many participate in community theatre groups,
computer training, literacy and numeracy skills, and vocational and life skills (e.g. reproductive
health, nutrition and cooking).

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Figure 33.24 Girl (aged 17): ‘This is a safe place for me.’
Source: Harriot Beazley.

WSB was also somewhere where the girls said they could meet boys and engage in Reggae
and Hip Hop culture (Figure 33.25). In Vanuatu, research by the VKS Young People’s Project
identified Rastafarian culture and Hip Hop culture as being extremely popular among urban
youth (Mitchell, 1998). Specifically, the smoking of marijuana among young people has become
a significant issue in Port Vila. The reasons why young people identify with these subcultures
has been explored in the context of marginalisation.

Visualising Girlhood
The visual methods used in this research project, together with the subsequent discussions with
the research participants reveal how girls in Port Vila have distinct ‘multiple and shifting identities’
depending on which space they occupy and who they are with (Beazley, 2008). The maps in
particular demonstrate that the young women are able to perform an identity that maintains
the ‘good Vanuatu girl’ in the home or in public places such as the market and the church,
and others that fulfil their personal desires, often at night in dimly lit places. What the young
women have also revealed in their maps, photos and discussions, however, is that regardless
of what they think about the restrictions placed on women in Vanuatu society, they do not
wish to openly resist patriarchal society or kastom, but instead wish to continue participating
in cultural practices and adhering to traditional dress and behaviour, at least for some of the
time. For example, in spite of the girls’ complaints of the restrictions placed on women in
Vanuatu, which were revealed during discussions about their maps and photos, all of the girls
said that they went to church. They also said that when they went there they were required
to adhere to strict dress restrictions, including wearing island dress, and no makeup, braids,
jewellery or nail polish. Irrespective of these constraints they reported that they liked going to
church and that it made them feel safe, as depicted in Figure 33.26.
Nevertheless, young women in Port Vila have found ways to challenge traditional concepts
of feminine identity, and the data reveals how new forms of femininity are emerging as they
seek to negotiate traditional Kastom/Ni-Vanuatu values and traditions, while embracing a more

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Figure 33.25 Girl (aged 15): ‘These guys are from the Hip Hop Squad at WSB.’
Source: Harriot Beazley.

Figure 33.26 Girl (aged 17): ‘This is a safe place for me.’
Source: Harriot Beazley.

global youth culture. This trend follows demographic change, including island to urban migra-
tion, which has led to many young women searching for new opportunities and identities.
Specifically, the rights-based research has shown the complex relationship young Ni-Vanuatu
women have with tradition, and how they seek to redefine tradition within their own
‘modern’ lives, by choosing to uphold some aspects of kastom that are useful to them, while
incorporating these with elements of the imported globalised world, to which they have attached
new localised meanings.

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Within this context, the results from the participatory research demonstrates that young
urban Ni-Vanuatu girls are not passive recipients of hegemonic gender socialisation within
Vanuatu, but neither are they totally rejecting traditional culture, as perceived by many of
their elders. Instead they can be understood as active agents in their constructions of feminine
identities and the negotiation of their lived expressions of gender. By providing an insight into
young women’s involvement in traditionally male activities, such as playing sport, listening to
Hip Hop and Reggae, drinking alcohol and kava, and smoking ganja (marijuana), and how
they simultaneously negotiate and construct gender in a predominantly patriarchal society, it
is possible to consider the wider concepts of youthful subjectivity and femininity in Vanuatu
(see Harris, 2004). This has all been made possible through the utilisation of participatory rights
based, child-focused visual research methods with the young people themselves.

Conclusion
A central theme embedded throughout this chapter is that children’s perspectives and
understandings of their lives must be taken seriously if development policies are to be children-
centred, context appropriate, and prioritising children’s rights (Bessell, 2010). With this in mind,
the chapter illustrates how rights-based participatory research with children and young people
is vital in order to understand children’s views and lived experiences in the developing world
(Beazley, 2016; Beazley et al., 2009; Bessell, 2009, 2010; Chakraborty, 2009; Montgomery,
2001; Vakaoti, 2009).
The two case studies presented in the chapter, from Aceh and Vanuatu, demonstrate how
understandings of the cultural context and local circumstances, and children’s own self-
reported experiences and views, are essential to assess the relevance of Western interventions
into marginalised young people’s lives (Penn, 2005). Both of these studies generated valuable
data by fully engaging young people in the research process through the use of participatory
child-centred visual methods.
In the case of post-tsunami Aceh the need for humanitarian and international development
policy to reconsider long term residential care as a child protection strategy in disaster situations
was revealed through participatory, child-led, rights based research with children living in three
institutions in Aceh (Beazley, 2015b; Beazley et al., 2009). The case study draws attention to
serious violations of children’s rights in post-tsunami Aceh, due to the inappropriate intervention
to place children in residential care after the disaster. The institutionalisation of children in
Aceh after the tsunami reflects the prevailing Western notion of best practices in disaster
management at the time. The decision disregarded the best interests of the children and their
right to express an opinion in matters that affect them, as enshrined in Article 12 of the CRC.
As Abebe (2009) and Riley (2013) have emphasized, Western donors and aid organisations’
inaccurate, ethnocentric construction of disaster orphans has led to a failure to understand
culturally based family structures, practices, resilience, and needs. This has included a disregard
of the child’s right to live in a family home, with institutional care only as a last resort and not
as a default response as seen in Aceh.
The children’s drawings collected during this research show that there is a widespread
prevalence of physical and emotional punishment in all three children’s homes. Violations of
children’s rights were uncovered, including systematic physical and verbal abuse by carers,
teachers and other children, and strict regimentation and harsh discipline. This is a violation
of a child’s right to protection from all forms of abuse and neglect, indicated in Article 19 of

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the CRC (Beazley 2015b; Save the Children 2008). This also violates the child’s right to grow
up in an atmosphere of happiness, love and understanding (CRC Preamble).
In the second case study in Vanuatu the information generated by the female participants
about their lives allowed a greater understanding of the geographies and identities of female
adolescents in Port Vila. The visual data provided an insight into the young women’s cultural
involvements, their values of self-determination, their feelings of belonging, and how they
navigate and construct kastom in a traditional society. Both the photo voice and mental maps
brought up significant issues of gender relations for young women in Vanuatu. They were
also catalysts for in-depth discussions about a variety of issues that the researcher would not
have known to consider had these rights-based visual methods not been used.
The reason young people and women were seen as a ‘problem’ by village chiefs and women
elders was because they were seen to be challenging the traditional ways of doing things, through
the appropriation of new cultural forms. One of the most important findings of this research,
however, was that the perceptions held by village chiefs and older women that young women
living in Port Vila are unconcerned about kastom was unsupported by the data. Instead the
visual data and subsequent discussions demonstrated that many young women and girls regarded
kastom and their kastom language as vital component of their lives. What the research found,
therefore, was not an absolute rejection of traditional life by young women, but rather a
renegotiation of tradition through interactions that are constructed through social relations.
The data demonstrates that they wish to participate in global youth culture, and they are
attempting to assimilate this desire with their traditional religious and cultural beliefs. This can
be understood as an example of what Massey (1999) has described as ‘cultural hybridization’
(the blending of different cultures, such as Western culture and kastom).
Interestingly the solution that the girls in this research had found to balance these desires
was their connection to the NGO, Wan Smol Bag. It was clear from the research findings
that WSB was an important site of gender equality for young women and has had a significant
impact on the young women’s confidence, identity formation, their sense of empowerment
and feelings of belonging. A number of positive impacts on the young women’s lives are a
direct result of their experiences provided by the NGO. This evidence-based research suggests
that young women’s rights are being upheld in Vanuatu by a local NGO supported by inter-
national donor funding, including their right to leisure, play and recreational activities (Article
31) that have previously been denied to girls in traditional society. This is in direct contrast
to the development interventions described in the first case study.
Both examples from the field presented in this chapter demonstrate the positive impact this
research can have on the dominant perspectives when children’s views are taken into account.
On a policy level, therefore, it is necessary to question adult-dominated protectionist agendas
that position children as source of anxiety and as passive ‘victims’ or ‘problems’ who need to
be confined. Although most international welfare agencies claim to be ‘rights-based’ in their
approaches to working with children, the methods that these agencies adopt to conduct contem-
porary research into children’s lives are problematic, and are often directed by adult-centric
agendas that are dismissive of the agency, autonomy and resiliency of the child. As Camacho
(2007, p. 98) suggests: ‘The lack of conceptual autonomy relegates children to the periphery
of interest, but when attention is on children, they are reduced to the category of victims which
justifies the protectionist and rescue orientation of policies and programs for them.’
There is still much research to be done with children in the Asia-Pacific region, in order
to understand what motivates them and what their experiences are – both positive and negative

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– and from the perspective of young people themselves. It is recommended, therefore, that
further participatory rights-based research using visual methods is undertaken, to give children
alternative accessible ways to convey their lived realities. Such an approach will ensure that
development planning and programming are appropriate for the Asia Pacific region, and that
children’s rights are not being violated in the name of protection.

Notes
1 The views expressed in this publication do not necessarily reflect the views of Save the Children or
Australian Aid (DFAT).
2 Tengku is a formal title of respect for a religious teacher in Aceh.
3 In order to protect their identities all the names of the girls who participated in this research have
been changed.

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 34
Child Rights and
Practitioner Wrongs
Lessons from Interagency Research
in Sierra Leone and Kenya

Michael Wessells and Kathleen Kostelny

Background and Purpose

Human rights are at the forefront of efforts to end tyranny, oppression, discrimination,
inequality, and various forms of mistreatment such as torture. Human rights are as important
for what they promote as for what they prohibit. From the Universal Declaration of Human
Rights onward, they identify the basic entitlements of all human beings and constitute a set
of minimum conditions needed to insure the respect, freedom, and dignity of every person.
A high priority in the movement toward human rights is to ensure the rights of children,
who are defined under international law as people under 18 years of age. Worldwide, children
are under assault from a toxic combination of harms related to armed conflict, violence, mass
displacement, gender-based violence, exploitation, HIV and AIDS, early marriage, dangerous
labor, and sexual exploitation, among others. At the heart of international efforts to end
these harms and to insure children’s well-being is the UN Convention on the Rights of the
Child (CRC; United Nations General Assembly, 1989), which has now been in force for a
quarter of a century. The CRC insures the full range of children’s survival, development, and
participation rights, and it expressly prohibits violations of children’s protection rights. The
CRC defines universal standards that can be adapted to different contexts and used to support
the well-being of all children, including those who are most vulnerable. From this standpoint,
it is difficult to overestimate the importance of the CRC and steps to implement it in an effective
manner in all countries.
In light of the high importance of implementing child rights, it is important to ask “How
are we doing?” Often this is done by taking stock of the child rights supportive policies and
laws that are on the books and by examining whether violations of child rights are being handled
in an appropriate, effective manner. Although these efforts are valuable, they focus mostly on
formal, government managed efforts to implement child rights. Of equal importance, however,

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are the nonformal aspects of society—the family, community, and civil society aspects of a
society. Stakeholders at these diverse levels are duty bearers and have an obligation to do their
respective part in promoting and fulfilling children’s rights. To create a social environment
that supports child rights, it is important that child rights be supported by diverse, nonformal
actors at different levels. Thus, an important question is: How are we doing in regard to enabling
families and communities to support child rights?
At present, many governments that are signatories to the CRC and international NGOs
that promote child rights take an educational approach that is best described as being “top-
down” and “didactic.” Few hard data are available on the efficacy and any unintended conse-
quences of this approach to implementing children’s rights (Wessells, 2009). Our experience
in diverse countries in Asia and sub-Saharan Africa, however, is that child protection practi-
tioners frequently train local people on child rights only to see them continue abusive practices
such as beating children or marrying girls off at an early age. Also, reactions against child rights
occur, as local people may see them as alien and reflecting outsider values (Wessells, 2009). It
is important to document more fully whether and why this situation exists and to use what is
learned as a foundation for efforts to boost the implementation and realization of children’s
rights.
The purpose of this chapter is to document and analyze local people’s views of children,
harms to children, how people respond to those harms, and how these views and practices
relate to child rights. The chapter presents two African case studies: Sierra Leone and Kenya.
In both countries, child rights are enshrined in national policies, and there have been exten-
sive grassroots efforts to teach people about and help them to internalize the language and the
practice of child rights. In both countries, predominantly top-down efforts to teach child rights
have encountered significant challenges that suggest the need to develop new modalities of
practice in regard to child rights and child protection. The chapter concludes with a reflection
on how to transform current practice regarding child rights in ways that build greater support
for child rights at all levels of the nonformal aspects of society. It suggests that a social norms
change approach is an important complement to efforts to develop child rights-supportive laws
and policies.
Both country cases are based on the work of the Interagency Learning Initiative on
Community-Based Child Protection Mechanisms and Child Protection Systems (Wessells, 2015;
Wessells, Kostelny, & Ondoro, 2014). Broadly this Initiative aims to test whether community-
based child protection mechanisms can be made more effective through community-led action
on behalf of vulnerable children and linkages with the formal aspects of the national child
protection system (see Wessells, 2011, 2015). In essence, this is a bottom-up approach to child
protection system strengthening. The Initiative did not set out to study child rights, yet its
initial phase involved systematic learning about views of children and existing child protection
supports and child rights that have implications for efforts to support child rights.

The Sierra Leone Case Study

Sierra Leone is a West African society with a population of just over six million people. It
suffered a bloody war 1991–2002 that was notorious for its child soldiers and other heinous
child rights violations (Denov, 2010; Denov & Buccitelli, this volume; Wessells, 2006).
Despite its wealth of natural resources, Sierra Leone is one of the world’s poorest countries
and ranks near the bottom (177th) on the Human Development Index (UNDP, 2013). The

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average life expectancy is 46/47 years, and 182 out of 1,000 children die before reaching the
age of 5 years (WHO, 2013). This situation was likely worsened further by the Ebola crisis
of 2014–15.
In Sierra Leone, the formal governance system includes a multi-party system, an elected
President, a legislative branch led by an elected Parliament, and a system of 12 districts.
Nonformally, the country is divided into 149 Chiefdoms, each of which is headed by a Para-
mount Chief, whom local people regard as the “keeper of the land” and as the highest authority
(Reed & Robinson, 2013). This mixture of formal and nonformal mechanisms is also evident
in the justice system (Child Frontiers, 2010; Krueger et al., 2014). Police enforce national laws,
and criminal offenses against children are handled by Family Support Units that include police
and Government social workers who have been trained to handle cases involving children. At
grassroots level, disputes are frequently handled by local Chiefs, who may refer to higher Chiefs
if they are unable to reach an appropriate settlement (Child Frontiers, 2010). Violations against
children are frequently adjudicated by the Chief and his or her group of elders, whose decisions
are often guided less by the best interests of the child than by the need in rural villages to
maintain inter-family harmony and a spirit of reciprocity.
To support children’s protection, the Government of Sierra Leone passed in 2007 the National
Child Rights Act (CRA), which was grounded in the CRC and its regional counterpart, the
African Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child. The CRA mandated the establishment
of a Child Welfare Committee (CWC) in each village (this was subsequently changed to
Chiefdom level). The CWC members included a traditional leader, religious representatives,
a social welfare officer nominated by the Minister, social service providers, and one male and
one female child or young person. Aside from the social welfare officer, most members were
elected. The CWC members would develop grassroots understanding of and support for
children’s rights and encourage people to report child rights violations to chiefdom-level CWCs
and to report criminal offenses to Family Support Units (FSUs) that consist of police and social
workers who have been trained how to work on children’s issues.
In support of this approach, UNICEF/Sierra Leone and the Government encouraged and
supported work by diverse international NGOs (e.g., Save the Children, Plan International,
World Vision, ChildFund, etc.) to establish and build the capacities of CWCs and to teach
local people—particularly children—about child rights and what to do when violations
occurred. This was a top-down approach in that it was driven by the Government, UNICEF,
and other formal actors. It was didactic since its primary approach was to teach local people
about children’s rights and how to support them.

Ethnographic Methodology
Broadly, the ethnographic research aimed to learn about the child protection situation and
system as seen through the eyes of local people and without using international terminology
such as “child protection” or “child rights.” The full methodology of the research, which was
conducted January–May, 2011, has been outlined elsewhere (Wessells, 2011; Wessells et al.,
2012). In brief, the research sought to answer questions such as: Who is a child? What are the
main harms to children? When the harms arise, what happens—who gets involved; who is
consulted; who takes decisions; what are the outcomes; and how do different stakeholders view
the outcomes? What are the linkages of community mechanisms with the national child
protection system? How do communities perceive government mechanisms such as FSUs? What
do local people usually do in regard to criminal offences such as the rape of a child?

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To help answer these questions, trained national researchers lived and worked in 12 rural
communities for a period of two weeks and were mentored by more experienced researchers.
Six communities were in the northern, predominantly Temne speaking district of Bombali,
and six were in the southern, Mende speaking district of Moyamba. The study population
consists of the approximately 6,000 people who live in the 12 research sites, the population
of which ranged from 200 to 1,100 people in each site. The researchers used multiple methods:

• Participant Observation: Visiting schools, sharing meals, and accompanying people to their
farms, the researchers observed children in the context of family, peers, school, work,
religious practice, and community life;
• In-depth Interviews: These one-on-one, 60-minute interviews were conducted in the local
languages with diverse young people (13–18 years) and adults. The interviews were open-
ended in that they were not strictly scripted, and the researchers had been trained to ask
probing questions and to follow the interests of the participants;
• Timelines: Participants drew timelines that outlined the usual child development process
and identified key developmental milestones (e.g., naming, going to school, initiation)
and what marks the transition from childhood to adulthood. Questions were asked about
the typical activities and responsibilities of children at different ages and the typical
progression of children’s development;
• Group Discussions: Researchers facilitated discussions with groups of 7–10 participants over
a period of approximately 90 minutes. First, participants identified the things that harm
children (other than poverty and health problems) and then ranked them, identifying the
three that were most serious or concerning. Next, the researchers asked questions that
identified the two most typical pathways and mechanisms of response to each of the top
two child protection issues in regard to a hypothetical child. The discussion participants
came from a pre-defined sub-group such as teenage girls, teenage boys, women, and men,
with attention to including diverse sub-group members;
• Body Mappings: Body mappings were conducted (typically for 45–60 minutes) with small
groups of children 5–12 years of age. To draw a hypothetical child, one child who
volunteered lay on a large sheet of paper while other children used crayons to trace an
outline of his or her body. Having colored in the drawn figure and named it, the children
were asked questions such as “What do the eyes see that they like?” and “What do the
eyes see that they don’t like?” Similar questions were asked regarding ears, mouth, hands,
and so on. Care was taken not to probe what the children said since the intent was to
avoid exploring the child’s own, possibly painful experiences;
• Key Informant Interviews: In depth interviews were conducted with Chiefs and child
protection workers (e.g., CWC members, NGO workers, social workers) in order to learn
about their views of child protection threats in their villages; the various mechanisms (e.g.,
traditional or indigenous mechanisms, CWCs, NGO facilitated mechanisms, government
mechanisms) that may or may not be present in their villages; and the linkages of
community mechanisms with the national child protection system.

For the group discussions, in-depth interviews, and key informant interviews, the researchers
made audio recordings of what the participants said and subsequently prepared near verbatim
transcripts in English. For the other methods, the researchers took careful notes and prepared
a report afterwards. The researchers avoided using international terms such as “child rights”
or “child protection” unless the participants used those terms. Throughout their work, they

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respected ethical principles such as informed consent and confidentiality (Alderson & Morrow,
2011; Graham et al., 2013). As part of their ethical obligations, they fed the findings back to
the communities at the end of the ethnographic phase, thereby stimulating collective reflection
and ideas about collaborative action that informed the subsequent action research.
The data were analyzed using an intensive, grounded methodology (Charmaz, 2006; Strauss
& Corbin, 1990), in which two international researchers identified natural categories and
consistent, emergent patterns, with variations noted. These served as working hypotheses that
the researchers checked by re-reading and further analytic discussion, including with Team
Leaders. Accuracy was checked through extensive triangulation of data from different sources
and methods. For example, if local people said that corporal punishment was common,
participant observations were used to validate or qualify that statement.
The study did not measure the actual frequency of various harms or employ a nationally
representative sample. Because the research examined only rural sites, the findings cannot be
generalized to large cities or urban areas.

Key Findings
Since the detailed results have been reported elsewhere (Wessells, 2011), this section emphasizes
the findings that pertain to child rights.
The participants defined children not by their chronological age but according to whether
they were dependent or engaged in children’s activities such as playing games. The main harms
to children identified were teenage pregnancy out of wedlock, out of school children,
maltreatment of children not living with their biological families, and heavy work. Other harms
that were not among the top four harms but that people identified consistently were: child
beating (“flogging”), cruelty (e.g., setting a child’s hand on fire using kerosene), sexual abuse,
neglect and bad parenting, witchcraft, abduction and ritual murder, and child rights.
A key finding was that adults spontaneously identified child rights as a threat to children.
Parents said that they needed to discipline their children if they were to be good parents, and
they used beating as a means to teach children obedience, respect to authority, and good
behavior. Adults reported that the teaching of child rights had undermined parents since child
rights prohibited child beating. They also said that children had become disobedient and unruly
as a result.

One thing that doubts us as parents is the fact that they [child rights advocates] say parents
should not beat their children any more. For this is not good because beating the child
is one way that makes your child to fear you and listen to you, otherwise the children
will keep on doing wrong things without fear. So we have been left in doubt and they
say that is what the government says. If children don’t fear their parents, they will not
grow well and this hinders their development.
(Chief, Bombali)

Despite the idea of the human right, there is a saying which goes this way; “if you spare
the rod, you will spoil the child.” You should not beat and wound the child, but you
should let him know that he is being disciplined for something good that must be learnt.
If that is not done and the child is just allowed to do as he or she feels, that child will
grow wayward.
(Father, Bombali)

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Respondent: Well the things that I know that are harmful to children is that we are not
allowed to beat children. It is far different from what happened in our own
days. Even if parents want to discipline their child, they cannot because
of the law, so they become stubborn.
Interviewer: Is this harmful for children when they are no longer beaten?
R: Yes, because one would want to control the child and to discipline that
child but the children will not listen to instructions. This is harmful for
them.
(Group discussion, men, Moyamba)

I: What are the things that happen to children here, boys and girls that affect
their development and make them unhappy?
R: Thank you. Now, one of the things that hurts us here, the government
says we should not cuss or beat our children. They no longer listen to us
or obey us. They say, if you beat me, if you cuss me, I’ll report you to
human right. As a result, the girls get out of hand and in the end, they get
pregnant and drop out of school. When this happens, we have nothing to
do because as the saying goes, “bad bush nor dae for troway bad pikin”
[“there is no bush to throw away a bad child”].
(Group discussion, women, Bombali)

Numerous participants pointed out that the NGOs had taught children about their rights without
an emphasis also on children’s responsibilities. In their eyes, children used “child rights” as a
means of doing what they wanted to do, without thought about their responsibilities in the
family or at school.
People also reacted against the reporting of child rights violations to the human rights workers.
The following excerpt from a group discussion (the different numbers refer to different
participants) indicated the disastrous consequences associated with the reporting of a parent
who had beaten her child.

R8: Even human right is responsible. The children refuse to go to school and
threaten to report us the parents to the police, even the head teachers who
usually flog them—government has stopped that . . .
I: Madam [X], tell us something, you have been quiet so far.
R5: I have a very troublesome child. Twice I have been invited to Human
Rights office on behalf of the child.
R3: The child misbehaved and when [X] beat her, the child went to the human
rights people in this town. They forwarded her to the human right people
in Moyamba and the human right people forwarded her to the police. [X]
explain to them.
R5: The police came here and charged me to pay money. I lost over twenty
thousand Leones and from that day, I don’t have anything to do with the
child anymore. Whenever she asks me for something, I tell her to go the
human right people or to the police. She asked me to buy slippers for her
and I told her to go to the police so that they can give her the money as
I have given them all the money I had.
I: Is the child living with you?

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R5: Yes I cannot drive her out of my house because the human right people
will arrest me, but I have nothing to do with her anymore. I do not even
send her to do anything for me anymore.
I: How old is the child?
R5: She is about thirteen years of age. She is very stubborn and does not listen
to me. She does not want to work at all, just to play and eat.
I: How do you address such problems? What do you do to children who
are stubborn and difficult to deal with?
R4: We deprive them of food, “starve them.” We don’t beat them because
they will take us to human rights.
(Group discussion, women, Moyamba)

From a child protection standpoint, the mother’s decision to have nothing to do with her
daughter and the decision of some people to starve their children rather than beat them are
highly negative outcomes that are antithetical to child rights and child protection.
Overwhelmingly, people did not report violations through either the CWCs or the police.
In fact, over 90 percent of the time, participants said that they preferred to handle harms to
children through traditional means, which involved indigenous mechanisms. For example, if
a girl became pregnant, the typical response was through inter-family compromise. In particular,
the pregnant girl’s family went to the family of the boy responsible for the pregnancy, asked
whether he was responsible, and, if he admitted that he was, negotiated a settlement with his
family. Usually, the boy’s family agreed to have the boy marry the girl, care for the girl, and
pay for her education expenses from the preceding year. This outcome may not have supported
the girl’s rights, and girls themselves were not always happy with it. Yet the compromise solution
helped to maintain the inter-family reciprocity needed to maintain village cohesion and
harmony.
The preference for endogenous mechanisms applied even in a criminal case such as the rape
of a girl. Indeed, many people said they would not report severe offenses to the CWCs or the
police because they were located too far away, would require too much time away from farming,
or would not likely produce results. Also, some people said that their village is like a family
and that they did not discuss family matters with outsiders.

Implications
These results indicated a significant disconnect between the formal child protection system,
including the child rights concepts on which it was established, and the nonformal system that
most people used. The disconnect was visible first in the definition of who is a child. Although
child rights approaches use a chronological definition, most participants defined childhood
not according to age but the dependency and activities of young people. This use of non-
chronological definitions of childhood resonates with the findings of studies in many different
countries (Boyden, 1997; Pupavac, 2001).
The disconnect was also conspicuous in regard to views of harms to children. In contrast
to child rights advocates, the participants in this study viewed child rights as a harm to children.
Similarly, although female genital mutilation (FGM) is a profound violation of children’s rights
and is very widespread in Sierra Leone (UNICEF, 2013), local participants never mentioned
FGM in identifying harms to children. Possibly this silence occurred because in rural areas
FGM is seen as normal and as a socially acceptable prerequisite for marriage. Further evidence

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of the disconnect was the overwhelming tendency to use nonformal means of responding to
various harms to children. This was true even in regard to criminal offenses against children.
Of concern was the finding regarding backlash against child rights. Not only did ordinary
parents and adults identify child rights as harms to children, but they also did so with
considerable anger and frustration. Far from being something that “did not take” in the villages,
child rights evoked disdain and contempt. Thus the introduction of and education about child
rights in Sierra Leone had a negative impact by moving adults away from supporting child
rights. This finding is consistent with those of numerous other studies (Behnam, 2011;
Shriberg, 2007). The result was a clash of values that became widespread in Sierra Leone as
NGOs and others introduced child rights on a widespread basis after the war. In one of the
most in-depth studies of child rights in Sierra Leone, Behnam (2011) reported how the helter-
skelter introduction of child rights in Sierra Leone created multiple frictions amidst an
ambiguous and changing social context. Similarly, Shriberg (2007) observed that teachers in
Liberia felt angry and frustrated over child rights, which they perceived as having reduced their
authority and ability to discipline learners.
An important question is why the introduction of child rights produced backlash. Our
interpretation is that it likely stemmed from two key factors. First is the idea that child rights
are a radical idea and approach relative to the endogenous concepts of childhood and the roles
of children in relatively traditional societies. In many respects, Sierra Leone is patriarchal and
gerontocentric (Shepler, 2014), and children are expected to obey and respect their parents
and elders and to help support their families. Alien and threatening are the child rights views
that children should participate and have a voice, that girls and boys are equal, or that children
should report parents who discipline them physically. Thus, there is a culture clash between
the world of child rights, which reflects Enlightenment values and the views of modernity,
and the world of traditional values and practices.
Second and equally important, how one navigates or negotiates these clashing worlds and
contested power relations has a significant impact on whether people internalize child rights
or reject them as being “harms to children.” If the process of introducing, promoting, or
supporting child rights is disrespectful or if child rights are seen as alien and as not reflecting
indigenous values, then there will be backlash against them. Yet if the process of introducing,
promoting, and supporting child rights is respectful and seen as somehow congruent with local
values and beliefs, then people should be more likely to accept child rights as important and
to adopt the language and the practices of child rights. In Sierra Leone, interviews of child
rights workers by the first author indicated that they had used a top-down approach in the
effort to teach people the correct way to respect child rights. The Child Rights Act itself was
a top-down imposition by the Government. Particularly in rural areas that do not have strong
relations with the Government, people asked why they should adhere to the ideas of outsiders,
which appeared alien in light of local values. Also, when NGOs went out to villages to teach
child rights, they used didactic methods such as lecturing parents about why they should not
beat their children. By implying that people are bad parents, this approach came across as
judgmental and disrespectful, especially since the child rights workers had done little to learn
about what parents already did to help care for and protect their children.
As this case study indicates, one cannot assume that efforts to teach and enforce child rights
will have positive effects, as the outcomes may depend greatly on the context and on how
child rights concepts have been introduced and used. This finding is crucial because, in the
world of humanitarian practice, agencies frequently assume that their good intentions of teaching
and supporting children’s rights will enable their efforts to achieve positive results. In contrast,

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this case and others like it indicate that good intentions do not necessarily make for positive
results. In order for the teaching about child rights to have positive results and to avoid backlash,
child rights must be introduced in a respectful manner that builds the support of local people.
Such an approach, described below in the example from Angola, would need also to negotiate
the power balance between adults and children and to teach children that alongside their rights
come responsibilities.

Toward a Respectful Approach

During the Angolan war that ended in 2002 following several decades of fighting, people in
rural areas were aware of children’s needs yet had little or no understanding of children’s rights.
Christian Children’s Fund (now ChildFund) introduced the concept of child rights by building
on local understandings of children’s needs. This was done in the context of reflecting on
children’s psychosocial well-being.
In workshops, each conducted with approximately 20 adults, the facilitator, who was from
the local area, wrote the word “child” in the local language (or Portuguese where that was
more appropriate) in the center of a large sheet of paper. Then she asked “What do children
need for healthy development?” As the participants responded by saying things such as “love,”
“education,” “care,” and “respect,” the facilitator wrote those words on the paper around the
word “child.” Then she asked “Who provides these things?” As the participants suggested
“parents,” “aunts and uncles,” “teachers,” “neighbors,” and others, she wrote them on the
paper, forming concentric circles of care around the child. This was accompanied by discussion
of the web of interconnecting responsibilities—e.g., of parents to care for children, and of
children to be respectful of adults and to help their families.
Child rights were then introduced by explaining briefly Angolan national laws regarding
the treatment of children and their connection with international human rights standards. Also,
the facilitator invited reflection on points of convergence between the participants’ views and
those embodied in the CRC. For example, having summarized what participants had said about
the importance of education, she described the view that children have a right to education
and invited discussion. As the discussion unfolded, she also noted that the previous discussion
of interconnecting responsibilities fit with the child rights discourse about duty bearers at different
levels and their obligations.
Although these discussions were not designed to teach about child rights per se, they helped
to make abstract concepts intelligible and to link them with people’s own lived experiences,
understandings, values, and practices. People appreciated this respectful process and expressed
interest in learning more about child rights. Although such a dialogue-oriented process did
not immediately close the gap between local beliefs and practices and those embodied in child
rights standards, it opened a space for constructive dialogue, discussion of how to negotiate
the “two worlds,” and social change. It also avoided the problems of backlash described above.

The Kenya Case Study

Kenya, a country of 44 million people in East Africa, is a useful comparison to Sierra Leone.
In addition to having a higher level of educational attainment, Kenya has a highly robust legal
framework for the protection of children and insuring child rights are fulfilled. The Constitution
of Kenya guarantees all children (people under 18 years of age) the right to protection from
abuse, all forms of violence, harmful traditional practices, neglect, inhuman treatment and

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punishment, and exploitative or hazardous labor. Kenya is a party to the Convention on the
Rights of the Child and the African Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child. These
international instruments were domesticated through the Children Act of 2001, which is the
foundation for a wide array of child protection supports. Recently, the government pledged
to establish four new Child Protection Centers every fiscal year, with the aim of covering all
the counties.
Like Sierra Leone, Kenya has many areas of chronic poverty (Rural Poverty Portal, 2014;
World Bank, 2014), which have been the sites of extensive effort to teach and implement
child rights. Operationally, prior to 2014, children’s well-being was overseen nationally by the
Department of Children’s Services, which had District Children’s Officers (DCOs) in each
county who promoted children’s well-being. (As of 2014, County Children’s Officers have
taken on this role.) Also, Area Advisory Councils (AACs) support and monitor children’s services,
raise awareness on child rights, and develop strategic partnerships in support of children. AACs
consist of the children’s officers at the district/country level, NGOs, community-based
organizations, faith-based organizations, and representatives from the business community. At
grassroots levels, trained Volunteer Children’s Officers (VCOs) respond to violations, make
referrals as needed, and help to promote awareness of children’s rights. People can contact the
VCOs or authorities such as the Chief (who is Government appointed) or the police in order
to report violations of children’s rights.
The purpose of the ethnographic research was to learn deeply about a small number of
communities in Mombasa, Kilifi, and Kisii areas that were selected through a highly consultative
process with child rights and protection workers at different levels. Mombasa and Kilifi were
of interest because they are in the coast area where child rights violations such as child sex
tourism have been prevalent. Kisii was of interest because it is in a different geographic area
(Nyanza) and has an ethnically distinct population of Kisii people.

Methodology
The six research sites (two in each area) included a mixture of urban and rural settings. In
Mombasa, the sites were two urban slums, whereas the sites in Kisii were highly rural. The
sites in Kilifi area were peri-urban as most people lived in towns in and around predominantly
rural areas.
The methodology used was highly similar to and modeled on that which had been used in
Sierra Leone. The main difference in methodology was the deliberate interviewing of a larger
number of specific subgroups. Whereas in Sierra Leone there had been six key subgroups
(women, teenage girls, young girls, men, teenage boys and young boys), the Kenyan research
worked with eight subgroups: women (25 years and older), young women (18–25 years), teenage
girls (13–17 years), young girls (5–12 years), men (30 years and older), young men typically
not married (18–30 years), teenage boys (13–17 years), and young boys (5–12 years). These
subgroups were included to provide a variegated picture of views of childhood, harms to children,
responses to harms that occurred, and so on. Also, the methodology included more systematic
learning about preventive factors.
Teams of trained female and male Kenyan researchers lived in their respective research
areas for several weeks. Mentored by Team Leaders who had greater ethnographic skills and
experience, they collected verbatim data using the methods outlined above. The data, which
were collected in the period 2012–13, were analyzed using a grounded methodology as
before.

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Key Findings
The findings presented apply across age groups (for details, see Wessells et al., 2014, which
refers also to the three area specific reports). Overall, most people defined childhood in non-
chronological terms that emphasized dependency, having limited responsibility, being of small
physical stature, not being married, or having child-like behavior or limited cognitive abilities.
When people used a chronological definition of childhood, they varied widely in their views
regarding the ages of children.
The main harms to children that participants identified were out of school children, sexual
abuse and exploitation, and early pregnancy. Other frequently mentioned harms were: alcohol
and drug abuse, poor parenting (e.g., parents neglecting children, not providing basic needs,
not sending their children to school, and not being good role models), negative influences
(e.g., video halls, mobile phones, pornography [i.e., movies with sexual content]), heavy labor,
and child beating. The latter referred to excessive beating, as most parents and even teenagers
saw child beating as necessary for teaching discipline and obedience.
Child rights was also reported as a harm to children. Additionally, the introduction and
enforcement of child rights was reported as one of the causes of early pregnancies of children.
The quote below illustrates the frustration of a father from a rural area about the government’s
imposition of child rights as it related to his daughter:

My daughter got pregnant in class 5 [primary school—children in class 5 are approximately

10–11 years of age] and she gave birth at home. Because the law demands that when
children get pregnant they go back to school, she went back to school leaving us with
the small child at home. When she reached class 6, just after one year, she got pregnant
again. After giving birth, I said I am not taking her back to school again because that is
where she is getting pregnant. The children’s office and the police intervened and forced
me to take her back to school. They were going to arrest me, so I was forced to take the
child back to school. When she reached class 8, she got pregnant again, and gave birth at
home. So you see that the Government is encouraging children to get pregnant by saying
that they have a right to go back to school. These children are also not worried about
getting pregnant because they know that they have parents who will take the burden of
taking care of their children.
(Man, group discussion, Kilifi)

Many parents in the community saw the introduction of child rights as taking away their
ability to raise children who were obedient, respectful, and had good behavior, qualities the
community saw as important for children’s well-being (Kostelny, Ondoro, & Wessells, 2014).
By not having consequences for engaging in sex, girls were modeling bad behavior to their
peers, increasing their exposure to HIV/AIDS, and endangering their fellow classmates with
the risk of HIV when they returned to school.
As in the Sierra Leone example, parents felt burdened by having to care for extra children
resulting from the pregnancies, which caused strife between the parents and reportedly led
fathers to abandon their responsibilities of providing for the girls. The traditional way of
responding to a pregnancy was for the male responsible for the pregnancy to marry the girl.

Some give birth to even 5 children and are still at home. Parents feel “utsungu” [bitter]
about the situation. They say it’s better you give birth to one child at home, then you

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get a husband, because it’s a burden to the parents caring for the baby. This will make
parents not to be happy and it makes parents misunderstand each other. They quarrel,
and fathers refuse to take responsibilities because they feel even the other children will
misbehave like her.
(Young woman, In-depth interview, Kilifi area)

An important finding was that families and communities were the first line of response
and did the overwhelming majority of the work on responding to harms to children and also
preventing them. In response to a teenage pregnancy, for example, families brokered a com-
promise in which the boy who had impregnated the girl married the girl, who dropped out
of school, and provided for the family. If a child were out of school due to inability to pay
school fees, the mother went to school and “pledged” to the headmaster that she will pay the
fees later. Usually, the headmaster accepted the child back in school, but if not, the mother
borrowed money from the community women’s savings and loan association. After the mother
had paid the school fees, the child was admitted back into school.
These family and community mechanisms also had conspicuous limits. For example,
dysfunctional families headed by an alcoholic father typically did not support a child who was
out of school to return to his or her education. Most often, such children looked for work
and got married. Similarly, being in school tended to be a preventive factor at the community
level that prevented harms to children. Yet in some schools, teachers sexually abused students.
Despite these limits, people used the formal aspects of the child protection system only if the
family or community processes had been used but had not achieved the desired results. Even
in cases such as the rape of a child, people preferred to use nonformal, community processes
and were reluctant to report to the police since the perpetrator could often bribe his way out
of the situation.
An important finding was that child rights were not consistently upheld and were even
seen as problematic by the authorities who were supposed to protect and promote those rights.
A minority of authorities (whose identity is confidential) noted that in the past, before child
rights had been taught to local people, girls who became pregnant were unable to go to school.
Viewing this inability to attend school as a deterrent to girls becoming pregnant, they saw
child rights and associated Kenyan laws that empowered pregnant girls to attend school as tacitly
encouraging girls to become pregnant.

The law says that they should give birth and go back to school. This “haki za watoto”
[children’s rights] is a big challenge. Though majority of these children feel shy to go back
to school after giving birth and they end up dropping out, but most of them don’t fear
getting pregnant because the law protects them.
(Key informant, Kilifi area)

But I will say again that this “haki za watoto” have contributed immensely to this issue of
early pregnancies. Nowadays these children don’t fear getting pregnant, they know very
well that they will give birth and go back to school and there’s nothing that parents can
do to them.
(Key informant, Kilifi area)

Other formal system actors saw child rights as having undermined people’s ability to discipline
children using methods of corporal punishment.

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Before, we used to tell the parents to beat them thoroughly, but today that is not possible
because of this “haki ya watoto.” The children’s rights people are on our neck and so many
children nowadays know their rights, you don’t just beat them like that . . . You might
find yourself in court and losing your job. So what we do is that we just counsel them.
(Key informant, Kilifi area)

This is not to say that all local authorities are opposed to child rights. In fact, most Chiefs
and AAC members said that they taught people about child rights and monitored and supported
those rights. However, the fact that even a few authorities expressed negative views of child
rights is concerning.

Implications
These findings, which follow a pattern similar to that observed in Sierra Leone, indicate that
a significant gap exists between the formal system of child rights that is enshrined in Kenyan
law and the CRC and the views and practices of local people. For example, Kenyan law (e.g.,
the 2013 Marriage Bill) prohibits early marriage as a heinous violation of child rights. Yet the
participants in this study did not identify early marriage as a harm to children, and early marriage
continues to be a strong social norm in many areas of Kenya. Similarly, the circumcision of
girls continues to be done in various areas (UNICEF, 2013), although it is prohibited under
Kenyan law.
Divergences between customary practices and national law occurred also in regard to child
protection practices. Although Kenyan national laws prohibit corporal punishment of children
(e.g., Article 29 of the new Kenyan Constitution), child beating was viewed locally as an essential
means of protecting children. Parents frequently used child beating and threats of beating as a
means of keeping children in school and giving them a disincentive for engaging in “bad”
behavior such as going to night time events where children frequently drank alcohol and engaged
in sex. So strong were these local norms of corporal punishment that even people within the
formal system (e.g., Chiefs, elders, and teachers) who were supposed to be the protectors of
child rights frequently used child beating as a means of disciplining and protecting children.
The gap between child rights and local practices was also evident in people’s strong
tendency to use nonformal means of responding to harms to children. This finding is consistent
with the increasing consensus about the importance of family and community-based child
protection mechanisms (African Child Policy Forum et al., 2013; Child Frontiers, 2010; Davis
et al., 2012; UNICEF et al., 2013; Wessells, 2015). It is also consistent with the results of the
Sierra Leone case study above.
The finding that even some authorities who were supposed to protect child rights had
concerns about them indicates that people in Kenya, particularly authorities who have been
trained on child rights, have a leg in each of two worlds—the worlds of tradition and
modernity. Life in the traditional world is guided by values such as respect for authority and
adherence to customs and cultural norms that may or may not be consistent with child rights.
According to the cultural theory of human rights (Moghaddam, 2000; Moghaddam & Riley,
2005), a difference exists between normative rights, defined as “rights that are informal and
unwritten, but legitimized by norms, rules, roles, and other aspects of the normative system
of a culture” (Moghaddam, 2000, p. 292) and legal rights. Traditional values and duties are
usually taught by parents and other local authority figures, and those values and duties are seen
as important for protecting children as well as promoting social harmony. Yet they may not

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be consistent with legally defined rights or with international human rights standards such as
the CRC. For example, parents frequently see early marriage as a means of protecting their
daughters from being sexually abused and thereby becoming unmarriageable. In contrast,
modernity is undergirded by Enlightenment values such as individual freedom and autonomy,
and its practices are expected to conform with universal human rights standards and national
laws aligned with those rights. Modern, presumably universal values are frequently introduced
by NGOs, social media, films, and various other carriers that young people find engaging.
It would be a mistake to view these worlds as somehow sealed off from each other. Traditions
are not pure and unchanging but continually interact with and are changed by aspects of
modernity such as its physical accoutrements (e.g., mobile phones) and its values (e.g.,
materialism, secularism) and practices. Not only do traditions change over time but also
individuals within a cultural context make decisions about how to navigate and negotiate these
two worlds. In contexts where Government presence is relatively low, social cohesion is relatively
high, and traditional norms are relatively strong, people may have a preference for more
traditional values and practices. Even if they learn about child rights, they may not internalize
them or adhere to them fully, particularly when they conflict with local norms. In other contexts,
however, traditions may be relatively weak, and/or people may have been educated in ways
that lead to the internalization of modern values and practices (Ahmed, Al Hebshi, & Nylund,
2009). In such contexts, people may embrace child rights and come to view traditional practices
such as early marriage and female circumcision as harmful. That this process of internalizing
national law and international values and standards has not occurred fully in the areas of Kenya
that were studied is perhaps surprising. After all, Kenya has been the site of extensive work to
combat HIV and AIDS and to implement Western style laws. The grip of traditional beliefs
and practices in Kenya is testimony to the power of traditional values, identity, and social
organization and also to the slow pace of change in regard to traditions. In such contexts, it
is not surprising that some people, such as the authorities discussed above, may be ambivalent,
as they are caught in between these conflicting worlds. In general, they may be child rights
supporters since they had been trained on child rights and have a position that demands that
they support those rights. Yet, feeling the pull of cultural norms and beliefs, they may regard
child rights and modern practices such as allowing pregnant girls to attend school as supporting
bad behavior and as failing to protect them. Because of their ambivalence, their support for
child rights may be contextual. Such individuals likely express strong support for child rights
in their official functions or when their line managers are present. However, they may lean
toward traditional views when they talk with people who are known to support traditional
views. This ambivalence involves more than the social convenience of saying different things
to different people in order to please them. It is also a heartfelt internal struggle and an incomplete
or ambivalent internalization of child rights. At stake are people’s values, identities, world views,
and moral sensibilities.

Toward Internally Guided Social Change

Both of these case studies indicate that a clash of cultures—the universalized culture of child
rights and the local culture of the particular sociohistoric setting—challenges the effectiveness
of current approaches to introducing and promoting child rights. The limits of currently used
top-down, didactic approaches are evident in their limited effectiveness in enabling people to
internalize and fulfill their obligations to implement child rights. In both country case studies,

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child rights continue to be trumped by cultural practices. Perhaps this is to be expected since
cultural practices have deep roots, and it is difficult for people to break out from cultural norms
since they fear censure or social isolation.
It is also possible, however, that the problem lies in the approach used to introduce and
promote child rights. The fact that in both countries, particularly in Sierra Leone, there is
backlash against child rights suggests that the approach used to teach or encourage them is
flawed. As discussed in the first case study, the problem may be the widespread use of top-
down, didactic approaches that impose outsider values and leave people feeling disrespected
and disempowered. Such approaches risk making child rights education a neocolonial enterprise.
Although there are constructive ways to manage this clash, the current approach being used
to introduce and implement child rights is not among them. In short, something is wrong in
the way we are teaching and implementing child rights.
An approach that is more appropriate and more likely to be effective is a social norms change
approach (Ahmed et al., 2009; Dagne, 2009). This approach views the introduction and
promotion of child rights as a process of internally guided social change. Evidence from efforts
to end harmful practices such as FGM suggest the importance of having the process be driven
by social change agents who are respected in their communities and understand the local power
dynamics, modalities of communication, and practical ways of exerting social influence while
minimizing unintended harm. These local people collaboratively develop strategies for enlarging
the dialogue and enabling action consistent with child rights. The role of NGOs or governments
is to support the change agents by giving them useful information and helping them to spread
key messages and enable dialogue among people who are open to new ideas and ways of
doing things.
An example of such internally guided social change in support of children’s well-being comes
from Sierra Leone, where the ethnographic research described above set the stage for
participatory action research (Wessells, 2015). The ethnographic findings were fed back in oral
form to the communities, which validated the accuracy of the findings. Group discussion and
reflection on the findings led the communities to ask what they themselves could do to address
the harms to children. This reflection helped to build a sense of community responsibility and
empowerment and to stimulate collective desire to take action.
To choose a course of action, clusters of three communities worked together over a period
of nine months, examining which harm to children they wanted to address in collaboration
with government actors. Supporting the communities were trained facilitators who lived in
the communities and enabled dialogue and reflection about the priority of various harms, and
what practically could be done to address them. A key part of the facilitators’ work was to
help communities to include the voices of people such as children with disabilities that were
frequently marginalized in community discussions (Wessells, 2015).
In addition, the facilitators helped to enable discussion of diverse points of view and to
manage conflict in a constructive manner. For example, teenage girls and women wanted initially
to address the problem of teenage pregnancy because girls who became pregnant frequently
were unable to feed their children and had to engage in sex work in order to support them.
Also, approximately one-third of the pregnancies stemmed from sexual exploitation and abuse.
The use of contraceptives was part of the approach to reducing teenage pregnancy. Elder men,
however, argued that this approach would corrupt the morals of young people. Without taking
sides, the facilitators continued to invite diverse views on this question. Elder women argued
that girls were continuing to become pregnant and were being harmed as a result and that it

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was a collective responsibility to protect the girls from teenage pregnancy. Over time, the elder
women’s argument won out. The elder men agreed that it was a priority to address teenage
pregnancy and that it was better for girls to use contraceptives than to not use them and become
pregnant out of wedlock.
To reduce teenage pregnancy, communities developed an intervention that included a
combination of family planning, sexual and reproductive health education, and life skills (such
as saying “No” to unwanted sexual advances). NGOs such as Marie Stopes and Restless
Development trained groups of adolescent Peer Educators who had been selected by their
communities to help address teenage pregnancy. Following the trainings, the Peer Educators
and other teenagers conducted community dramas and discussions as means of reducing
teenage pregnancy. Often these dramas included contrasting vignettes that were designed to
promote awareness and spark discussion. In one drama, a teenage girl and boy felt an attraction
for each other, went to the video hall and smoked marijuana, and had impromptu, unprotected
sex. As a result, the girl became pregnant and dropped out of school, and she subsequently
engaged in sex work to support her child. Next, the same two adolescents performed a vignette
in which the girl and boy felt an attraction and discussed their dream of getting an education.
Asking what could block the fulfillment of this dream, they identified teenage pregnancy, which
they vowed together to avoid by using contraceptives. The two went on to complete their
education and enjoy a happy family life. Such dramas stimulated energetic discussions that,
over time, engaged most people in the communities.
Peer to peer messaging was also an important part of the intervention. The idea was that
teenagers know how to influence each other more effectively than most adults do. In one
community, teenagers developed and frequently used the message “5920” in talking with each
other. It meant that for 5 minutes of pleasure, 9 months of pregnancy follow, 2 people drop
out of school, and they have nothing in terms of a promising future. Adult–child and
child–adult messaging was important as well. Parents spontaneously decided to talk with their
children about puberty, sex, pregnancy, and pregnancy prevention. To their amazement, they
found that their children were often better informed on these issues and were less prone to
myths that held, for example, that the use of condoms made it difficult to become pregnant
subsequently.
Over a period of a year and a half, this community driven intervention yielded promising
results, chief among which was a reduction of teenage pregnancy (Wessells, 2015). In addition,
there were significant improvements in community-government collaboration on reducing
teenage pregnancy. Importantly, community people took ownership of the intervention and
did not view it as an imposition or the project of an outside agency. Rather, they viewed it
as their own means of promoting children’s well-being. Although the intervention was
disrupted by the Ebola crisis, it offers a different approach to promoting children’s well-being.
Instead of the rapid action guided by child protection specialists, it features a slow process of
dialogue and internally guided social change. It also illustrates the value of bottom-up approaches
to strengthening child protection systems, which complement the dominant, top-down
approach. Together, the findings presented in this chapter indicate that it is time for a change
of approach in how we promote child rights. If we want to make child rights a reality, we
should limit the use of top-down approaches at grassroots level and emphasize internally guided
processes of social influence and social change. Making this change in our own behavior offers
us the best chance of fulfilling our collective obligation to protecting the rights and well-being
of every child.

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 35
Children’s Voices about
Children’s Rights
Thoughts from Developmental Psychology
Martin D. Ruck, Michele Peterson-Badali, Isabelle M. Elisha,
and Harriet R. Tenenbaum

Introduction
Concern with the issue of children’s rights in the social sciences is relatively recent in historical
terms, but has been the focus of a great deal of social and political action over the last century.
Increased support for children’s rights is reflected in the UN Convention on the Rights of the
Child (CRC, United Nations General Assembly, 1989). The Convention recognizes children
as active agents, holders of rights, and individuals worthy of citizenship. The CRC has served
as a critically important framework and mechanism for increasing the commitment of nations
worldwide to children’s political, social, economic, and cultural rights. As of the publication
of this Handbook, 196 countries have ratified the CRC, including all member states of the UN,
with the exception of the United States.
Two broad categories of rights can be discerned from the CRC’s substantive articles:
nurturance (survival and development rights and protection rights) and self-determination
(participation rights) (Helwig, Ruck, & Peterson-Badali, 2014; Rogers & Wrightsman, 1978;
Ruck, Abramovitch, & Keating, 1998; UNICEF, 2009). Nurturance rights pertain to the
obligation of others (e.g., parents or the state) to provide for and safeguard children’s
psychological, emotional or physical well-being. In contrast, children’s self-determination rights
refer to the types of freedoms that give children some measure of control over their lives.
Nurturance and self-determination have emerged as distinct and at times contradictory con-
structs in dealing with children’s rights. In extending rights to children, society must not only
deal with determining the appropriate balance between protection and participation, but with
whether children have the capacity to use their rights in a self-protective manner. The
importance of this balance for children’s daily lives is reflected in two fundamental tenets that
underpin the CRC: the “best interests of the child” and “the evolving capacities of the child.”
If children’s rights are to serve to protect children from harm and facilitate their well-being,
then it is essential to examine how children come to understand and think about their own

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Martin D. Ruck, Michele Peterson-Badali, Isabelle M. Elisha, and Harriet R. Tenenbaum

rights and also the rights of other individuals (Ruck, Peterson-Badali & Helwig, 2014;
Peterson-Badali & Ruck, 2011). As others have noted (see Melton & Limber, 1992; Morrow,
1999), examining how children think about their rights is important for a number of reasons.
It signals respect for children as citizens whose views about rights matters. It serves to inform
the design of age-appropriate structures and processes for implementing children’s rights. It
facilitates children’s legal and political engagement. Of equal importance is the fact that adults
(including developmental psychologists) are typically not very good at identifying those issues
that are actually important to children (Limber, Kask, Heidmets, Kaufman & Melton, 1999;
Melton & Limber, 1992; Morrow, 1999; Ruck & Horn, 2008.).
It has also been suggested that an age-appropriate balance between children’s nurturance
and self-determination rights is best made on the basis of children’s own abilities and views to
understand their rights in a meaningful way (Hart & Pavlovic, 1991; Ruck & Horn, 2008).
In addition, the importance of children’s own views is outlined in Article 12 of the CRC,
which indicates that:

States Parties shall assure to the child who is capable of forming his or her own views the
right to express those views in all matters affecting the child, the views of the child being
given due weight in accordance with the age and maturity of the child.

The overarching goal of this chapter is to consider whether developmental research provides
a useful picture of children’s and young people’s own voices and meaning-making about
children’s nurturance and self-determination rights. We forgo a full consideration of the major
theoretical perspectives that have framed research and scholarship on the development of
children’s conceptions and understanding of rights; these are well-covered elsewhere (e.g.,
Peterson-Badali & Ruck, 2008; Ruck et al., 2014) as well as in this volume (see Chapters 5
and 9). We consider the critiques of developmental psychology stemming from the sociology
of childhood, a theoretical paradigm that has emerged over the last two decades (Hogan, 2005).
Central to this paradigm is the assertion that, rather than being viewed as static, universal, and
immutable, childhood is a social construction and children are active agents who have voice
and agency in constructing their lives (Hendricks, 1997; James & Prout, 1990; Smith 2002,
2007). Scholars within this perspective have criticized developmental psychology as being
preoccupied by age-related competencies and stages, focusing on children’s deficits, failing to
appreciate the importance of context in children’s lives, neglecting children’s agency (see Mayall,
2000; Morrow, 1999; Morrow & Pells in this volume; Smith, 2015), and viewing children
only in terms of “becoming” as it pertains to a temporary position on the way to adulthood
(Mayall, 2000; Morss, 1996; Qvortrup, 1994; Uprichard, 2008).
We contend that these critiques—which often focus on the problems inherent in Piagetian
(1928, 1932) approaches to child development or the weakness of positivist perspectives in
terms of the myths of research being context-free, value-neutral, and completely objective (see
Johnson & Onweugbuzie, 2004)—were up to a point in time correct and well-founded. We
suggest, however, that the field has largely moved beyond such static, decontextualized, and
negative portrayals of children and youth. Developmental psychology is currently more
appropriately characterized by approaches that acknowledge that growth and change continue
throughout the life span. These approaches also include a recognition of the importance of
multiple influences on development, including maturational, historical, temporal, social, and
contextual factors (Daiute, 2008; Sherrod, Torney-Purta, & Flanagan, 2010) and of children
as active agents in this process rather than passive recipients of these influences.

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Consistent with these theoretical perspectives is an increased valuing and use of child-centered
methods (e.g., focusing on children’s perspectives and action research paradigms in which
children co-construct research questions and methods) for examining developmental questions.
Listening to children’s own voices is particularly valued within the field of developmental
psychology in the context of issues central to improving the lives of young people, such as
considerations of rights, equity, and social justice (see Horn, Ruck & Liben, 2016; Killen,
Rutland & Ruck, 2011; Ruck & Horn, 2008; Russell, 2015, 2016).
Ultimately, portraying conceptualizations of childhood and children from the perspectives
of the sociology of childhood and developmental psychology as in conflict creates a false dichot-
omy that inhibits research and scholarship in each field from building upon, and benefitting
from, the work of the other. In the next section, we consider developmental frameworks that
have explicitly considered children’s conceptions of their rights.

Developmental Approaches to Examining How Young People

Think about Children’s Rights
Two distinct “developmental” frameworks have guided much of the scholarship regarding
children’s thinking and knowledge about concepts of rights. The most well-known of these
are the cognitive developmental global stage theory accounts of Piaget (1932) and Kohlberg
(1981). Both present a linear model of development in which children’s thinking about the
world proceeds via a sequence of invariant stages characterized by broad, universal, qualitative
shifts in children’s thinking (for a review see Lapsley, 2006). Within this framework, the growth
of children’s moral judgments concerning conceptions of rights begins with a heteronomous or
conventional stage, in which the child exhibits unilateral respect for the power and authority
of adults, to an autonomous or post-conventional stage, characterized by a principled approach to
rights and fairness. Research within these perspectives suggests that such principled conceptions
of rights are not achieved until late adolescence and that, indeed, very few individuals ever
reach this stage.
In contrast to these traditional cognitive development stage theories, social cognitive domain
theory (known as the “domain approach”) proposed by Turiel and colleagues (Nucci, 2001;
Smetana, 1995; Turiel, 1998, 2006) rejects the idea of global orientations in which one form
or stage of reasoning predominates. Rather, domain theory suggests that children develop multiple
forms of social reasoning characterized by complexity and heterogeneity. These are organized
into three domains: the moral (concerning justice, welfare, and rights), the social-conventional
(authority, rules, and social traditions), and the personal (concerning individual autonomy and
choice). According to this theoretical approach, how children think about situations such as
those involving children’s rights is nuanced and depends on multiple factors, including “the
particular aspect of the situations being considered at the time [i.e., the context in which the
situation is embedded], the way the situations are interpreted, or the way that multiple or
conflicting concerns are coordinated” (Neff & Helwig, 2002, p. 1431). While the domain
approach is not predominantly developmental, it does consider that there may
be developmental patterns in terms of how children and youth think about different types of
social issues in different situations and how these patterns may be influenced by the social
context in which the situation is embedded (Helwig, Ruck & Peterson-Badali, 2014). In addition,
and especially relevant for how children consider rights issues, the domain approach recog-
nizes that “rights have their sources in children’s sense of agency and personal choice . . . and
in concepts of welfare and harm . . . and that these aspects are often central to how children

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reason about their rights” (Helwig et al., 2014, p. 2540). Hence, the domain approach provides
a useful conceptual framework for investigating young people’s thinking and voices about human
rights.
We have explored children’s and adolescents’ knowledge, conceptions, and reasoning about
rights in general—and children’s rights in particular. As noted above, understanding how they
understand and think about rights is of critical importance to theory, policy, and practice, and
can promote the realization and effectiveness of rights in the lives of children and youth. In
the sections that follow, we provide qualitative evidence from our ongoing program of
developmental research that takes into consideration children’s agency, assumes that children
are competent interpreters of their social worlds, and illustrates how children’s thinking about
rights is complex and multifaceted.

Children’s Knowledge and Conceptions about Rights

We have explored North American children’s and adolescents’ declarative knowledge of
children’s rights across a number of studies (e.g., Elisha & Ruck, 2012; Ruck et al., 1998a;
Ruck, Keating, Abramovitch & Koegl, 1998b; Ruck, Peterson-Badali & Day, 2002; Ruck
et al., 2014; Tenenbaum & Ruck, 2012) by asking open-ended questions, including “What
is a right?,” “Who has rights?,” and “What rights do children have?” A majority of children
and adolescents think of a right in terms of “what one can do or wants to do,” which we see
as consistent with how young people view rights in their own lives rather than rights “in the
abstract.” At the same time, children at all ages overwhelmingly indicate the universal nature
of rights, reporting that “everyone has rights” or “all people have them.”
Children’s responses to the question, “Can anyone take away your rights?” illustrates how
children may think about rights in their own lives and based on their own experiences. A
global stage approach would suggest that by roughly mid adolescence young people should
acknowledge the abstract nature of rights and indicate the rights are irrevocable. However,
across studies, most North American respondents report that their rights could be taken away
by those in authority, especially in situations in which their rights conflicted with the wishes
of parents or teachers (e.g., “I can be grounded”). In contrast, when we recently presented a
similar question to South African children, few (approximately 3 percent) believed that their
rights could be taken away. In fact as one 12-year-old child indicated, “A right is something
that nobody can take away from you” (Willenberg, Tenenbaum, & Ruck, 2014). This finding
suggests that the South African post-apartheid context and experience, where children’s rights
have received special attention both politically as well as within the collective discourse and
media (Goldstein, Alderson, Usdin, & Japhet, 2001), has greatly influenced these children’s
views.
We also asked our North American participants, “Why should children have rights?”
Responses to this question indicate that children think about rights in terms of what is salient
or important in their own lives. Children speak of the importance of children having rights
for protection and safety, teaching future behavior and values, and for self-determination.
For example, the notion of protection was evident in the response of a 10-year-old boy, who
indicated, “Kids should have rights to keep adults from abusing or neglecting them.” Rights
as vehicles for teaching future behavior was evident in the response of a 14-year-old girl who
suggested that “having rights teaches you respect and values and you will know how to use
them as adults,” a response that reflects her experience of both “being and becoming” (see
Uprichards, 2008). The children we interviewed also viewed having rights as a way to allow

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them to have some level of decision making in their own lives—as one 12-year-old stated,
“so they can be free and decide on what they want.” Indeed, nearly half of the North American
children we interviewed indicated that decision making was the reason that rights were important
for children. We suggest that this speaks to the importance and high premium placed on personal
decision making and autonomy in individualistic North American society (Markus & Kitayama,
1991).
In contrast, when South African children were queried about why children should have
rights, fewer than 10 percent reported that decision making or autonomy was the reason.
However, despite the fact that these children did not focus on autonomy, some were aware
of having the right to express their opinions. With regard to parent–child relations, a 13-year-
old girl suggested that “[children] have the right to say, give their opinion in something, because
parents are always like putting children down and stuff like that; they should say what they
want to say and be able to know say, as they feel” (Willenberg, et al., 2014, p. 11). However,
safety and protection was the most common reason for children having rights in this South
African sample, with almost half of participants expressing this view: “It’s actually important
to have rights because other people will do all kinds of stuff to you” (11-year-old girl). “Children
must have rights otherwise they are not protected” (11-year-old boy). “If children don’t have
rights then adults will just hit them” (14-year-old boy). “To be protected against any type of
abuse: verbally, mentally, sexually, or any other way” (13-year-old girl). The responses of the
South African children interviewed by Willenberg et al. (2014) reflect the “reality of the South
African context” (p. 13); given that these children experience life in a society that has a high
level of violence and that threats to children’s safety are common (Loux, 2007), it is not surprising
that protection and safety were paramount.
Together, these results illustrate how differential experiences stemming from the socio-cultural
contexts in which children live play a central role in shaping how children think about rights.
This experience-based understanding may also have important implications for whether, and
to what extent, children engage rights as a means for their own protection, promotion, and
participation. Certainly, adults (e.g., parents) and the state are invoked as parties responsible
for ensuring that children’s rights are upheld, particularly for younger children, who are seen
as often lacking the resources (whether cognitive, social, or economic capital) to assert rights
on their own behalf. But rights are also seen as a means to be used by children themselves to
protect and advance their own interests and decision making.

Self-Generated Rights from Children in State Care

Virtually all of the available research examining children’s thinking about rights has involved
“typically developing” lower to upper middle-class children and youth. However, the argument
and evidence that children’s understandings of rights evolve, at least in part, from their lived
experiences underscores the importance of talking to a broad range of children in varying contexts
and circumstances. With this in mind, we felt it was vital to talk to children and adolescents
who are part of the child welfare system because of maltreatment. These children’s conceptions
regarding children’s rights may have particularly important implications for their development
and well-being, because they have already experienced impactful rights violations in the form
of the traumatic events that initially brought them into care and they are likely at increased
risk for continued violations. If their views of rights are related to their experiences of
maltreatment and child welfare involvement, this must be considered when determining their
care and how rights are discussed with them (Peterson-Badali, Ruck, & Bone, 2008).

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Martin D. Ruck, Michele Peterson-Badali, Isabelle M. Elisha, and Harriet R. Tenenbaum

To address these issues, we examined the rights knowledge of 10- to 18-year-old children
who had been the subject of significant rights violations in the form of various types of
maltreatment and abuse (e.g., physical, emotional, sexual, and neglect) and removed from their
homes (Bone, 2013; Peterson-Badali, Ruck, & Bone, 2008; Ruck, Peterson-Badali, & Poulakos
2015). We asked open-ended rights knowledge questions similar to those discussed above (e.g.,
“What is a right?” and “What rights do children have?”). In addition, in order to obtain a more
nuanced and complete picture of their conceptions of children’s rights, we adapted a “self-
generated” methodology initially developed within the moral reasoning field (e.g., Gilligan, 1982;
Lyons, 1983; Wark & Krebs, 1996) to expand the parameters of the morality domain beyond
what critics argued was constrained by traditional researcher-determined methods. Central to
this approach is that children themselves, rather than researchers, define the construct of a “right.”
To do so, participants were asked: “Tell me about a situation involving a children’s rights issue.
It doesn’t have to be something that has happened to you.” Children were also asked to generate
rights situations for three different contexts: home, school, and the world at large. After each
description, they explained what right was illustrated by their vignette.
In terms of rights knowledge, similar to children in previous studies, maltreated children
mentioned rights that covered protection and nurturance (e.g., protection from abuse, access
to basic needs, medical care, and education) as well as self-determination and participation (e.g.,
civil liberties, decision making). At the same time, participants’ responses reflected the particular
concerns and perspectives that emerged from their unique circumstances (Peterson-Badali et
al., 2008). For example, when maltreated children were asked to generate examples of a children’s
rights situation in the home context, they tended to mention rights to basic needs such as food
and meals (e.g., “you get three square meals a day,” “the right to eat nutritious food when
you are hungry”), clothing (e.g., “clean clothes that fit, and are right for your age”), shelter
(e.g., “to be allowed in the house, even if it’s after curfew”), and other basic, although equally
important needs (e.g., “a shower or bath . . . or glasses if you need them,” “to live in a free,
safe, clean, stable environment and to have love and the necessities of life”) (Bone, 2013).
Participants’ conceptions also varied according to the nature of their particular care settings.
As noted above, group home environments tend to be very structured, with explicit rules and
routines and run by professional staff who do not reside in the home (Curtis, Alexander, &
Lunghofer, 2001; Peterson-Badali et al., 2008). Reflecting this structure, when asked to describe
a situation involving a children’s rights issue in the home, one 14-year-old group home resident
described an incident where:

someone said that they were going to be out after curfew . . . then she changed her mind
and came home early and the group home worker wouldn’t let her in . . . so now we
have to let them know when we are changing our mind!
(Bone, 2013).

Other group home participants complained about not having access to food outside of meal
times, restrictions on the use of the bathroom, or “being restrained for absolutely no reason.”
Given the strict structure and explicit routine and rules of the group home setting, these residents
may be more likely than their foster home counterparts to feel they have limited power or
recourse when their rights are being restricted.
The education issues that predominated in the rights descriptions of these children and
adolescents also reflected their unique circumstances as persons “in care” (Peterson-Badali
et al., 2008). For example, some participants referred to interruptions to education that are

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part of life in care. One 18-year-old talked about children having “the right to education . .
. like when your foster mother does not let you go to school” (Bone, 2013). Others talked
about the impact of maltreatment on their ability to learn: a 17-year-old girl explained that:

If I am getting abused at home . . . that gives me limits to what I can learn in class because
it interferes and limits my learning because I cannot concentrate . . . you have the right
to learn without having to worry about when you’re done at school and have to go home
. . . you’re not going to learn in school if you have been beaten the night before.
(Bone, 2013)

When asked to generate rights issues in the world at large, many respondents focused on
decision making and civil liberties. While they were less likely to focus on decision making
in the home and school contexts (and more likely to generate rights related to protection)
compared to the context of the broader world, at times respondents did provide examples of
the lack of opportunity for decision making or participation with respect to their living
arrangements or foster care placements. For example, a 17-year-old girl felt that:

a youth should have the right to have some say in where they want to be placed . . . I
did not want to be in the group home I’m in and I told my worker and it was basically
like “we’re looking out for your best interests”, but it ain’t looking out for crap, it’s what
she [the worker] wants!
(Bone, 2013)

Another 15-year-old boy expressed frustration concerning the fact that he was never consulted
regarding plans for his immediate and long-term future: “They have a plan of care without
you knowing but it’s your right to know and participate in it” (Bone, 2013).
Taken together, these findings suggest that maltreated children share similar knowledge
regarding children’s rights as those of non-maltreated children reported in previous studies.
However, maltreated children’s understanding of rights (as seen in their self-generated responses)
is influenced by their particular lived experiences and unique perspectives. The findings also
reveal that the rights that they identified as salient were not simply a reflection of those rights
that they had experienced in their own lives but rather to which they aspire (e.g., right to an
education, right to have a voice in decisions affecting them). Maltreated children’s focus on
those rights yet to be met runs contrary to the assertion that the children’s experience of rights
depends on the experience of having rights fulfilled (Melton, 1980). What these findings imply
for developmental theory and children’s understanding of rights is that children do not have
to directly experience having certain rights met or fulfilled in order to be able to view them
as salient and talk about them in a meaningful way. It appears that these children may focus
considerable attention on those rights that remain to be fulfilled in their lives.

Children’s Reasoning about Their Rights

In addition to asking open-ended questions and self-generated scenarios, we have also examined
children’s reasoning or understanding of rights by presenting them with hypothetical vignettes
in which a child story-character wishes to have a particular nurturance right fulfilled
(e.g., parental emotional availability) or exercise a self-determination right (e.g., to keep a private

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Martin D. Ruck, Michele Peterson-Badali, Isabelle M. Elisha, and Harriet R. Tenenbaum

diary) (Ruck et al., 1998a; Ruck, Tenenbaum & Willenberg, 2011). For a complete review
of the origins and theoretical importance of developmental research on children’s reasoning
about moral judgments such as human rights, readers should see Peterson-Badali and Ruck
(2008), Helwig (2006); Helwig et al. (2014), and Chapter 9 of this volume.
In our research, we have found that how children reason about children’s rights depends on
the type of right under consideration and the context of situation in which the right is embedded.
When discussing nurturance rights, children’s explanations often focus on the social roles and
duties—rather than the rights—of the various parties involved. For example, in response to a
vignette dealing with whether parents should have to provide food and clothing for their child,
one 8-year-old boy indicated that the child is “too young and has no money” or, as another
8-year boy said, “His parents work and have enough money to buy stuff.” Older children had
similar responses, as seen in the explanation of a 14-year-old girl who noted that, “[the child]
is not an adult yet . . . but still lives with parents; they should pay for food and clothing to keep
him warm . . . they should be responsible for him.” Similarly, a 16-year-old boy answered, “She
is a kid and they are her parents; it’s their responsibility to provide her with basic necessities
until she is old enough” (Ruck et al., 1998a).
In contrast, children’s explanations in response to self-determination vignettes are more likely
to include references to individual rights and concepts pertaining to rights, such as autonomy
and personal freedom. These concepts are evident in the response of a 12-year-old boy who
explains why a child should be able to keep a diary secret from his parents: “It’s his own life.
Maybe he has secrets; he shouldn’t tell them.” Another 12-year-old remarked, “They need to
give her some privacy, she needs privacy . . . if she doesn’t want them to read it, it’s her decision,
it’s her diary.” By 14 years of age, we found that children begin to speak in terms of parental
restrictions to children’s right to privacy and to explicitly use the language of “rights.” For
example, in response to the diary vignette, one 14-year-old girl stated, “It’s her personal thoughts
and she would like to keep it to herself . . . [her parents] are invading her right to privacy.”
Similarly, a 16-year-old girl argued, “It’s the child’s right to keep it to themselves . . . it is a
right that the child has in the family and children don’t have that many rights.”
The above findings clearly illustrate that children often feel their autonomy is limited because
of direct parental actions. However, we know considerably less about how children think parents
would respond and reason about a child’s requests for nurturance and self-determination rights
in the home, which has direct implications for how children actually experience parental roles.
To address this question, we examined urban children’s judgments and reasoning about how
parents think about children’s rights (Elisha & Ruck, 2012). Overall, children believed that while
parents would be supportive of children’s nurturance rights, they would show less support for
children’s self-determination rights. In deciding whether parents would support children’s
nurturance rights, children felt that parents would focus on their age and maturity, or on parents’
responsibility to look after their child. For example, an 11-year-old girl indicated that her parents
would focus on her age when it came to making decisions as she stated, “When you get older
you have more responsibility. So that’s why my parents let me solve my own problems.” In
contrast, one 12-year-old boy felt that his parents would consider it their own responsibility to
help him when he had a problem, suggesting that:

What my parents would do is try to calm me down. They would just see what the problem
is so they would know and could fix it. The reason why they would help me is so they
could calm me down . . . That’s why parents are good help.

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Children felt that parents would consider children’s age or maturity as the basis for deciding
whether to support children’s self-determination rights. For example, with respect to children
wanting the right to vote, most participants believed that their parents would consider them
too young to vote. As one 12-year-old boy suggested, “My parents would say that kids should
vote if they know what it is about. But my parents would say that a boy my age shouldn’t
vote.” In response to whether parents would allow children to have a secret diary, children
suggested that parents would take into consideration the child’s right to privacy. One 11-year-
old girl who indicated that her parents would support her decision to keep a secret diary suggested
that they would probably say, “If you don’t want anybody to know your secrets then nobody
should know.” However, other children believed that despite children having rights they would
not be allowed to keep a secret diary. This type of thinking was revealed in the response of a
12-year-old girl who felt that her parents would probably invade her privacy: “I wouldn’t
even write in a diary because I am scared that my own Dada and Mom would find it.” Given
children’s awareness of their limited power in the family some even suggested strategies by
which their self-determination rights might be safeguarded from parental intrusion in the home.
For example, the same 12-year-old girl suggested that a child could “hide [the diary] in a place
where no one would look for it.” Taken together these findings are in accord with available
research indicating that children are acutely aware that they have relatively little power and
few self-determination rights in the family and society (Howard & Gill, 2000; Morrow, 1999).
Few developmental studies have compared adolescents’ and parents’ thinking about children’s
rights. This is surprising given that (as indicated above) parents are typically the “gate-keepers”
of their children’s rights (Cherney, Greteman, & Travers, 2008; Peterson-Badali, Morine, Ruck,
& Slonim, 2004). Young people are more likely to be economically, psychologically, and
physically dependent on their parents, and children’s rights are exercised by parents on the
child’s behalf rather than due to the child’s own agency.
The available North American research comparing mothers’ and adolescents’ reasoning about
children’s nurturance and self-determination rights reported similarities and differences in terms
of the types of reasoning used (Ruck, Peterson-Badali, & Day, 2002). When considering
children’s nurturance rights, both adolescents and mothers considered family roles and
relationships. As one mother of a 12-year-old child contended, “It’s the mother’s job to make
sure that children are safe.” However, for self-determination situations (e.g., keeping a private
diary), adolescents’ and mothers’ reasoning tended to focus on individual rights (e.g., “It’s her
personal stuff so she should have right to privacy”). In addition, compared to adolescents,
mothers’ reasoning was more likely to consider the age or maturity of the child under
consideration (e.g., “That child is not mature enough to be able to make those kinds of decisions),
particularly when considering children’s self-determination rights. This finding that, for
mothers, explanations linked to age or maturity is consistent with the concerns that parents
(and adults in general) often consider when deciding whether children should be entitled to
various self-determination rights or civil liberties (Helwig, 1997).
Mothers often made explicit reference to the balance between the child’s right to self-
determination and the child’s entitlement or right to nurturance in the form of care and
protection. In some cases, mothers spoke of this balance in terms of their parental right to
intervene in the child’s life for the benefit of the child. For example, in response to the issue
of whether a child should have the right to keep a private diary, one mother responded,
“Yes, she should have that privacy, but it is the parents’ right to know what’s going on in the
child’s life. She has the right to privacy but [some] secrets in there, the mom has the right to

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Martin D. Ruck, Michele Peterson-Badali, Isabelle M. Elisha, and Harriet R. Tenenbaum

know” (Ruck et al., 2002). Establishing such a balance is a difficult but important task of
parenting (Baumrind, 1978; Day, Peterson-Badali & Ruck, 2006) and has implications for the
promotion of children’s healthy development.
The little research that has compared children’s and mothers’ thinking and reasoning about
children’s rights comes almost exclusively from Western cultural contexts. Given the importance
of experience and context to the development of how children think about rights, it is critical
to broaden the locus of research beyond the Western, minority world. In order to begin this
exploration, Ruck et al. (2011) spoke to South African children and their mothers from working-
to lower middle-class colored communities. Participants responded to vignettes that dealt with
children’s rights situations familiar to this population of South African children and mothers
(e.g., freedom from excessive chores, parental emotional availability, freedom of expression in
the home, privacy).
In line with a domain perspective, both children and mothers employed distinctive patterns
of reasoning depending on the type of right and situation under consideration. For nurturance
rights, children’s were more likely to consider the negative consequences of withholding their
nurturance rights (e.g., “he can get in trouble or even hurt if he does that”), while mothers
tended to make references to parental responsibility and care (e.g., “it’s the parents’ responsibility
to take care and look after their children’). For self-determination rights, children focused
on the story characters’ personal autonomy (e.g., “that’s his decision so he has the right to do
that”), cognitive maturity (e.g., “she is too young to understand that”), and negative conse-
quences due to not having the self-determination right in question. Mothers, on the other
hand, were more likely to consider the child’s cognitive or physical maturity when considering
whether the child should have the self-determination right being considered (e.g., “when the
child is older she will be able to do that”).
What is interesting about these findings, with respect to children’s reasoning about
nurturance rights, is that as opposed to a focus on familial roles and social relations as has been
found in work in Western settings (e.g., Ruck et al., 2002), children were more likely to consider
the negative consequences associated with not having their nurturance rights fulfilled. This
was seen most clearly in the vignette concerning the child’s right to have parents make sure
that the child is not left home alone. As one 11-year-old boy indicated with regard to this
vignette, “Because a burglar could break in and either kill the boy . . . or take the boy.” As
discussed in the section above, children’s reasoning in this manner appears to have been shaped
by the social and cultural context in which these children live. As noted by Willenberg et al.
(2014), many South African children have grown up in communities where there is considerable
exposure to crime and violence, given that at the time the country had one of the highest
murder and violent assault rates in the world (South Africa Institute of Race Relations, 2004).
These findings are considerably different from the responses of children to a similar vignette
but living in settings where such high levels of violence were not as common (e.g., Elisha &
Ruck, 2012; Ruck et al., 1998a; Ruck et al., 2002). Thus the focus on personal safety is a
clearly a central part of these South African children’s lived experience (Willenberg & Savahl,
2004).

Conclusion
The research described above illustrates the wide variations and richness in children’s responses
in their thinking and talking about rights. As reported in our previous work (for a review see
Peterson-Badali & Ruck, 2008) as well as in the work of other developmentalists (e.g., Cherney

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& Shing, 2008; Lahat, Helwig, Yang, Tan, & Liu, 2009), how children and youth think and
talk about rights is not best supported by hard stage psychological accounts that assume the
growth of children’s understanding is explained by broad universal cognitive-developmental
changes. In addition, in many cases children talk about their rights (e.g., nurturance or
protection rights) without explicitly using the language of rights. Further, as evidenced in their
responses, how children think about rights is influenced by both their lived experiences and
the settings or cultural contexts in which they live. These findings are not dissimilar to what
has been found by child studies scholars and researchers studying children’s rights in everyday
settings (see Howard & Gill, 2000; Morrow, 1999; Taylor, Smith, & Nairn, 2001).
As indicated in the opening to this chapter, the sociology of childhood emerged from critiques
of developmental psychology (in addition to other disciplines) “as treating children . . . as lacking
in independence, rationality, intelligence, autonomy and confidence” (Smith, 2015, p. 81) and
as paying scant attention to children’s subjective experience (Hogan, 2005). However, scholars
within this field have been relatively silent about the developmental changes that have
important implications for the types of rights that might be extended to children based on
their evolving capacities and their own views about the importance of different rights (Ruck
et al., 2014). We contend that, in the last two to three decades, developmental psychology
has moved toward a better understanding of the critical contribution of children’s own
experiences and perspectives to their development. As Smetana, Ahmad, and Wray-Lake (2015)
recently noted, “[d]evelopmental scientists now agree that children and adolescents are active
agents in their socialization and that they evaluate and act on their beliefs and expectations”
(p. 2017). While this might be seen as an example of developmental psychology “coming late
to the dance,” it nevertheless represents a less marginalized view of children.
There are likely a number of reasons for this change in perspective. First, the field has moved
away from its overwhelming reliance on positivistic or post-positivistic approaches and
paradigms with a concomitant move toward more mixed-methods approaches as means of
inquiry (Yoshikawami, Weisner, Kalil, & Way, 2008). Along with this has also been a greater
appreciation of the importance of qualitative and interpretative approaches as a way to better
understand young people’s meaning-making. In addition, the field is less reliant on traditional
Piagetian or Kohlbergian hard stage accounts where the development of children’s thinking is
believed to follow universal invariant stages as explanations for the growth of children’s
development and influenced by the social context or setting in which the child is embedded.
Finally, a growing number of developmentalists have begun to address issues pertaining to equity
and social justice as important goals for healthy development and well-being in the lives of
children, youth, and communities (see Horn et al., 2016; Killen et al., 2011; Pfeifer, Spears
Brown, & Juvonen, 2007; Ruck & Horn, 2008). Despite the fact that these have not been
recent changes, critics nevertheless continue to view developmental psychology as representing
and promoting a linear and stage-like view of childhood (see Morrow, 2013; Smith, 2015).
However, such critiques would benefit from considering that developmental studies examining
children’s social development and their lived experiences (including issues pertaining to equity
and social justice—see Horn et al., 2016) are now more likely to focus on domain-specific
models (Ruck & Tenenbaum, 2014), social–ecological approaches (Ben-Arieh & Attar-
Schwartz, 2013), cultural–historical and activity theory frameworks (Stetsenko, 2014), and
qualitative methods such as narrative inquiry or discourse analysis (Daiute, 2010). All of these
developmental approaches take into consideration the importance of contextual factors and
children’s role as active agents in constructing their social worlds and thus contribute to a richer
understanding of young people’s own interpretations, perspectives, and experiences.

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 Index

Abebe, T. 481, 555, 574 Bartoli, A. 270, 271

Aber, J. L. 72, 73 Bauer, R. A. 71
ActionAid 374 Baumrind, D. 144, 241, 606
adolescents 156,191–196, 282–293 “becoming” child discourse 73–74, 117
African Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Behnam, N. 586
Child (ACRWC) 22, 109–110, 165, 203, 213, Beijing Declaration and Platform for Action 24
242, 367, 383, 465–466, 499, 518, 535, 581 Ben-Arieh, A. 222
Agbakwa, S. 173 Benjamin, M. 159
age, chronological 152 Bennett, J. 325
agency, children’s 55, 106, 119–120, 438–440 Bentham, J. 151, 157
Ahmad, A. 607 Besson, S. 39
Ahmed, S. 592, 593 best interest standard 156
Akerkar, S. 124 bioethics 329–331
Alaimo, K. 18, 69, 70 biological embedding 189–190
Alanen, L. 118, 119, 121, 128 birth order 100–101
Albert, D. 192, 194 Bissell, S. 125
American Academy of Pediatrics 59, 151 Blackstone, William 7
American Convention on Human Rights 22, 165, Bluebond-Langner, M. 102, 481
242, 367, 517 Bolsa Familia 29
American Psychological Association (APA) 208, bottom-up approach 48, 106, 423–424, 580
230, 285 Bourdillon, M. 105, 123, 124, 125, 126, 215, 440,
Amnesty International 227 442, 443
Andrews, A. B. 72 Bouverne-De Bie, M. 36, 37, 42, 46, 48, 483
anthropological perspectives 97–110, 247–249 Boy Scouts of America 501, 504–505
Antonopoulouc, K. 241 Bradshaw, J. 74, 75, 76
Appelbaum, P. S. 337, 339 Brighouse, H. 55, 260
Archard, D. 36, 37, 59, 61, 69, 158 Broberg 242
Ariès, P. 4, 119, 550 Bruner, J. 132, 491
Arneil, B. 159 bullying: homophobic 225–227; online 421
association, freedom of 498–511 Bunders-Aelen, J. F. G. 265, 507
Atmakur-Javdekar, S. 547 Burchardt, T. 38
Australian Human Rights Commission (AHRC) Burman, E. 104, 122, 315, 503
408–409 Burr, R. 103, 104, 105
Australian Institute of Health & Welfare 259, 264, Buss, E. 293
268
authorship, youth 481–494 Camacho, A. Z. V. 520, 551, 575
Ayers, R. 485 Campbell, S. 152, 246, 282
Cantwell, N. 122, 439
Bainham, A. 45, 59 capabilities approach 537–538
Barad, K. 313, 316, 317, 319, 320, 325 Cappa, C. 247, 249
Baral, S. D. 457 Capri, C. 270
Barneombudet (Norway) 404–406 Capriccioso, R. 492

611
Index

Casal, R. 485 of Children (EPOCH) 241, 243, 244;

Cassola, A. 367 incidence of 249; pathways to change 252–253;
Catalonia Síndic de Greuges 409–411 persistence of 244–249
Cauffman, E. 284 Costello, J. 208
Chambers, R. 553 Council of Europe 14, 518
Chapman, N. 250 Covell, K. 375
Chatterjee, S. 525, 526, 527, 540, 541, 543 CRC see U.N. Convention on the Rights of the
Chawla, L. 541 Child (UNCRC)
child abuse 258–273 Crenshaw, K. 29
child centered anthropology 101–104 criminal justice system: adjudicative competence
Child Helpline International 368 292–293; history of conception of childhood in
child labor: history of reform 8–9, 69; see also 279–288; interrogation 288–291; Miranda
work, children’s right to rights 282, 288–290; procedural rights (U.S.)
child poverty 39–43, 122–127, 204–207 278–294; separate category for juvenile
child protection systems 264–271 criminals 10–11
child protection workers 269–271 critical perspectives 46–48
Children’s Commissioners 426–427 cultural relativism 97–99, 103–110, 121–122
Children’s Dignity Forum (Tanzania) 530 Cussiánovich, A. 500
Children’s Ombudsmen 426–427
child soldiers 465–476 Davies, R. 270
Child Soldiers International 468 Dean, H. 46, 48
Child to Child 214 Declaration on the Elimination of Violence
Cifuentes, M. 175 against Women (DEVAW) 24
cities, child friendly (CFCs) 533–547 Dedding, C. W. M. 265
citizenship-status 38, 48 Degener, T. 333
civil society organizations (CSOs) 390–392 Deleuze, G. 314, 316, 318, 319
Clark, J. 245 de Montaigne, M. 271
clubs/groups, child-rights based 507–511 Derr, V. 548
Coalition to Stop the Use of Child Soldiers 466, developmental science/psychology 186–196,
467, 468 597–607
Cohen, C. 25, 26 Diaz, R. M. 225
Colclough, C. 373 Diener, E. 74
Coleman, D. 246 digital technologies 417–430
collective participation, children’s 500 disabled children 82, 368
Collier, R. 60 disarmament, demobilization and reintegration
Committee on the Rights of the Child 56, 57, 58, (DDR) programming 469–471
59, 60, 61, 62, 64, 65, 203, 354, 366, 369 Dixon, R. 538
competencies 152–153 Dodge, K. 246
conditional cash transfer programs 28–29 Doek, J. 88
Confalonieria, E. 241 Donnelly, J. 245
Consortium for Street Children 353, 354 Douglas, E. M. 280
Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Durkheim, E. 116
Discrimination against Women (CEDAW) Durrant, J. 240, 241, 242, 245, 246, 247, 249, 250
22–26, 29, 365 Dusky v. United States 292
Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) Dworkin, R. 157
see U.N. Convention on the Rights of the
Child (UNCRC) Earls, F. 222
Convention on the Rights of Migrant Workers economic and social rights: global action strategies
(CRMW) 365 172–180; implementation problems 170–172;
Convention on the Rights of Persons with overview of 164–165; responsibilities for
Disabilities (CRPD) 328, 365 165–170
corporal punishment: child beating in Tonga education rights Africa 383–384; children’s views
108–109; countries that ban 240–242, 243; 370–373; Committee on the Rights of the
countries that condone 244; the CRC on Child and 369–370; corporal punishment in
242–243; in education settings 368; effects of school 368; former child soldiers 471; global
249–252, 557, 559; End Physical Punishment initiatives 373–375; history of reforms 10;

612
 Index

home schooling 304; impact of rights education Fraser, N. 484

300–304; implementation challenges 367–369, Freeman, C. 526, 539
370; initiatives in rights education 298–299; Freeman, K. 230
meaning of 296–298; obstacles to Freeman-Longo, R. E. 31
implementing 304–308; and parents’ rights Freeman, M. 55, 64, 82, 84, 85, 98, 107, 108,
304–308; progressive educational settings 505; 114, 116, 206, 239, 242, 243, 244, 245, 246,
‘Rights, Respect and Responsibility’ (RRR) 247, 250, 252, 254, 296, 313, 387, 389, 390,
programme 298–304, 375; and school climate 483
302–303; Special Rapporteur on the Right to Freud, S. 133
Education 366–367; within the CRC 365–367, Fung, H. 143
376 Funky Dragon 403
Eekelaar, J. 252
Egan, S. 89 Galant, G. 126
Ellonen, N. 241 Gallegos v. Colorado 279, 280
emancipated minors 153 Gates Foundation 215
End Physical Punishment of Children (EPOCH) GAVI 179
244 Gearty, C. 116
Ennew, J. 108, 552 Gelles, R. J. 265
ENOC 44, 399, 400, 401, 411 gender and sexuality see LGBTQ-GNC youth
environmental child-friendliness 533–547 General Comment No.2 402–404
epigenetics 190 General Comment No.17 321–322, 325
Erikson, E. H. 280 Gerber, P. 374
Esping-Andersen, G. 40 Gibson, D. 55
ethnocentrism 104–107, 121–122 Giddens, A. 120
EU Kids Online 420, 421, 427 Gillick v. Wisbech & West Norfolk Area Health
European Committee of Social Rights 242, 243 Authority 211
European Council (EC) 203, 211 Gillies, V. 42, 45
European Union 421 Girls Not Brides 244
Eurostat 39 Goddard, C. 268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273
Evans, J. 194 Goldson, B. 83
Evans, T. 47 Goldstein, Joseph 156, 158
evolving capacities 63–65, 186–196, 502–503, 597 Goodin, R. 55
executive function capabilities 191 Goodman, R. 104
Goswami, H. 74
family: alternative family formations 59; and Gotlib, A. 159
economic and social rights 167–168, 170; governance: Africa 381–393; by elites 385–386;
protection from violence within 60–61; status child participation in local 515–529; civil
of under CRC 55–57; see also parents society organizations (CSOs) 390–392;
Fang, X. 259 constraints on 385–390; culture and 386–388;
Fare v. Michael C. 282, 283, 291 of Internet 425–426; Latin America 381–393;
Farley, F. 195 and organized crime 389–390; power struggles
Farris, M. P. 304, 306 and 385–386; and proliferation of international
Farson, D. 151 rights 388–389; states parties and the CRC
Farson, R. 15 382–384
Feinberg, J. 153 Gracia, E. 245
female genital mutilation (FGM) 11, 24, 27, 107, Graham, A. 484
206, 383, 585 Graham v. Florida 286, 287, 291
Finkelhor, D. 260 Grisso, T. 279, 282, 289, 290, 291, 292, 293
Firth, R. 100 groups/clubs, child-rights based 507–511
Fitzgerald, R. 484 Guattari, F. 316
Florence, C. S. 259 Guggenheim, M. 54, 158
Forman, E. 156
Fortes, M. 100 Haidt, J. 135
Fortin, J. 89 Haley v. Ohio 279, 280, 284
Forward, S. 260 Hanson, K. 442, 444, 481, 482
Franklin, B. 14, 244, 271, 422 Hardman, C. 101

613
Index

Hardwig, J. 156 In re Gault 17, 281

Hart, H. L. A. 151 In re Winship 281
Hart, J. 521 Institute of Medicine 31, 205, 457
Hart, R. 546 Integrated Disarmament, Demobilization and
health: Africa 383; charities and 214; consent to Reintegration Standards (IDDRS) 469–469
medical research 212–213; consent to medical Interagency Learning Initiative on Community-
treatment 211–212; former child soldiers Based Child Protection Mechanisms 580–594
470–472; LGBTQ-GNC youth 229–232; interest theory of rights 55
medical screening 209, 211; mental health International Covenant on Civil and Political
208–209; pharmaceutical research 210; Rights (ICCPR) 22, 70, 84, 329, 406, 499
philanthropy and 214–215; PPP hospitals 214; International Covenant on Economic, Social,
promoting children’s health-related rights and Cultural Rights (ICESCR) 22, 29, 70,
213–217; right to highest attainable health care 164, 364, 365
services 208–211; right to highest attainable International Labor Organization 16, 244
standard of health 204–206; violence and Internet/digital technologies 417–430
206–208; see also psychiatric disorders interrelational perspective 48
Heifetz, R. A. 502 Ireland Human Rights and Equality Commission
Henricson, C. 45 (IHREC) 407
Herrero, J. 245 Ireland’s Ombudsman for Children (OC)
Herskovits, M. J. 98 406–407
Hertfelt Wahnb, E. 241
Heymann, J. 367 James, A. 102, 117, 119, 120
history of children’s rights: child centered J.D.B. v. North Carolina 286, 287, 289, 291
anthropology 101–104; child labor 8–9, 69; Jebb, Eglantyne 13
criminal justice system 279–288; education Jenkins, H. 427
reform 10; emergence of children’s rights Jocson, K. 485
12–14, 69–70, 534–535; emergence of human Johnson Frankenberg, S. J. 248
rights concept 6–8; expansion after 1945 Johnston, J. 333
14–16; imperialism 11–12; nineteenth century
8–9; separate category for juvenile criminals Kahneman, D. 194
10–11; sociology of childhood 116–121 Kang, Y. 553
Hodge, C. 485 Keating, D. P. 222
Hodgkin, R. 500 Kelley, Florence 13
Holt, John 151 Kempe, C. H. 271
Honig, M.-S. 36 Kennedy, S. 270
Honneth, A. 484 Kenya ethnographic research 587–594
Horelli, L. 538, 539 Key, E. 12, 242
Horn, S. xiii, 188 Khadka, S. 75
Houlgate, L. D. 152, 155 Kilkelly, U. 88
Howe, R. B. 375 Kitchen, A. 492
Huebner, D. 225 Kohlberg, L. 136, 137, 139, 599
Hughes, J. 151 Korczak, Janusz 13, 534
human rights, emergence of concept 6–8 Krause, H. 166, 168, 169
Human Rights Council 406, 407, 411 Ku, Chia-yen 486
Human Rights in Education/Mana Tika Tangata Kyttä, M. 539
(HRiE) 299
Human Rights Watch 225, 226 Ladd, F. C. 540
Hunt, S. 268 Ladd, J. 157, 158
Hynes, P. 115 Ladd, R. 152, 156
Lancy, D. 247
ICC 399, 400, 401, 402, 408, 409 language: of child abuse 271–272; of rights
ILO 440, 444, 465 156–159
imperialism 11–12 Lansdown, G. 483
independent children’s rights institutions (ICRIs) Lansford, J. E. 241, 247
398–412 law codes, early 4
In re Agar-Ellis 61 leadership, child and youth 501–502

614
 Index

League of Nations 13 Maybury-Lewis, D. 100

Lefebvre, H. 535 Mead, M. 99
Leff, J. 470 Melton, G. 40, 75, 137, 184, 185, 188, 265, 398,
Le Grand, J. 38 598, 603
Lesotho Demographics 214 mental health 208–209
Lester, B. M. 190 mental maps 563–566
Lester, N. 486, 488 Mercy, J. A. 259
Lester, S. 322, 323 Mestrum, F. 41
Levitas, R. 40 microfinance programs 29
LGBTQ-GNC youth: the CRC and 222–224; Miller, R. 485, 486
family environment 225; health care 229–232; Miller v. Alabama 286, 287, 288, 291
health information 229–232; homophobic Mill, J. S. 151
bullying 225–227; human rights laws on Minnesota 454
221–222; participation rights 232–234; Miranda rights 282, 288–290
protection from discrimination 224–229; Mizen, P. 120
recognition of identity 229–230; school Mizrachi, D. 546
environment 225–227; sexuality education moral codes, acquisition by children 133–136
232; state institution environment 227–229 moral reasoning, children’s: culture and 141–145;
liberationist rights 149–151 global stage approach 136–137, 599; research
Liebel, M. 106, 124, 437, 438, 439, 440, 441, into 603–606; social domain perspective
443, 444, 445, 449, 483, 502, 506, 507, 527, 137–141, 599–600
528 Morris, B. 504
Lipman, M. 159 Morrison, Slade 483, 486–492
Lipson, M. 155 Morrison, Toni 483, 486–492
Lister, R. 41 Morrow, V. 40, 128
literature, children as producers of 481–494 Morton, H. 108, 109
Livingstone, S. 424 Mudaly, N. 269
local governance: child participation in 515–529; Munro, E. 268
Sangguniang Kabataan (Philippines) 521–522;
Tanzania children’s councils 523–525 Nazi euthanasia program 329–331
Locke, J. 6, 150 Néstle CEO 214
Lone, J. M. 159 neuroplasticity 190
Lopatka, A. 82 Newell, P. 250, 500
Lorenz, W. 39, 44 Nieuwenhuys, O. 442, 481, 482, 550
Lundy, L. 75 Noddings, N. 158
Lynch, K. 540–541 Nolan, A. 88
Norway Parliamentary Ombudsman 398,
MacArthur Foundation’s Adjudicative 404–406
Competence Study 292 Nozick, R. 157
McGillivray, A. 246 Nucci, L. 140
McGoldrick, D. 81 Nuremberg Code 212
McMaster, J. 485 nurturance rights 186–188
McMullin, J. 475 Nussbaum, M. C. 537, 538, 542
Malone, L. A. 31
Mann, H. 10 O’Byrne, D. 115
marriage: Convention on Consent to Marriage, OECD 368, 426
Minimum Age for Marriage and Registration Office of the United Nations High Commissioner
of Marriages (1962) 15; early 24, 107, 108, 368, for Human Rights (OHCHR) 107, 221, 222,
591, 592 224, 228, 229, 230, 231, 349, 351, 352, 354,
Mason, J. 262 401, 426
Mason, M. A. 9, 150 Ofosu-Kusi, Y. 120
Massey, D. 575 Olivari, M. A. 241, 242
Matthews, G. 159, 485 O’Neill, B. 417, 420, 422, 423
Matthews, M. H. 554 O’Neill, O. 55, 150, 158
Matthews v. Eldridge 293 Opie, I. 315
Mayall, B. 63, 117, 118, 121, 482 Opie, P. 315

615
Index

Optional Protocol to the Convention against Pupavac, V. 254

Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Purdy, L. 151
Degrading Treatment or Punishment 410
Optional Protocol to the Convention on the Qvortrup, J. 116–117
Rights of the Child on a Communications
Procedure 403 Ratna, K. 528
Optional Protocol to the CRC on the Sale of Raub, A. 367
Children, Child Prostitution, and Child Ravnbøl, C. I. 30
Pornography 30 Rawls, J. 159, 185
Organization of African States 389 Raz, J. 158
organized crime 389–390 Reddy, N. 528
original sin 6 Rees, G. 74
Oxfam 207 refugee children 82–83
Reid, J. A. 459
Palfrey, J. 423 relational conception of rights 63
Pan American Health Organization 229 relationships, rights as 127
Parens, E. 333 Renteln, A. 245
parents: absolute power of 261–262; alternative research: Interagency Learning Initiative on
family formations 59; assistance for 58–59; Community-Based Child Protection
authoritative parenting style 241–242; and child Mechanisms 580–594; rights-based
poverty 41–43; CRC and rights of 53–54, 304, participatory 550–574
369; parenting models 45–46; rights of Resnick, M. 73
154–155; role of under CRC 57–63; see also Reynaert, D. 483
family Reyna, V. 195
Paris Principles 401, 402, 403, 404, 466 Reynolds, P. 106, 442
Parlevleit, M. 126 Richards, A. 100, 459
Parsons, T. 208 Richardson, D. 75
participation rights 37–38, 70–71, 76, 483–485 Richards, T. N. 459
participatory research 550–574 Richter, L. 561
Pegram, T. 402 Ridge, T. 40
Percy-Smith, B. 519 Right to Education Project 367, 374
Peters, K. 470 Right to Food 216
Pharmaceutical Manufacturing 210 Riley, C. J. 591
philosophical perspectives 149–160 Riley, L. 574
photo voice research method 566–572 Roberts, M. 250
Piachaud, D. 38 Robson, E. 481
Piaget, J. 136, 138 Roosevelt, Eleanor 114, 116, 126, 376
Pinker, S. 206 Roper v. Simmons 17, 285, 286, 287, 289, 291
Plato 154 Rose-Krasnor 242
play, children’s right to 312–325 Ross, L. 151
Plum, H. J. 264, 266 Rousseau, J. J. 6
Polygamy Reference Case 305 rules, rights as 126–127
poverty, child 39–43, 122–127, 204–207 Russell, W. 323
primogeniture 100–101 Ryan, C. 225
Pritchard, M. 160
processes, rights as 127 Sadler commission report 9
property, children as 61, 68–69 Saewyc, E. 184, 222, 225, 227, 353, 456, 457,
protagonism, children’s 500 458, 459, 460, 461, 502
protectionist rights 149–151 Sanchez, J. 225
protective measures, early 4–6 Santos Pais, M. 250, 252, 253
psychiatric disorders: bioethics and 329–331; Saunders, B. E. 268
diagnosis of 334–335; geneticization of Saunders, B. J. 252, 268, 271
336–340; precision medicine 338–340; Save the Children xiv, 356, 368, 507, 555, 556,
treatment of children 331–336 557, 575
psychology of children’s rights 132–146 Save the Children Sweden 251
Publishers Weekly 486 Scalia, Justice 285, 286

616
 Index

Schildkrout, E. 102 Timimi, S. 333, 334

Schoeman, F. 154 Tobin, J. 482, 518
Scott, E. S. 284, 285, 291 Tomaševski, K. 367, 370
self-determination rights 186–188 Tomlinson, M. 270
self-governance 501, 505 top-down approach 48, 106
Sen, A. xiii, 185, 537 Townsend, P. 123
sex trafficking 29–31, 459 Trafficking Protocol 30
sexual exploitation: the CRC on 454–456; Trivers, H. 375
estimating the scope of 456–458, 459; health Turiel, E. 599
consequences of 460; interventions 460–461; in Turner, B. 115
wars 468; youth at elevated risk of 458; see also Tversky, A. 194
LGBTQ-GNC youth Twum-Danso, A. 105
Shriberg, J. 586
Shweder, R. A. 134, 135 UNATsBO 447
Sierra Leone ethnographic research 580–587, U.N. Convention on the Rights of the Child
592–594 (UNCRC): Article 1 90, 108, 244; Article 2
Sinclair, R. 520 26, 27, 62, 82, 108, 187, 222, 223, 224, 225,
Síndic de Greuges (Catalonia) 409–411 234, 258, 297, 455, 534, 535; Article 3 32, 81,
Singh, K. 367 82, 83, 88, 90, 187, 212, 307, 406, 455, 534,
Skinner, B. F. 133, 134 552; Article 4 85, 87, 88, 166, 169, 173, 177,
Skott-Myhre, H. 482 382, 398, 455; Article 5 57, 58, 63, 81, 82, 83,
Smetana, J. G. 140, 607 108, 133, 151, 187, 212, 223, 305, 306, 455;
Smith, A. 241484 Article 6 26, 62, 81, 82, 166, 187, 224, 258,
Smith, R. 305 455, 534; Article 7 58, 81, 84, 455; Article 8
social constructionism 119–120 56, 58, 81, 84, 108, 424, 455, 456, 561; Article
social exclusion 36–49 9 56, 58, 81, 456, 561; Article 10 58, 81, 424,
social indicators 71–75 561; Article 12 62, 63, 82, 83, 85, 88, 90, 108,
social intuitionist theory 135 127, 132, 187, 188, 211, 232, 250, 258, 264,
social media/digital technologies 417–430 297, 339, 366, 406, 424, 482, 483, 484, 494,
sociological approaches 114–128 517, 519, 520, 534, 540, 552, 574, 598; Article
sociology of childhood 116–121 13 81, 84, 132, 188, 223, 232, 233, 297, 424,
Solnit, Albert J. 156 483, 484, 494, 535, 540, 552, 561; Article 14
Spain’s national Defensor del Pueblo (DP) 409–411 81, 82, 133, 188, 223, 224, 232, 297, 424, 535,
Spence, Thomas 7 540; Article 15 84, 188, 223, 232, 424,
Spicker, P. 167 498–502, 507, 508, 509, 535, 540; Article 16
Stanford v. Kentucky 283 56, 81, 232, 424, 543; Article 17 81, 83, 223,
Stanley, J. 269, 270 424; Article 18 41, 58, 60, 62, 63, 81, 82, 83,
Starkey, H. 375 212, 384, 424, 561; Article 19 60, 62, 81, 108,
Steinberg, L. 284, 285, 291 187, 224, 297, 561, 574; Article 20 81; Article
Steiner, H. 155 21 81, 84; Article 22 82, 187; Article 23 81,
Stockholm Visitors Board 240 82, 187, 297; Article 24 27, 29, 81, 83, 89,
Stokols, D. 538 166, 167, 187, 203, 204, 205, 206, 210, 222,
street-involved youth 349–361, 506 229; Article 25 209; Article 26 81, 108; Article
structural perspective 48, 118–119 27 58, 63, 81, 108, 163, 166, 168; Article 28
structures, rights as 127 26, 27, 29, 58, 62, 81, 166, 187, 223, 225, 296,
subjective well-being 74–75, 76 297, 305, 364, 365, 366, 369, 376, 424; Article
subjects of rights, children as 438–440 29 27, 81, 223, 225, 296, 297, 364, 365, 366,
survival indicators 72 369, 376, 424, 535; Article 30 81, 122, 187,
206, 258, 369; Article 31 62, 81, 187, 203,
Tarulli, D. 482 313, 318, 321, 322, 424, 483, 484, 494, 575;
Taylor, N. 484 Article 32 29, 62, 81, 125, 178, 224, 440;
Theis, J. 529 Article 33 62, 81, 224; Article 34 62, 81, 108,
Thirty-first Amendment of the Constitution 187, 222, 224, 424, 454, 455; Article 35 62,
(Children) Act 2012 (Ireland) 518 222, 224, 424; Article 36 62, 224, 424, 552;
Thompson v. Oklahoma 283 Article 37 81, 83, 224; Article 38 82, 84, 188,
Thorne, B. 117 466, 468, 473, 473, 475; Article 39 84, 466,

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Index

469, 470, 471, 473, 475; Article 40 81, 188, Vandenbroeck, M. 37, 42, 46
209; Article 41 211; Article 42 26, 82, 297; Vandevelde, S. 483
Article 43 86, 174, 187; Article 44 86; Article Veerman, P. 17
45 382; contents of 82–85; gaps in protections Verhellen, E. 36, 297
83–84; implementation of 85–89; as instrument visual research methods 550–574
of international law 88–89; introduction of xiii,
15–16, 81–82; regional patterns 16–18; role of Wald, M. S. 155
the Committee 86 Wales, K. 271
understanding (children’s) 141–142, 300–301, Walker, A. 38
600–603; see also moral reasoning, children’s Walker, C. 38
U.N. Development Programme (UNDP) 178, Wallace, R. 105
191, 373, 580 Wall, J. 307
U.N. Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Walls, N. E. 457, 458
Organization (UNESCO) 123, 155, 222, 225, war see child soldiers
226, 227, 231, 232, 337, 338, 339, 340, 367, Ward, C. 505
368, 373, 383, 384, 389, 422, 457, 540 Weithorn, L. 152
UNESCAP 458 welfare, to well-being 71–75
U.N. General Assembly xiii, 15, 53, 70, 178, 179, well-being, children’s 68–77
180, 353, 381, 437, 454, 465, 482, 498, 515, West African Commission on Drugs 389
551, 579, 597 Western Sydney University 423
U.N. General Assembly Security Council 390 Wetzel, B. 358
U.N.-Habitat 541, 545 Wetzel, D. 29
UNHCR 356 Whitbread, J. 250
U.N. Human Rights Council 354 Whitzman, C. 539, 546
UNICEF xiii, xiv, 37, 39, 85, 122, 163, 171, 172, World Health Organization (WHO) 28, 73, 203,
179, 204, 207, 214, 243, 244, 352, 353, 356, 206, 229, 230, 231, 268, 331, 333, 368, 581
367, 368, 375, 382, 383, 384, 386, 390, 420, Wicker, A. W. 538
428, 457, 458, 468, 507, 516, 518, 522, 535, Willenberg, I. A. 601, 606
536, 545, 585, 591, 597 will theory of rights 55
UNICEF Innocenti Research Centre 27, 87 World Medical Association (WMA) 212
UNICEF Office of Research 398, 399, 400, 401 women’s rights 21–33
UNICEF UK 299 Woodhouse, B. 32, 333, 334
United Nations 14, 15, 16, 203, 211, 373, 374, Woodiwiss, A. 121
384, 535 Woolard, J. 284
United States Holocaust Memorial Museum 329, work, children’s right to 437–449: in Bolivia
330 444–448; working children’s associations 506;
Universal Declaration of Human Rights 70, 98, Young Lives study (India) 123–126; see also
329, 499 child labor
U.N. Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) 30 World Bank 333, 359, 384, 386, 588
U.N. Population Fund 24 World Vision 356
U.N. Secretary General 206 Worthington, M. 539, 546
U.N. Statistics Division 381 Wridt, P. 547
Uprichard, E. 73 write, children’s right to 481–494
urban environment 533–547
Yang, S. 249
Vallentyne, P. 155 Young Lives study 123–126
van Bijleveld, G. G. 265, 266 youth associations/organizations 504–505

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