Colombia has taken a bold step toward ending a grave violation of women’s rights. A unanimous vote in the nation's Congress made it the first country in Latin America to criminalise female genital mutilation (FGM). The law comes after a long‑standing struggle by Indigenous activists and health professionals dedicated to protecting girls from a secretive and harmful tradition.
For decades, the Emberá people—a large Indigenous nation with communities across Colombia, Ecuador and Panama—have practised FGM. Native researchers estimate that FGM is far more prevalent among Emberá households than official statistics suggest, with deep-rooted beliefs linking the practice to men’s scrutiny of women’s bodies. However, the community’s legal representative, Juliana Domico, has consistently argued that FGM cannot be considered cultural heritage because it actively harms women and girls.
When a six‑month‑old baby was subjected to an unapproved cutting by her great‑grandmother, activists such as Carla Quiñonez—who has campaigned tirelessly from her own family’s ordeal—saw the urgent need for legal change. Operators of local health centres were reluctant to intervene: a nurse berated a mother for seeking help, allegedly threatening to take her daughter into child‑welfare custody. These experiences underscore the deep shame and unofficial stigma that consolidate FGM within certain familial structures, often preventing families from seeking medical assistance.
The new ban carries an important dimension: it asserts that while culture includes language, clothes, food and dance, it does not justify a practice that kills or severely harms. Official statements from the legal fraternity promise that the law will be translated into public policy, with adequate funds to train doctors, raise awareness in schools, and support communities for discalcification. Paediatrician Dr. Diana Ramos Mosquera stresses that because girls often experience FGM when they are under six, the ban must focus on education rather than punishment. The doctor notes that many affected girls continue to recover from severe complications—such as hemorrhage, infection, and permanent reproductive challenges.
The impact of the law is twofold: it provides legal recourse for victims and opens a space for collective conversation. Scholars and activists hope that the legislation will inspire other Latin American nations to rethink the remnants of colonial habits that anti‑women’s. While the ban offers a vital first step, the real work lies in building culturally sensitive outreach programmes that let women open dialogue without shame.
As the law takes effect, community members—particularly women—in the Emberá nations are engaging in increasingly open discussions about body autonomy and cultural preservation. “Women who have grown up without a clitoris cannot imagine a different body,” says Quiñonez. Yet even in conservatism, the new climate shines a light on possibilities: conversations on FGM can serve as a conduit for broader socio‑environmental change, revealing how marginalized communities inconsistently interact with collective cultural norms and personal health.
