The Catholic Church and Transnational Moral Norms in the Philippines

Jonathan T. Chow explores the Roman Catholic Church’s engagement with transnational human rights norms and how its understandings of Catholic identity and doctrine have profoundly shaped the politics surrounding contraception and human trafficking in the Philippines.

In the global politics of morality, the Catholic Church is one of the world’s foremost practitioners, shaping not only the language of transnational moral norms but also how they are implemented at the domestic level. Through “norm thickening”—connecting transnational norms to deeply held local identities and religious teachings and institutionalizing those connections in policies, practices, and organizations—the book argues that the Church can build a more coherent and locally credible moral basis for transnational norms than international consensus alone. While in some cases, this can strengthen transnational norms and facilitate cooperation between the Church and the government, in other cases it can instead harden opposition to those norms and facilitate polarization, with significant consequences for Philippine society. Drawing on field interviews in the Philippines, as well as Vatican and UN documents, Chow paints a compelling picture of how one of the world’s largest religions shapes the global moral landscape.

This book will be of particular interest to students of religion, Catholic theology, human rights, international relations theory, and Asian studies, and anyone seeking to better understand the transnational politics of morality.

Jonathan T. Chow is Assistant Professor of Political Science at Wheaton College, Massachusetts, USA. His research focuses on regional security in East and Southeast Asia and the transnational politics of religion and moral norms.

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The Catholic Church and Transnational Moral Norms in the Philippines

Contraception, Human Trafficking, and Religion

Jonathan T. Chow

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The Catholic Church and Transnational Moral Norms in the Philippines Contraception, Human Trafficking, and Religion

Jonathan T. Chow

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British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN: 978-1-138-31388-0 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-1-041-07405-2 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-0-429-45736-4 (ebk)

DOI: 10.4324/9780429457364

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For Daki and Daniel

Contents

Acknowledgments

List of Acronyms and Abbreviations

1 “Cain, Where Is Your Brother?”

2 Norm Thickening and the Role of Religion

3 How the Catholic Church Thickens Transnational Moral Norms

4 Doctrinal Sources of the Catholic Church’s Approach to Contraception

5 Thickening Contraception Norms at the Intergovernmental Level

6 Thickening Contraception Norms in the Philippines

7 The Development of “Thin” Norms against Human Trafficking

8 How the Church Thickens Transnational Anti-Trafficking Norms

9 Thickening Anti-Trafficking Norms in the Philippines

10 Catholic Norm Thickening and the Power of Particular Morality

Index

Acknowledgments

The greatest blessing of this book for me has been the people I have connected with over its long development. In the Philippines, numerous individuals graciously shared with me their stories and insights into the politics of contraception and human trafficking, as well as the inner workings of the Catholic Church. While not all of them are quoted here, all of them were my teachers, and I am deeply grateful for the knowledge they shared with me. Because many interviewees only spoke with me on condition of anonymity, I cannot thank them by name, but without their candor and generosity, this book would not have been possible.

I also wish to thank the Ateneo Center for Asian Studies (ACAS) and the Department of Political Science at Ateneo de Manila University, where I was a visiting fellow in 2008 and 2018. Ateneo de Manila gave me an institutional base from which to conduct field interviews, but more importantly, it gave me a warm community of colleagues and friends with whom to share ideas and camaraderie. For their encouragement and support, I especially want to thank ACAS Director Violet Valdez, former Political Science Chair Alma Salvador, and the late former ACAS director Lydia Yu-Jose, who arranged my affiliation with Ateneo de Manila. I also gratefully acknowledge research funding for this book from Wheaton College, Massachusetts, and a grant from the University of Macau (MYRG2017-00165-FSS).

At Wheaton College, Massachusetts, I have been blessed with wonderfully supportive colleagues in the Political Science program, including Brad Bishop, Nick Dorzweiler, Lindsay Flynn, Gerry Huiskamp, Alireza Shomali, Aubrey Westfall, Jeanne Wilson, and Miranda Yaver. I owe a special thanks to Aubrey Westfall and Imran Chowdhury, who were unfailingly generous and kind in their capacities as my faculty mentors. I am also deeply indebted to my colleagues at Wheaton’s vibrant faculty co-writing space, Write Now Right Now, without whom this book would not have seen the light of day. I also want to thank my amazing student research assistants—Romina Abuan at the University of Macau and Sofia Koso and Valery León Quintero at Wheaton College—who aided me in transcribing and coding interviews and inspired me with their enthusiasm.

At the University of California, Berkeley, my dissertation adviser Ron Hassner patiently guided me through my first efforts to think about religious norms and never failed to encourage me. I am deeply grateful for Ron’s continued mentorship and friendship in the years since I graduated. My committee members Vinnie Aggarwal, Ed Epstein, Steve Weber, and Jerome Baggett from the Jesuit School of Theology at Santa Clara University provided invaluable advice and feedback on the dissertation that became the seed for this book. I am also grateful to Fr. Hal Sanks, SJ at the Jesuit School of Theology for his conversations with me on Catholic ecclesiology.

Over the years, this manuscript has benefited from discussions with numerous colleagues and friends who helped me clarify my thinking and writing. In particular, I wish to thank Nassef Adiong, Alex Arifianto, Davis Brown, Dave Buckley, Fr. Jack Carroll, SJ, Imran Chowdhury, Sam Crane, Jennifer Dixon, Leif-Eric Easley, Melissa Ellison, Fr. Franz Gassner, Fr. Eric Genilo, SJ, Angelo Gonzales, Rod Hall, Ron Hassner, Soo Kim, Jason Klocek, Adnan Naseemullah, Ben Oppenheim, Dan Philpott, Dana Polanichka, J Sterphone, Ada McKenzie Thomas, Fr. Eugene Trainor, Bernie Villegas, and Aubrey Westfall. To those whose names I have inadvertently neglected to include in this list, please accept my humble apologies. My thanks also go to the editorial team at Taylor & Francis Asia Pacific and especially Simon Bates, Clarissa Lim, and Khadijah Ebrahim, who were professional, supportive, and patient throughout this book’s long development. Any errors or shortcomings of this book, however, are solely my responsibility.

My deepest gratitude goes to my long-suffering family for their love and unflagging support over these many years. To my parents Rosa and Peter, thank you for everything you have taught me and for your constant encouragement and prayers. To Candice, Patrick, Oliver, and Eva, thank you for so many moments of laughter and joy. Most of all, I am grateful beyond words to my wife Daki and our son Daniel, to whom this book is dedicated. Thank you for your incredible patience, for having faith in me even when I had difficulty having faith in myself, and for sustaining me every day with your unconditional love.

Acronyms and Abbreviations

AMRSP

Association of Major Religious Superiors of the Philippines

APWRATH

Asia-Pacific Women Religious Against Trafficking in Humans

ASEAN

Association of Southeast Asian Nations

BOM

Billings Ovulation Method

CBCP

Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines

CCAHT

CBCP Cluster Against Human Trafficking

CMSP

Conference of Major Superiors in the Philippines

COMELEC

Commission on Elections (Philippines)

ECMI

CBCP Episcopal Commission on the Pastoral Care of Migrants and Itinerant People

EDSA

Epifanio de los Santos Avenue (Manila)

GCM

United Nations Global Compact for Safe, Orderly and Regular Migration

HB

House Bill

IACAT

Inter-Agency Council Against Trafficking (Philippines)

ICC

International Criminal Court

ICCPR

International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights

ICJ

International Court of Justice

ICPD

International Conference on Population and Development

IJM

International Justice Mission

ILO

International Labor Organization

IOM

International Organization for Migration

IUD

intra-uterine device

MDG

Millennium Development Goal

MQHM

Mary Queen of Heaven Missionaries

NAB

New American Bible

NAMFREL

National Movement for Free Elections

NFP

natural family planning

NSSM

National Security Study Memorandum (United States)

OFW

overseas Filipino worker

OSEC / OSAEC

online sexual exploitation of children/online sexual abuse and exploitation of children

POGO

Philippine offshore gaming operator

POPCOM

Population Commission (Philippines)

RH

reproductive health

SB

Senate Bill

SDG

Sustainable Development Goal

SDM

Standard Days Method

TIP

Trafficking in Persons

TVPA

Trafficking Victims Protection Act (United States)

UDHR

Universal Declaration of Human Rights

UISG

International Union Superiors General

UNFPA

United Nations Fund for Population Activities

UNODC

United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime

UNTOC

United Nations Convention Against Transnational Organized Crime

1 “Cain, Where Is Your Brother?”

DOI: 10.4324/9780429457364-1

On July 8, 2013, Pope Francis traveled to the Italian island of Lampedusa—the southernmost part of the European Union. It was the 76-year-old pontiff’s first visit outside Rome since ascending to the throne of Saint Peter. Located 80 miles from the coast of Tunisia, Lampedusa drew thousands of migrants and refugees fleeing war and destitution in Africa and the Middle East. Many had relied on human traffickers to make the treacherous Mediterranean crossing. Crowded into rickety wooden fishing boats, hundreds of migrants died in shipwrecks (BBC News 2013). Those who survived the voyage risked detention in cramped refugee centers and ultimately deportation.

While in Lampedusa, Francis met with representatives of migrant communities and visited the “Graveyard of Ships,” where wrecked fishing boats that once carried migrants lay haphazardly atop one another. At an outdoor Mass before hundreds of attendees, the pope, clad in purple vestments signifying repentance, mourned the loss of life and the suffering of migrants. He also lamented what he called the “globalization of indifference” to the plight of the suffering, blaming a self-centered “culture of comfort” and the resultant loss of a sense of mutual responsibility. “Cain, where is your brother?” he asked, quoting God in the biblical story of Cain, who murdered his brother Abel and then sought to hide from God. The question, Francis said, was not directed at others, but rather

to me, to you, to each of us. These brothers and sisters of ours were trying to escape difficult situations to find some serenity and peace; they were looking for a better place for themselves and their families, but instead they found death.

(Pope Francis 2013)

He continued:

Has any one of us grieved for the death of these brothers and sisters? Has any one of us wept for these persons who were on the boat? For the young mothers carrying their babies? For these men who were looking for a means of supporting their families? We are a society which has forgotten how to weep, how to experience compassion—“suffering with” others: the globalization of indifference has taken from us the ability to weep!

(Pope Francis 2013)

In this impassioned statement, Francis did not refer to transnational human rights norms against human trafficking. He did not invoke United Nations anti-trafficking conventions like the 2000 Palermo Protocol. He did not speak about international cooperation to apprehend traffickers, nor did he mention non-refoulement—the international norm of not sending refugees back to their country of origin if they likely faced persecution there. Any of these would have been acceptable—even expected—rhetoric from secular political leaders. Instead, by tapping into the biblical story of Cain’s murderous disavowal of his brother Abel, Francis wielded the authority of religious teachings to condemn trafficking and explain how migrants were to be treated as family rather than flotsam. His explanation emphasized that the solution to the crisis required not simply better government policies but also a fundamental transformation in how people understood who migrants and trafficking survivors were—brothers and sisters and parts of the mystical Body of Christ—the union of humanity and Jesus Christ, God made incarnate.

From this understanding of migrants’ and trafficking survivors’ relationships to the Church, there has emerged a broad movement in the Church to combat human trafficking. At the domestic level, Catholic organizations—many led by orders of religious sisters—have undertaken efforts to rescue trafficked persons and reintegrate them into society. Catholic activists, including clergy, members of religious orders, and laypeople, have worked to raise awareness of trafficking in communities and lobby for changes in legislation. Crucially, their aims have often extended beyond the demands of international anti-trafficking laws and norms, helping to push those norms in new directions. For instance, the Church’s emphasis on integrating trafficking survivors into host communities has pushed beyond international anti-trafficking agreements that primarily focus on the prosecution of traffickers. In the realms of both abstract morals and everyday practice, the Church has shaped approaches to anti-trafficking in ways that have largely complemented emergent international norms without necessarily mirroring them.

Half a world away in the Philippines, the Catholic Church was embroiled in a different sort of controversy over the availability of contraceptives and reproductive health services. Five years before Francis’s visit to Lampedusa, on a hot and muggy Manila afternoon in July 2008, some 12,000 people gathered on the campus of the University of Santo Tomas in the shadow of its stone mission-style buildings. They had come to this place, a pontifical university established by the Holy See and the oldest institute of higher learning in Asia, to attend a “Rally for Life” organized by the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines (CBCP). Participants attended a Mass and prayed together with 15 bishops, including Manila Archbishop Gaudencio Cardinal Rosales, Episcopal Commission on Family and Life Chair Archbishop Paciano Aniceto, and the Vatican’s Apostolic Nuncio, Archbishop Edward Adams (“CBCP Expects Thousands at Pro-Life Rally” 2008).

The occasion for the rally was the 40th anniversary of Humanae Vitae, the 1968 encyclical by Pope Paul VI that declared artificial contraception immoral, forbade its use by Catholics, and placed the Catholic Church on a collision course with emerging sexual mores. Supporters of Humanae Vitae saw it as a prophetic warning against the transformation of sex from a sacred act of marital procreation into a banal act of self-indulgence and even the devaluation of human lives—particularly those of unborn children.

The Rally for Life also had a more immediate purpose. In the halls of the Philippine Congress, a bill was being considered that would establish a national reproductive health program. House Bill 5043, the “Reproductive Health Bill” (or the “RH Bill” for short), would establish a national reproductive health policy, mandate the provision of contraceptives and other family planning services in both national and local government hospitals, provide improved emergency obstetric care, and require that all schools teach an “age-appropriate” reproductive health curriculum for students in the fifth grade up through high school. This would have marked a significant shift for Philippine policy since local governments bore primary responsibility for making and implementing family planning and reproductive health legislation, leading to dramatic differences in the availability of reproductive health services from province to province and city to city.

The RH Bill lent additional urgency to the rally. Participants listened to clergy and laity passionately affirm the sanctity of life and the integrity of the family. CBCP President Archbishop Angel Lagdameo warned that artificial contraception posed a grave threat to the institution of marriage and the Filipino family. He exhorted the participants to uphold “the dignity, the value and inviolability of human life…at all cost” and warned that “if the Filipino family is destroyed, the Philippine society will likewise be destroyed” (Lagdameo 2008). Dr. Brian Clowes, a researcher for Human Life International—a US-based pro-life advocacy organization with a strong presence in the Philippines—warned that the RH Bill was not truly a Filipino bill but instead written under the guidance of foreign governments seeking to keep developing countries’ populations low and exploit their natural resources (“Thousands in Philippines Protest Population Control Bill” 2008). Arguing that passage of the bill would pave the way for legalized abortion in the Philippines, he urged the participants, “Tell the population controllers to get and repeat the four short words: hands off the Philippines” (Lagarde 2008; “Pro-Life Advocate Says Lagman Bill Is ‘Imported’” 2008).

The Church’s warnings about societal decay resulting from the availability of contraception emerged from a religiously justified belief in who the Filipino people were. As Clowes’s statement above illustrates, the Church’s contestation of the RH Bill drew upon reminders of the Philippines’ history of colonial subjugation and the notion that Catholicism was a more authentic representative of Filipino culture than the norms emanating from international organizations. There was an unspoken assumption that the Philippines was a Catholic society and that its laws should reflect Filipino Catholic understandings (even if a significant minority of Filipinos was not Catholic). The message from the Church’s representatives emphasized that to be Filipino was to be Catholic and that to be Catholic was to reject contraception. To do otherwise was to invite the destruction of what it meant to be Filipino.

This understanding of transnational reproductive health norms as an existential threat to Filipino culture was critical to understanding the Church’s nearly no-holds-barred approach. Church groups organized rallies. Priests and bishops demanded that politicians—most of whom were Catholic—vote against reproductive health legislation or risk being denied the Eucharist (also known as Holy Communion)—the most sacred of Catholic sacraments. Churches hung banners singling out individual politicians as being on “Team Buhay” (Team Life) or “Team Patay” (Team Death) based on their positions on reproductive health legislation, suggesting that one’s position on reproductive health legislation had become a litmus test for belonging in the Catholic Church.

Pope Francis’s 2013 call for action against human trafficking at Lampedusa and the 2008 Rally for Life in Manila both illustrate how the Church seeks to shape transnational moral norms. In both cases, Church actors did not begin with legal interpretations, policy considerations, or even moral theology. Instead, they sought to define who the Church was and who others were relative to the Church. These identities and relationships guide the Church’s thinking about moral norms—specifically, their explanations for what moral norms mean for local societies and the institutional structures they employ to cement those meanings in place.

The Catholic Church as a Thickener of Transnational Moral Norms

How does the Catholic Church shape transnational moral norms? This is the central question of this book. I argue that the Church does so through norm thickening. To thicken a moral norm is to deeply embed it in specific cultural meanings, identities, and moral frameworks. More formally, norm thickening comprises three key activities: (1) defining the identities of key actors and their relationships; (2) explaining how transnational moral norms relate to thick—that is, culturally specific—moral principles, and (3) institutionalizing those identities, relationships, and explanations in policies, organizations, and/or practices.

Transnational moral norms are products of international consensus, often negotiated by elites in the United Nations and other multilateral forums. Rather than being the product of a single country’s culture or historical experience, transnational moral norms are culturally generic or “thin,” often by design. For example, human rights norms have authority as universal moral norms because they are framed as not emanating from a particular culture. This cultural genericism can make transnational moral norms acceptable to a wider range of societies but also less relevant to any particular society, weakening their domestic legitimacy and effectiveness (Hopgood 2009, 237–239). By being more agreeable to all, thin transnational moral norms are also less salient to all.

In contrast, thick moral norms carry the weight of authority because they emerge from culturally specific identities, relationships, and moral understandings. Fewer people may subscribe to a thick moral norm than to its thin version, but those who do are more likely to see them as expressions of their own identities rather than impositions from the outside. Although thinness can broaden the appeal of human rights, Stephen Hopgood (2009, 238) argues, “it is thickness that occasions the deepest obligations and loyalties—that creates the social capital that can move mountains (as well as piling up cadavers).”

As a global religious community headed by the pope, the Catholic Church engages in norm thickening at the transnational level, propagating its moral teachings throughout the Church. In its capacity as a sovereign state—the Holy See—the Church engages in international diplomacy and pronounces upon moral norms in intergovernmental forums like the United Nations. Because the Catholic Church is deeply rooted in local communities around the world, it also engages in norm thickening at the domestic level, working to shape understandings of transnational moral norms that reflect not only Catholic teachings but also local culture.

The Church’s norm thickening involves more than just the local adoption of transnational norms or even its modification to fit local culture (Acharya 2004). While thickening a norm can facilitate its local acceptance and implementation, it can also transform the norm in ways that differ from its original meaning. In some cases, thickening a norm can even galvanize opposition to it by framing it as a clear and present threat to local cultural norms. For example, the Church’s teachings on human dignity and the sanctity of life have led it to reject contraception, same-sex marriage, and abortion, placing it in direct opposition to those who see them as manifestations of human freedom and autonomy. By thickening transnational moral norms, the Catholic Church can be a powerful ally and foe of governments and civil society actors seeking to implement them.

Cases and Levels of Analysis

To uncover how the Catholic Church thickens transnational moral norms, this book examines its approach to two prominent transnational moral norms: (1) the right to access contraception and (2) opposition to human trafficking. For both norms, the Catholic Church has been influential at the international and domestic levels in shaping understandings of what counts as moral and immoral behavior.

Access to contraception is an issue area where the Church has perennially been at odds with dominant transnational norms that promote access to reproductive health as a human right. Pope Paul VI’s 1968 encyclical Humanae Vitae declared that the use of artificial contraceptives could never be moral. This touched off a decades-long contest between those who saw access to contraceptives as a human right that gave women greater control of their bodies, and those who feared the normalization of a “contraceptive mentality” that denigrated parenthood and legitimized abortion. Under Pope John Paul II, the Church became a leading opponent of what came to be known as “reproductive rights.” In 1994, it used its position in the United Nations General Assembly to hold up a consensus on the Program of Action for the International Conference on Population and Development (ICPD) over language regarding contraception and abortion. In 1995, at the World Conference on Women in Beijing, the Holy See attempted to block consensus over language regarding gender and the nature of women, fearing that normalizing gender as a social construct rather than a biological fact would violate what it characterized as the divinely ordained role of motherhood. In the Philippines, the Catholic Church reframed access to reproductive health as harmful to the sanctity of human life and used its moral authority and political clout to mobilize against legislation expanding access to contraception.

Unlike access to contraception, the fight against human trafficking is an issue where the Catholic Church’s positions have frequently overlapped with those emanating from international organizations. Under Pope Francis, human trafficking became particularly salient for the Church. Not only has Francis made human trafficking a focal point of his statements, but he has also promoted institutional structures such as the Santa Marta Group (an organization that brings together police chiefs and bishops to collaborate on anti-trafficking) and emphasized how the Church’s efforts complement the objectives of the UN Plan of Action to Combat Trafficking in Persons. The Church has thickened anti-trafficking norms by promoting a more human-centric approach that goes beyond the transnational crime orientation of intergovernmental anti-trafficking regimes like the 2000 Palermo Protocol. At the domestic level, the Church has built partnerships with governments and NGOs and relied heavily on the work of religious orders and laity to propagate its teachings against trafficking and provide services to trafficking survivors. Most visibly, communities of religious sisters have established Talitha Kum, a global network of Catholic religious congregations that works to free trafficked persons from exploitation and help them build new lives. Here, religious thickening has reinforced and augmented transnational anti-trafficking norms, but in ways that do not necessarily replicate the approaches adopted by international organizations.

For both norms, I examine the Church’s engagement at three levels of analysis: (1) the doctrinal level; (2) the intergovernmental level, and (3) the domestic level. Taken together, the three levels of analysis generate a composite picture of the Church’s efforts to shape transnational moral norms and the complex dynamics that they generate.

The doctrinal level of analysis focuses on the Church’s official teachings and how those ideas are generated, propagated, and contested. Because the Church is a transnational organization with components at the Vatican level as well as within states, a doctrinal perspective does not neatly separate the domestic and international levels. I examine the development of the Church’s official teachings on the norms in question, relying primarily on papal writings and Vatican-level statements to understand the reasoning behind the Church’s positions.

The intergovernmental level focuses on the diplomacy of the Holy See. As a sovereign state, the Holy See engages with other states both bilaterally and in multilateral forums such as the United Nations to shape transnational norms. Of particular interest are multilateral declarations that enshrine definitions of key norms and institutionalize policies to implement them. For example, the Program of Action of the ICPD articulated the international definition of “reproductive health” and established standards to measure states’ compliance. Similarly, the Palermo Protocol established a globally accepted definition of human trafficking and laid out an approach to anti-trafficking that emphasized criminal prosecution. The Holy See has used its position as a sovereign state to shape such definitions and policies through papal statements, speaking privileges at the United Nations, and other official Vatican documents.

Lastly, the domestic level examines how Catholic actors—including the Church hierarchy, religious orders, and lay organizations—have interpreted and responded to transnational moral norms in light of local culture and local understandings of religious teachings. The book focuses on the Philippines: the country with Asia’s largest Catholic population and one where the Church has historically wielded significant societal influence. While I do not claim that the Philippines is a typical case of the Catholic Church’s efforts to thicken transnational moral norms, it is nevertheless an important case given the size of its Catholic population and the Church’s influence. Data sources at the domestic level of analysis draw from a combination of statements by local Church and political leaders, as well as key informant interviews, including a series of semi-structured interviews conducted during field research in the Philippines in 2008, 2009, 2010, and 2018.

Chapter Outline

To recap, the purpose of this book is to examine how the Catholic Church attempts to shape transnational moral norms. I argue that the Church engages in norm thickening—deeply embedding transnational moral norms in specific cultural meanings, identities and moral frameworks by (1) defining identities and relationships; (2) explaining how transnational moral norms relate to culturally specific moral principles, and (3) institutionalizing those identities, relationships, and explanations in policies, organizations, and/or practices. The Church does so at multiple levels—within the Church through the dissemination of doctrinal teachings, intergovernmentally through the diplomacy of the Holy See, and domestically by filtering transnational moral norms and Catholic doctrine through local culture and local understandings of religious teachings. The remainder of this book elaborates on the theory behind norm thickening, introduces the Catholic Church as a religious and political actor, and describes how it has attempted to thicken transnational moral norms regarding access to contraception and opposition to human trafficking.

Chapter 2, “Norm Thickening and the Role of Religion,” provides an in-depth discussion of norm thickening. I explain how “thick” moral norms differ from “thin” moral norms and why there is a tradeoff between how easily a norm can be transposed to different contexts and how salient that norm is likely to be to a given population. I discuss how religion can be a powerful force for norm thickening and then detail how the process of norm thickening works. I also discuss how the moral authority of religious actors is critical to successful thickening both inside and outside the Church.

Chapter 3, “How the Catholic Church Thickens Transnational Moral Norms,” focuses on the Catholic Church’s resources for norm thickening as a transnational religious community, as a sovereign state through the Holy See, and at the domestic level in the Philippines. I briefly describe some of the major contours of the Church as a transnational religious community before examining how the Holy See uses its status as a sovereign state to shape norms at the intergovernmental level, especially in the United Nations. I also examine the Catholic Church’s role in the Philippines and how its moral authority and political influence have been shaped by the Philippines’ unique political circumstances.

Chapters 4, 5, and 6 examine how the Catholic Church has sought to thicken norms regarding access to contraception in an effort to contest and defeat them. Chapter 4, “Doctrinal Sources of the Catholic Church’s Approach to Contraception,” discusses the evolution of Catholic explanations for why contraception is immoral and how they have become especially contested since the promulgation of the 1968 papal encyclical Humanae Vitae. I discuss how, under the pontificate of Pope John Paul II, the idea of a “contraceptive mentality” emerged to link Catholic teaching against contraception to other moral issues such as abortion and the so-called “culture of death.” This has raised the moral stakes and increased the urgency that the Church perceives in contesting access to contraception as a norm.

Chapter 5, “Thickening Contraception Norms at the Intergovernmental Level,” describes the emergence of transnational norms that treated access to contraception as part of a right to reproductive health. I examine how at the United Nations, the Holy See sought to shape the institutionalization of emergent reproductive health norms by utilizing its status as a sovereign state. While its explanations failed to resonate with many delegates, it was nevertheless able to hold up debate over the text of the Program of Action for the 1994 ICPD in Cairo. By blocking consensus unless definitions of reproductive health and family planning excluded access to abortion, the Holy See was able to shape the articulation of international reproductive health norms, though it sacrificed a great deal of diplomatic good will in the process. Although the Holy See maintained consistent opposition to transnational reproductive health norms at conferences over subsequent international regimes, including the 1995 Beijing Platform for Action, the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs), and the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), it proved largely unsuccessful in rolling them back.

Chapter 6, “Thickening Contraception Norms in the Philippines,” turns to the domestic level and relates how the Church in the Philippines sought to reshape transnational reproductive health norms that regarded access to contraception as a human right. I show how Church leaders attempted to harness their moral authority to promote Catholic doctrinal explanations against contraception as well as to define reproductive health norms as foreign and anti-Filipino even though the Philippine government had acceded to them. Church leaders sought to institutionalize this opposition by shutting down avenues for potential compromise and cooperation with the government for fear of appearing to soften their position on contraception. They also attempted to halt the passage of popular reproductive health legislation expanding access to contraceptives and other family planning services. In the end, despite having engaged in intensive norm thickening in what seemed at first to be a relatively sympathetic environment, the Church found itself isolated and suffering from a loss of moral authority as political leaders increasingly disregarded its protestations.

Chapters 7, 8, and 9 examine the Catholic Church’s efforts to combat human trafficking. Chapter 7, “The Development of ‘Thin’ Norms against Human Trafficking,” discusses the emergence of key transnational anti-trafficking regimes, including the Palermo Protocol and the Global Plan of Action to Combat Trafficking in Persons, both of which emerged from the United Nations. These agreements focused on human trafficking primarily as a matter of transnational crime but often neglected broader societal factors, treatment of trafficking survivors, prevention, or the diversion and rehabilitation of traffickers and potential traffickers.

Chapter 8, “How the Church Thickens Transnational Anti-Trafficking Norms,” examines how the Catholic Church has defined identities and relationships around the theological idea that all people are created in God’s image and thus entitled to dignity. This, in turn, has led the Church to develop doctrinal explanations regarding human trafficking that emphasize it as a moral wrong and the need to restore trafficking victims’ dignity. While this moral theology is largely consistent with norms expressed in UN anti-trafficking agreements, it does not simply mirror them. Instead, the Church focuses on confronting the moral ideas and social structures that give rise to trafficking. The Church has also developed institutions to put these explanations into practice, such as organizational structures at the Vatican level and networks like Talitha Kum that mobilize members of religious orders to protect and reintegrate trafficking survivors.

Chapter 9, “Thickening Anti-Trafficking Norms in the Philippines,” examines how the Catholic Church has approached the human trafficking problem in the Philippines. I provide an overview of various forms of human trafficking in the Philippines and discuss the government’s efforts to develop a robust legislative framework to combat it based on transnational norms. Next, I discuss how the Catholic Church’s thickening of transnational anti-trafficking norms both complements and extends anti-trafficking activities that emerge from the state and international organizations. By linking anti-trafficking norms to Catholic teachings about human dignity, the Church has helped to develop practices and networks for protecting trafficked persons and addressing root causes that enable trafficking. On the other hand, I examine the case of Philippine offshore gaming operations (POGOs), large complexes in the Philippines that run online casino games primarily for players in mainland China and that hire thousands of foreign workers, many of whom are suspected of having been trafficked. When a major POGO scandal broke in 2024 and the Philippine government moved to deport foreign workers en masse, Catholic bishops appeared to focus far less on the plight of trafficked workers than on the threat posed by China to the Philippines. I consider how the Catholic Church’s response may have been a function of its role as not only a religious organization but also a guardian of the Filipino nation, leading it to thicken transnational anti-trafficking norms in ways that both converge with and diverge from Vatican-level teachings.

Chapter 10, “Catholic Norm Thickening and the Power of Particular Morality,” offers concluding thoughts about how norm thickening can offer useful perspectives for understanding the Catholic Church, religion’s role in international politics, and the dynamics of transnational moral norms.

Bibliography

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Hopgood, Stephen. 2009. “Moral Authority, Modernity and the Politics of the Sacred.” European Journal of International Relations 15 (2): 229–255.

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2 Norm Thickening and the Role of Religion

DOI: 10.4324/9780429457364-2

One of the most iconic images of Catholicism in popular culture is the act of going to confession. Numerous movies show characters entering a confessional to tell their secrets to a priest in order to receive forgiveness (and perhaps profound life advice). In the Catholic tradition, it is required to confess one’s sins to a priest at least once a year (Catechism of the Catholic Church 1997, §1457). Confession begins with an examination of conscience, in which the penitent reflects upon where they have failed to follow God’s commandments, whether by sins of commission or omission. Following the examination of conscience, the penitent typically enters the confessional, a small room with a partition that conceals their face from the priest on the other side (though if the penitent chooses, they can also sit face-to-face with the priest). The penitent tells the priest how they have sinned. The priest listens, offers counsel, and assigns a penance—typically prayers or some other act of reparation. Then, the penitent expresses sorrow for their sins (an “act of contrition”) and a resolution to avoid further sin, after which the priest declares:

God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son, has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

(Catechism of the Catholic Church 1997, §1449)

Crucially, confession can only be understood with reference to certain religious claims. These include, for example, that: (1) one’s moral transgressions can profoundly harm one’s relationship with God; (2) only God can forgive sins; (3) Jesus is the Son of God and thus has the authority to forgive sins; (4) Jesus granted his apostles the authority to forgive sins; (5) Catholic priests, as successors to the apostles, can likewise forgive sins in God’s name (Catechism of the Catholic Church 1997, §§1440–1441, 1461). Without these and other understandings, one could conceivably recast the imperative to confess one’s sins as an imperative to unburden one’s own guilt by telling another person—perhaps a friend or therapist. But, while penitents who go to confession usually feel better afterward, to say that they did so to uphold a principle of feeling better would drastically distort its meaning.

The imperative to confess one’s sins through the Sacrament of Reconciliation is an example of a thick moral norm. Thick moral norms derive their authority from their cultural specificity. Strip away the specifically Catholic understandings behind the sacrament, and it loses its core meaning; it cannot easily be translated to a non-Catholic context. By contrast, thin moral norms derive their authority from their claims to universality. For example, consider Article 24 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR), which succinctly declares: “Everyone has the right to rest and leisure, including reasonable limitation of working hours and periodic holidays with pay” (United Nations 1948, Art. 24). It is framed as universally binding, but there is no explanation of where this right comes from, how it is justified, who is expected to enforce it, or what the consequences might be for ignoring it. As a thin norm, Article 24’s lack of specificity makes it easier for any given culture to adopt, but it also allows for enormous flexibility in its implementation.

This chapter provides a conceptual framework for understanding norm thickness and why and how actors try to thicken moral norms. Briefly, thick moral norms are collective and principled standards of behavior deeply embedded in specific cultural meanings and identities. Their appeal can be broadened (“thinned out”) by stripping them of specific cultural content, but doing so can also make them less relevant to any particular society and less effective as a source for mobilizing norm-governed action. For thin moral norms to inspire mobilization, they need to be made meaningful to specific populations; in other words, they require “thickening.” Norm thickening is a process in which actors (1) define identities and relationships; (2) explain how transnational moral norms relate to thick—that is, culturally specific—moral principles; and (3) institutionalize those identities, relationships, and explanations in policies, organizations, and/or practices.

Religion has an important role to play as a basis for norm thickening because it presents itself as a source of supreme authority that offers a comprehensive system for guiding moral action and is deeply embedded within local societies. Religious actors can shape local understandings of transnational moral norms by interpreting them through religious beliefs and local culture. In doing so, they can also change the meaning of transnational moral norms—for instance, by challenging them or augmenting them with religious understandings, rules, or practices.

The success of norm thickening by religious actors depends heavily on their moral authority. To the extent that religious actors are seen to uphold principle to the benefit of the greater good, particularly when it is costly for them, they gain moral authority in the eyes of society. Conversely, to the extent that religious actors seem to act hypocritically or in a self-serving manner, their moral authority diminishes and with it, their ability to thicken moral norms.

Conceptualizing Thin and Thick Transnational Moral Norms

Transnational moral norms are (1) collective standards of proper behavior that are (2) based on principled judgments of right or wrong that are independent of presumed social behavior and (3) spread across national boundaries. By norms, I mean shared standards of how actors ought to behave (Jepperson, Wendt, and Katzenstein 1996, 5). Norms prescribe appropriate behavior, though that does not necessarily mean that people always follow them (Jepperson, Wendt, and Katzenstein 1996, fn69). A moral norm is based on a principled judgment of right or wrong that is independent of presumed social practice.¹ For example, murder is deemed wrong not because most people do not commit murder, but rather because of principles that hold human life to be sacrosanct. Finally, transnational moral norms are not confined to a single state but instead propagate across state borders.

The concepts of thin and thick norms draw from Michael Walzer, who corresponds them to “minimal” and “maximal” expressions of morality, respectively. He describes thin morality as culturally generic, shaping behavior in uniform fashion (Walzer 1994, 7). Yet, he continues, every thin morality is ultimately founded on historically and culturally specific (i.e. thick) manifestations of morality. For example, people do not root for abstract concepts of truth and justice, but rather for particular historical manifestations of those concepts. While thin morality can enable a limited degree of intercultural solidarity and mutual intelligibility, Walzer (1994, 8) insists that thin morality (and its attendant norms) cannot arise organically from any particular culture but is instead constructed by stripping away, reframing, or otherwise modifying thick morality to broaden its appeal to other cultures.

The tension between thick and thin moralities has significant implications for transnational moral norms, as illustrated by the case of human rights. Building on Walzer’s insights, Stephen Hopgood identifies a key problem in how international society has sought to promote universal human rights norms codified in intergovernmental agreements (what he calls “upper-case Human Rights”) and how this can negatively affect local grassroots movements for justice against oppression (what he calls “lower-case human rights”). These do not refer to actual human rights per se so much as constellations of actors and the cultures they generate.

“Lower-case human rights” refer to activists at the local and transnational levels who draw attention to human rights abuses in their communities and attempt to motivate governments and the United Nations to take action (Hopgood 2013, viii). For these actors, human rights are simply shorthand for whatever principles they use to combat violence and deprivation (Hopgood 2013, viii). “Lower-case human rights” are often driven by grassroots activists who develop responses to local circumstances that reflect thick, culturally particular moralities. Consequently, “lower-case human rights” imply a flexibility to accommodate whatever discourses or norms resonate most with the local communities that are confronting oppression.

In contrast, Hopgood describes “upper-case Human Rights” as putatively universal laws, norms, and institutions that purport to represent all of humanity (Hopgood 2013, ix). “Upper-case Human Rights” are promoted through global organizations like the United Nations, Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, and others. They reflect a thin morality that seeks to remain unaffiliated with any particular culture, but which nevertheless seeks to conform local norms to its standard (Hopgood 2013, x).

Why should it matter if global morality supersedes local moralities? For Hopgood, it matters because global and local moralities derive from different sources of authority. Local moralities are legitimized by the shared memories and lifeworlds of particular societies, while global morality is legitimized by the norms of capitalist modernity. Hopgood draws on Georg Simmel’s idea that capitalist modernity has reorganized social relations, with money playing a vital role in breaking down affective and other thick social boundaries by facilitating transactions across them. By reducing the importance of such boundaries, capitalist modernity diminishes the importance of subjectivity in favor of objectivity (Hopgood 2009, 235–236). Because modernity places a premium on the use of reason to critique social arrangements, it favors those who adopt a “characterless” perspective unfettered by thick and subjective social ties. Such “strangers” can enjoy authority because they appear to be neutral and impartial (Hopgood 2009, 239). The result is the growing authority of what Thomas Nagel calls “the view from nowhere” (Hopgood 2009, 237). By this logic, the global human rights regime gains authority precisely because it purports to emanate from no culture in particular, to seamlessly permeate cultural boundaries, and to arrive at objective (and supposedly more just) judgments. Ironically, this attempt to strip away cultural particularity from human rights illustrates Walzer’s point about how even putatively “thin” moralities reflect specific cultures. For example, Henri Féron (2014, 194–195) notes that the concept of human rights enshrines very particular values, such as the importance of the self, the idea that the weak are fundamentally equal to the strong, and the belief that human rights are to be granted and enforced through legalistic means.

The “characterless” perspective of thin moral norms makes it an inadequate substitute for thick morality because it cannot represent the full range of meanings within particular cultures. Benjamin Gregg (2010, 292) argues that attempting to treat human rights as universal a priori and then holding various societies to that standard without regard for local identities and understandings is a form of cultural imperialism. Instead, human rights become universal only after they have been embraced at the local level (Gregg 2010, 293). While thick, “lower-case human rights” norms can give rise to thin, “upper-case Human Rights” norms, it is not possible to universalize norms by simply imposing them in uniform fashion. Thin moral norms by definition do not consider local institutions, culturally defined roles and identities, or existing moral norms.

Another important problem for thin moral norms is that they are often the results of political consensus and thus represent only what is politically possible. A glance at multilateral human rights agreements reveals numerous signing statements in which governments express reservations, understandings, or declarations exempting themselves from specific obligations contained within. Consequently, thin moral norms expressed by intergovernmental agreements may extend only to a limited range of concrete issues, resulting in an inconsistent patchwork of moral claims.

For example, as discussed later in the book, the Palermo Protocol—the primary multilateral agreement for combating trafficking in persons (TIP)—organizes state anti-trafficking actions according to the “Three P’s” (prosecution of traffickers, protection of victims, and prevention of trafficking). The Protocol’s strongest and most specific provisions relate to the prosecution of traffickers, but its provisions on prevention are far weaker. The Protocol merely requires states to

adopt or strengthen legislative or other measures, such as educational, social or cultural measures, including through bilateral and multilateral cooperation, to discourage the demand that fosters all forms of exploitation of persons, especially women and children, that leads to trafficking.

(United Nations 2000, Art. 9, par. 5)

The open-ended nature of this obligation makes the Palermo Protocol acceptable to a wider range of states, but it also greatly weakens its normative power. Crucially, the Protocol offers no overarching framework for why trafficking is wrong, such as its violation of human dignity. Had the Protocol identified human trafficking as an offense against human dignity, it would be easier to identify and target specific precursors to trafficking that undermine human dignity (e.g. unfair labor practices or the cultural acceptability of sexual exploitation), but such a thicker framework would likely have made it more difficult to achieve an international consensus.

Instead of offering a thick morality with which to justify its normative claims, Hopgood contends that the global human rights regime has attempted to make the “view from nowhere” itself into a source of moral authority. He offers the example of Amnesty International, which advocates for the release of “prisoners of conscience,” and argues that it has attempted to generate a sort of self-authorizing authority based on the appearance of fastidious objectivity and detachment from any particular society. Such authority is reinforced through various quasi-religious practices, including meticulous research deliberately presented in a clinical and unemotional fashion, a focus on how individuals were treated within political regimes combined with a strict policy against criticizing those regimes so as to counter charges of political bias, and strenuous efforts to maintain the appearance of impartiality (Hopgood 2009, 241–242). Hopgood (2009, 232–233) contends that the strongest claims to moral authority are both non-contingent (i.e. binding irrespective of circumstances) and transcendent (i.e. neither confirmable nor disprovable by earthly means); they are very similar to faith. A sense of the sacred, he argues, is necessary to generate the authority that, in turn, motivates people to support global human rights norms despite the vicissitudes of politics (Hopgood 2009, 247). Unless rooted in non-contingent and transcendent authority, he warns, the thin morality of “upper-case Human Rights” could end up being sustained by “liberal imperialism”—forcibly remaking societies in the image of liberal norms. Or, he suggests, thin morality could be sustained by “bureaucratic universalism”—the substitution of impartial bureaucratic process for moral substance as a basis for enforcing human rights (Hopgood 2009, 248). Moral authority, Hopgood maintains, cannot be substituted with proceduralism; to be effective, it must take a moral stand.

Some scholars have critiqued Hopgood’s argument as overly pessimistic about international human rights institutions and excessively structuralist and teleological. Clifford Bob (2015) argues that the dichotomy between “upper-case Human Rights” and “lower-case human rights” is not nearly as stark as Hopgood supposes and that instead, there is often cooperation between international organizations and local activists. Jean Quataert (2015, 259–260) criticizes Hopgood for ignoring how human rights might be negotiated or resisted and highlights the role played by transnational networks of local activists.

From the opposite end, Gregorio Bettiza and Filippo Dionigi argue that particularistic (i.e. thick) religious norms can be made intelligible to non-believers through dialogue among actors representing diverse cultural viewpoints—what they refer to as “institutional translation.” Successful institutional translation of a religious norm, they argue, results in an “open hermeneutic margin” for its interpretation without undermining its original meaning for religious actors (Bettiza and Dionigi 2015, 623). This, however, requires religious actors to embrace the Habermasian notion that only secular reasons are valid within state institutions and practices and that they must consequently translate religious arguments for secular audiences. It also depends upon secular actors recognizing that they live in a post-secular world and rejecting the notion that religion ought to be excluded completely from the public sphere (Bettiza and Dionigi 2015, 626–627). Bettiza and Dionigi’s argument suggests, contra Hopgood, that making religious norms more widely acceptable does not necessitate stripping them of their local religious meaning. Such critiques highlight the need for greater nuance and attention to the dynamics of contestation, though they do not negate Hopgood’s argument that “upper-case Human Rights” cannot fully substitute for “lower-case human rights.”

To recap, thick moral norms are deeply embedded in specific cultural meanings, identities, and moral frameworks. Thin moral norms, on the other hand, derive their authority from their claims to universality. The price of such universality, though, is the stripping away of the cultural specificity and even moral substance that give thick moral norms local legitimacy and power. Hopgood (2009, 232–233, 252) suggests that moral norms are strongest when founded upon a source of moral authority that is both non-contingent and transcendent—that is, something sacred. How can religion serve as a source of such authority and under what conditions? What might the consequences of such thickening be for transnational moral norms? To answer these questions, it is necessary first to consider the relationship between moral authority and religion.

The Role of Moral Authority in Norm Thickening

What is moral authority and how can actors acquire it? Moral authority can be thought of as “the ability to speak authoritatively on matters of right and wrong behavior” (Ferrari 1998, 84). At first, it might seem that moral authority is a function of one’s formal position—a judge in a court of law or a religious teacher. This view implicitly locates moral authority not in the person but rather in the institution that the person represents. If the institution has moral authority, then its representatives are also likely to have it, but if the institution lacks moral authority, then we would expect its representatives to similarly lack it. This, however, simply returns us to the original question: how can actors (in this case, an institution) acquire moral authority?

One conceptualization of moral authority holds that actors gain it when audiences perceive them to act for the “greater good” instead of for partisan or selfish interests. For example, Anna Grzymała-Busse (2015, 8) argues that when Christian churches acted against perceived threats to the nation—whether domestic (in the case of the communist regime in Poland) or foreign (in the case of Ireland against British colonizers), audiences understood them to be acting for the good of the entire nation rather than a narrow subset. Consequently, the churches were identified with the entire nation, gained moral authority, and enjoyed privileged access to policy debates. Conversely, churches lost moral authority when they placed their self-interest above the good of the nation, leading to a disconnect between religious and national identity.

John Kane also emphasizes that in politics, moral authority (which he refers to as “moral capital”) accrues only to those actors who are seen to serve some principle greater than themselves. He observes that political actors need to demonstrate (at least to their supporters) that they are legitimate actors whose claims and demands are right and just (Kane 2001, 15). Similar to Grzymała-Busse, Kane claims that leaders wishing to retain moral capital must appear to be above the political fray—not neutral but instead steadfastly principled. Additionally, he argues, moral capital is to a great extent audience-specific (Kane 2001, 33). This is not an absolute rule, however, and Kane (2001, 34) notes that the need to build coalitions, for example, can create opportunities for leaders to seek moral capital beyond their particular constituencies.

Both principled action and community benefit seem necessary for an actor to earn moral authority. Without principle, actors may win loyalty by benefiting their communities, but they risk being seen as cynical, opportunistic, or untrustworthy, acting for the good of the community only when it benefits themselves. On the other hand, actors driven by principle but without regard for the well-being of the community risk acting imprudently and potentially sacrificing their own people for an abstract principle. Finally, actors who demonstrate a lack of moral principle and a disregard for the good of the community are narrowly self-interested. As leaders, their legitimacy is more precarious and vulnerable to challenge from those who can offer greater benefits to the community and/or greater commitment to principled action even when it is costly to themselves.

While moral authority can accrue to individual leaders or organizations through their own actions, it can also accrue through audiences’ understandings of their own identities and interests. Rodney Bruce Hall (1997, 594) argues that moral authority can become a power resource when actors’ identities and interests lead them to recognize it as such. He demonstrates how medieval European rulers employed “principled ideas”—notably the Catholic Church’s political theology of a hierarchic order whose apex was occupied by a sacerdotal king—to maintain social control over feudal society, delegitimize challenges to the throne, and co-opt the rowdy warrior-vassals by altering their identities and interests through the institution of knighthood and its attendant code of chivalry (Hall 1997, 597–609). Andrew Latham (2011, 238–239) shows how the medieval Church was able to wield moral authority by punishing secular authorities with excommunication or interdict and by offering remission for sins in exchange for military service, thereby enabling it to persuade secular rulers to join the Crusades. Institutions move moral authority beyond the realm of a single leader and multiply its political power.

Religion and Moral Authority

While the connection of a thin moral norm to a thicker system of moral values can make it more salient to audiences, Hopgood (2009, 247) claims that not all value systems are equally legitimate. Instead, he proposes that the authority of the sacred is a stronger legitimizing force for human rights than global human rights institutions. This, he claims, is because religious authority admits of no exception (making it non-contingent) and, since adherents understand it to be supernatural in origin, it cannot be confirmed or refuted by mundane means (making it transcendent).

For the purposes of this book, I define religion as a system of beliefs and practices relating to a sacred and supernatural object of worship (Chaves 1994, 756).² At the most basic level, the sacred is something set apart and different from that which is not sacred. Emile Durkheim defines the sacred as something “set apart and forbidden” from the mundane. He describes religion as a system of beliefs and practices about the sacred that unite adherents into a single moral community called a church (Durkheim 1965, 62). What matters for Durkheim is not so much the subjective experience of the sacred as the intersubjective understandings of the sacred that bind a religious community together. The church is defined by its members’ common understanding of their relationship to sacred things, be they Olympian deities, national flags, or the Grateful Dead.

Strictly speaking, Durkheim’s definition of religion does not require a supernatural object of worship. Yet, the supernatural aspect of religious authority is important because it claims an individual intimacy, irrefutability, and scope far beyond that of secular authority. To use Hopgood’s terminology, it makes religion transcendent. Religions generally teach that the divine accounting of worshippers’ deeds is infallible; one cannot hide from an omniscient God/karma/cosmos that holds one’s eternal fate in their hands. This is not to say that all religious believers have such a relationship, but rather to underscore that religion can be a decidedly more intimate source of authority than the state, let alone impersonal international organizations.

While religious moral authority is legitimized by its claim to represent supernaturally derived moral principles, like secular moral authority, it is also legitimized by the perception that those who claim it are motivated by principle and working for the benefit of the community rather than their narrow self-interests (Grzymała-Busse 2015). Exploiting moral authority for personal gain can leave religious actors vulnerable to accusations of hypocrisy, cynicism, and betrayal of religious principles. On the other hand, the combination of moral authority and presumptive supernatural approval means that religious leaders who have demonstrated themselves to be principled and committed to benefiting the community are in a strong position of trust. This, in turn, can give them significant influence in shaping local populations’ understandings of transnational moral norms.

In sum, religion does not merely prescribe moral behavior but also links it to a transcendent reality. The unlimited ambit of religions’ moral prescriptions has led to the development of complex value systems. By imbuing moral norms with religious significance, religious interpreters can provide thick, culturally salient reasons for following (or opposing) moral norms, connect them to collective identities and beliefs, and infuse them with a degree of supernatural authority. Their ability to do so successfully depends heavily on their moral authority. Together, these make religion a powerful tool for thickening transnational moral norms.

The Process of Norm Thickening

If Hopgood is correct, then the key to making transnational moral norms relevant to societies is to thicken them. In other words, they must be visibly linked to a set of values embedded within that society’s particular culture. Additionally, they should be founded upon an authority that is both non-contingent and transcendent—in this case, religious. The process of embedding transnational moral norms in specific cultural meanings, identities, and moral frameworks is norm thickening.

Practically speaking, norm thickening comprises three activities that reinterpret thin moral norms in terms of thick meanings. First, norm thickening involves defining identities and relationships—specifically, a group’s own identity, the identities of salient others in the context of the moral norm, and what the relationships between the two are / should be. Second, norm thickening involves explaining how thin transnational moral norms relate to thick, culturally specific moral principles—in this case, religious teachings. Finally, norm thickening involves institutionalizing the connection between thin moral norms and thick moral principles in rules, organizations, and practices.

Defining Identities and Relationships

Before making pronouncements on how to approach a given moral norm, religious actors need to define their own identities as members of a religious community and, in the context of that moral norm, relationships with salient others. Defining identities also implies what sorts of actions are (in)consistent with those identities and establishes a repertoire of (un)acceptable behaviors in various domains (Hopf 1998, 175).

The first key identity that a religious community defines is its own. What unites the community? What is its purpose? Who belongs to the community and what are their roles? The community includes both immediate members who interact with each other regularly and the larger “imagined community” that adherents understand to exist but may never actually meet (Anderson 1983). For example, a religious community may have a charter, creed, or other official statements about who they are and what beliefs and practices bind them together. Less formally, religious communities can also define who they are in terms of the narratives, practices, and traditions that they understand to be distinctively their own. In the Catholic Church, the transnational authority of the pope and common doctrines provide a basis for a common identity among Catholics worldwide. These define such issues as the relationship between Jesus Christ and the Church, the teaching (“magisterial”) role of the pope and bishops, and the overarching purpose of the Church.

A religious community can also define itself according to who is not in that community. Those who do not share the community’s beliefs can include anyone from friendly dialogue partners to bitter enemies. Through interactions with others, religious communities develop collective narratives, symbols, and meanings that, in turn, mold their identities and their relationships with non-members. For instance, a religious community in a country where religious freedom is protected will likely understand its identity and relationship with the government differently from a community in a country whose government violently persecutes religious adherents. At the transnational level, religious communities’ interactions with states, international organizations, and transnational civil society both shape and are shaped by their identities. For the Catholic Church, its unique status as a global religion represented by a sovereign state (the Holy See) allows it to use the instruments of international diplomacy to advance its moral agenda. At times, this has allowed the Church to enjoy a high degree of moral leadership (e.g. the Sant’Egidio Community’s peacebuilding efforts in Mozambique), while at other times, it has provoked international condemnation when the Church has broken with the majority of international opinion (e.g. the Holy See’s ardent opposition to international reproductive health declarations).

From a general understanding of a religious community’s identity and relationships with others, norm thickening moves to define relationships with salient others in the context of the moral norm. For instance, thickening norms regarding treatment of the poor will require the religious community to define who the poor are and how the community ought to stand in relationship to them. Are “the poor” defined solely by their economic station or by some other measure (e.g. “spiritual poverty”)? Are they an “other” to the religious community or instead fully part of it? Thickening may also require defining the identities of, for instance, those who behave condescendingly to the poor or those who help them. Who counts as a salient other depends on how religious actors understand the nature of the moral norm.

Explanation

The second element of norm thickening is to explain how a transnational moral norm relates to thick moral principles so as to justify a particular understanding of that norm. Since the focus here is on religious principles, explanation involves answering four key questions. First, what is the nature of the issue addressed by the transnational moral norm? Second, which religious teachings are relevant to that issue? Third, what actions do the relevant religious teachings prescribe to the religious community and salient others for that issue? Fourth, what does implementation of those actions look like in the context of the religious community? The answers to these questions provide a religious orientation toward transnational moral norms and religious reasons to follow, reject, or modify them.

Explanations matter because they tie moral norms to religious identities, understandings, and practices, and help identify which issues are of greatest importance to the religious community. Explanations can take various forms, from systematic theological analysis to textual study of scripture to interpretations of personal revelations. In all cases, though, religious interpreters aim to demonstrate that their moral positions do not represent mere personal preference but are instead rooted in accepted religious teachings and thus both non-contingent and transcendent.

Explanations of transnational moral norms are likely to be more effective when they address how such norms relate to religious adherents’ lived experiences, as well as their other identities beyond the religious. It is important to underscore that while religious leaders may see norm thickening as a way to make a transnational moral norm more acceptable to religious teachings, it is also possible for norm thickening to strengthen religious backlash against the norm. When religious leaders perceive a moral norm to oppose the values they hold, explanations for why the moral norm is to be rejected will be more effective if they connect that norm not just to abstract religious values and teachings but also to audiences’ contemporary cultural situations. For example, as discussed later in the book, Filipino Catholic clergy seeking to foment opposition to transnational family planning norms often reminded audiences of the Marcos dictatorship’s use of population control policies and proclaimed the virtues of Filipinos’ traditional preference for large families. These were expressions of the broader religious value of protecting the sanctity of human life that were specific to the post-Marcos Philippines.

Audiences have various standards for evaluating moral norms in light of religious teachings. While some devotees may rigorously study religious teachings, many others may be moved primarily by an appeal to strong emotion and identity. Collective emotion-laden experiences can further impress upon religious adherents a sense of shared identity with one another and with religious leaders. For example, many religious adherents do not regard prayer as a matter of logical argumentation but instead a “surrender” to a superior being. The “smells and bells” of religious rituals are not meant to appeal to the intellect so much as to awaken the believer’s other senses. Sermons aim for the heart as well as the head. Religion not only offers communion with the sacred but also a community of believers and a store of traditions, norms, and understandings that can serve as a stable social foundation. To the extent that religious leaders can speak to audiences’ lived experiences, their stories are more likely to resonate and the moral lessons contained within more likely to take root (Lynch 2009, 400). It is here that religious leaders can harness their proximity to local communities. While religious traditions may offer numerous canonical narratives common to the broad community, skillful religious leaders can demonstrate how links between thin moral norms and religious teachings relate to specific communities’ experiences and culture. In Hopgood’s terms, while representatives of transnational organizations often take pains to appear to be from “nowhere,” local religious leaders’ legitimacy and moral authority derive from their appearing to be not just from “somewhere,” but specifically “right here.”

Religious leaders may also explain transnational moral norms to external audiences in order to broaden support for religious positions. Because audiences outside the religious community do not accept religious teachings on the basis of sacred authority or tradition, religious leaders need to employ different explanations that resonate with them, such as by referencing instruments of international law, scientific data, or more widely accepted moral principles. For example, various Catholic leaders have relied upon “human dignity” as an animating principle for its positions on a wide range of issues from labor rights to capital punishment, pornography, and poverty. Because the principle of human dignity is explicitly woven into the UDHR (United Nations 1948, Preamble, Art. 1, 22, 23), the Church is able to reference it in explanations to non-Catholic actors without relying upon explicitly religious arguments.

Institutionalization

The third component of norm thickening is to institutionalize the links that religious leaders have built between transnational moral norms and religious teachings. Institutionalization aims to translate these links into specific rules and regular practices, whether within a religious community or society more broadly.

Within the religious community, institutionalization aims to integrate the links between transnational moral norms and religious teachings into the community’s regular practices and understandings. For instance, a religious organization could formally endorse or condemn a transnational moral norm in its mission statement. It could create a new program or department tasked with implementing (or combating) a transnational moral norm based on religious teachings. It could address the norm in religious education curricula or training for religious personnel. Or, it could establish new communication channels for implementing religious teachings (e.g. dialogue with government officials or relevant NGOs). Each of these measures establishes regular practices in which religious consideration of the norm becomes routine.

In some cases, institutionalization can also take the form of enforcement against those who object to the thickened norm and offer competing explanations or even institutions. While religious actors can use explanations as a way to persuade audiences to accept their interpretations of norms, enforcement means using power to compel actors to respect a thickened understanding of transnational moral norms. While enforcement may also aim at changing actors’ actual beliefs, it is much more concerned with correcting actions and speech since they are visible and can potentially encourage others to defy religious understandings of transnational moral norms.

Outside the religious community, institutionalizing links between transnational moral norms and religious teachings can include such activities as lobbying to enshrine moral norms in law, establishing organizations for regular dialogue with governments or other religions about moral norms, or protesting the obstruction of religious practices. At the transnational level, institutionalization can include efforts to shape international treaties and multilateral organizations in ways that reflect religious understandings of transnational moral norms.

Institutionalized practices and principles can become self-reinforcing. Individuals who wish to rise within the ranks of an organization have strong incentives to internalize its culture and practices; conversely, those who do not conform to an organization’s culture tend to be marginalized (Philpott 2001, 69). Institutions are also social environments that can change their participants’ beliefs, assign roles, and reconstitute their identities and interests (Hall 1997; Johnston 2001, 2003; Checkel 2005, 804).³ Practices such as prayer meetings, regularly invoking religious texts in internal and/or external communications, or consciously designing activities to emphasize the religious relationship to moral norms can all strengthen participants’ shared understandings of that relationship. Additionally, religious institutions reflect not only religious principles but also local cultural norms, experiences, and practices. Culturally embedded institutions backed by religious authority can promote norm thickening because they resonate with communities’ lived experiences.

Some Consequences of Thickening Transnational Moral Norms

Thickening transnational moral norms with religion can have several potentially significant effects for how religious communities approach and interact with them.

First, thickening transnational moral norms can increase their salience to religious communities. This becomes especially important when religious communities organize members for norm advocacy and implementation. To the extent that thickening demonstrates to adherents how opposing or embracing a moral norm is consistent with (or even demanded by) religious precepts and authentically expresses local cultural norms, it can motivate adherents to do likewise, both for intrinsic reasons and through peer pressure to follow religious authority. Increased religious attention to transnational moral norms can also garner the attention of political leaders who depend upon religious communities for support, giving them incentives to craft their messages and policies to appeal to religious audiences.

Second, by imbuing moral norms with religious significance, thickening can change the rationale for accepting or rejecting them, thereby altering the possibilities for advocacy, issue linkage, and mobilization. To give one prominent example, the UDHR affirms that “recognition of the inherent dignity and of the equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world,” while Article 1 declares that “All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights” (United Nations 1948, Preamble and Art. I). But, the UDHR is silent on the source of this inherent dignity. This omission was intentional, as the framers foresaw that attempting to forge international consensus on justifications for human rights would generate intractable conflict. The philosopher Jacques Maritain, a noted advocate for the UDHR, famously admitted that “we agree on these rights, providing we are not asked why. With the ‘why,’ the dispute begins” (Maritain 1951, 77).⁴ As a result of this compromise, however, thin transnational moral norms often resemble a patchwork of obligations determined by what is politically possible rather than by a consistent moral principle. Without a thick moral basis for following human rights, actors comply with human rights for all sorts of motives, including fears of moral censure (Hafner-Burton 2008); a desire to appear to conform to internationally accepted norms (Finnemore and Sikkink 1998, 902–904; Risse and Sikkink 1999); economic incentives (Hafner-Burton 2009); linkages between human rights abroad and domestic political reform (Kaufmann and Pape 1999), or the desire for greater international legitimacy (Wotipka and Tsutsui 2008).

Norm thickening can fill in the gaps by applying more comprehensive religious moral frameworks to justify transnational moral norms. As a result, it can also generate different linkages between moral norms and other issues through the invocation of underlying value systems. This can also change the trajectory of how moral norms are implemented on the ground, even when there appears to be full agreement between those inside and outside the religious community about whether to support or oppose them. Different configurations of issue linkage, in turn, can alter the terms of debate over which moral issues are more important, what the appropriate responses are, and the long-term trajectory of norm contestation. For example, opposition to the death penalty on the grounds that it violates the sacredness of human life invokes a principle—the sacredness of human life—that demands consistent application. Hence, it might lead an adherent to consider that issues such as abortion, euthanasia, or the dignified treatment of the dying also need to be addressed according to the same principle. Similarly, combating pornography because one sees it as primarily a sin against marriage and chastity makes it more likely to be linked to marital infidelity and sexual immorality than if one sees it primarily as a form of enslavement of those in the pornography industry.

Thickening transnational moral norms can also make it more difficult to compromise on them out of tactical political considerations. A political leader or advocacy organization invoking religious beliefs to justify their position can create an expectation that they are acting out of a sense of higher principles than mere political gain. Insofar as moral authority is premised on principled action, such expectations can render leaders vulnerable to charges of hypocrisy and the loss of moral authority if they are subsequently seen to sacrifice those principles for political gain. As a result, they may be more reluctant to compromise for the sake of achieving what is politically possible.

When Norm Thickening Fails

If norm thickening works as described, we should expect that it can powerfully amplify religious communities’ responses to transnational moral norms. Yet, this does not always happen. Sometimes, thickening may fail to elicit strong reactions either for or against moral norms. There are a number of possible reasons why this might happen.

First, religious leaders might lack the moral authority to persuade followers of a particular relationship between religious teachings and transnational moral norms. This could be because audiences believe that the religious leader (or the institution that the leader represents) does not behave in a principled manner or act for the community’s benefit. This could be because of a previous breach of confidence, a failure to cultivate good relations with the community, or a history of partisanship. Without the moral authority to underwrite their normative claims, religious leaders who attempt to thicken norms will be suspected of harboring ulterior motives. Although they may still be able to mobilize adherents in favor of or against moral norms, they will increasingly need to rely on incentives other than persuasion, such as coercion, the prospect of votes, or pecuniary rewards. Doing so, however, can further appear to confirm religious leaders’ lack of moral authority, rendering them vulnerable to challenges from competing sources of moral authority.

Second, religious leaders may be unable to craft a narrative that links religious teachings to moral norms in a way that resonates with audiences’ lived experiences. Thickening is predicated upon religious leaders’ ability to explain transnational moral norms in ways that are both faithful to religious teachings and intelligible to audiences. When religious leaders demonstrate through their actions or rhetoric that they do not understand people’s lived experiences, their efforts to promote a particular view of transnational moral norms will likely fall on deaf ears. Particularly extreme positions may alienate religious audiences if religion is used to support policies that violate cultural taboos (Fox and Sandler 2004, 44).

Third, religious leaders’ thickening efforts could stall if they are unable to mobilize communities in support of their views on moral norms or unable to build institutions to sustain the links between religious teachings and moral norms. This could happen if religious leaders face unfavorable political opportunity structures (Kitschelt 1986, 58). For instance, if religious organizations and other civil society groups are heavily repressed by the state, they may be unable to build institutions that integrate transnational moral norms and religious teachings into regular practice. Relatedly, a religious organization may simply not have access to a significant number of followers (for instance, because it is a minority religion), limiting the impact of any mobilization on behalf of religiously thickened moral norms. By the same token, deep disagreements within religious communities over the proper response to moral norms may make it extremely difficult to unify religious adherents around a shared normative position.

Why Norm Thickening Matters

Doing the principled thing is rarely easy because it often requires actors—whether individuals, organizations, or states—to set aside their narrow self-interests for a greater good. This is no less true of transnational moral norms. Norms that seem to emanate from a distant international community and are disconnected from more comprehensive systems of morality are less likely to elicit a response than norms that resonate with actors’ identities and beliefs and are backed by a source of authority that they accept. Norm thickening aims to make otherwise generic transnational moral norms intelligible within specific cultures and moral systems. In other words, norm thickening seeks to make transnational moral norms matter to particular audiences.

Religion can play an important role in norm thickening. Because of its claims to supernatural origin, it presents itself as a source of authority that is always binding and transcends efforts at human refutation, providing a stronger basis for moral norms than international political consensus alone. Additionally, religion is often deeply intertwined with adherents’ daily lives and provides comprehensive systems of morality that can be used to make sense of transnational moral norms. Religions—and in particular, religious leaders—thicken moral norms by defining identities and relationships, explaining how moral norms are linked to thick, culturally specific moral principles, and institutionalizing understandings and practices that reinforce those linkages. Successful norm thickening hinges on religious leaders’ moral authority in the eyes of their audiences. That, in turn, is a function of how much audiences perceive religious leaders to act in principled fashion for the benefit of the greater community.

Through norm thickening, religions can provide a firmer moral foundation for transnational moral norms. Yet, it is not necessarily the case that this will mean a greater embrace of the norm. Depending on religious leaders’ explanations, thickening could result in a stronger rejection of the moral norm. Even in cases where religious thickening leads to an embrace of the transnational moral norm, it could generate an understanding of that norm that leads to divergence from the international community down the line. Such are potential consequences of making a universal norm relevant to diverse communities.

Notes

This draws from Brennan et al. (2013, §§4.3–4.5), who distinguish between social norms, whose force depends in some non-derivative way on the presumption that others are engaged in a social practice, and moral norms, whose judgments hold irrespective of others’ presumed social practices.

For a more thorough discussion of the debate over how to define religion, see McKinnon (2002), Bosco (2009), and Toft, Philpott, and Shah (2011, 21).

Checkel (2005) refers to incentive-based motives for adhering to social norms as “Type I internalization/socialization,” as opposed to a genuine internalization of norms and consequent changes in preferences, which he refers to as “Type II internalization/socialization.”

The UDHR’s framers did not preclude religion as a possible justification for human rights, but only insisted that it not be imposed. Some of the UN delegates in the General Assembly debates explicitly linked the ideas of the UDHR to their religious beliefs (Brink 2003, 18).

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3 How the Catholic Church Thickens Transnational Moral Norms

DOI: 10.4324/9780429457364-3

The Catholic Church is a unique transnational actor. It is first and most importantly the custodian of a global religion with over a billion members worldwide. Unlike other religious organizations, though, it also enjoys sovereign statehood. The pope is both the supreme leader of the Catholic Church and the head of state of the Holy See. Additionally, the Church functions like a transnational NGO with local churches providing social services, organizing communities, and lobbying governments at the local level, as well as providing Catholics with access to the Church’s sacraments—sacred rites that the Church believes visibly manifest God’s grace in the world. The Church’s ability to thicken transnational moral norms derives in large part from its inhabiting multiple roles, allowing it to engage with transnational moral norms at different levels of society.

Because the Church’s professed mission is “to proclaim and to spread among all peoples the Kingdom of Christ and of God and to be, on earth, the initial budding forth of that kingdom” (Lumen Gentium 1964, §5), it claims the authority “always and everywhere to announce moral principles, even about the social order, and to render judgment concerning any human affairs insofar as the fundamental rights of the human person or the salvation of souls requires it” (Code of Canon Law 1983, c. 747 §2). These range from the most personal issues of conscience and private conduct to matters of public policy and culture. The Church devotes great energy to understanding and explaining how its core beliefs apply to diverse matters of morality—ranging from sexual ethics to arms control, poverty, the environment, and many others—and promoting those understandings to various audiences. Its interests lie not so much in the conventional measures of territory or material wealth but rather in its ability to shape people’s and societies’ beliefs and actions on a global scale.

This chapter examines the Catholic Church’s role in shaping moral norms as a transnational religious community, at the intergovernmental level and domestically in the Philippines. The first part of the chapter provides an overview of major elements that unite the Church, including core beliefs about Jesus, the apostolic succession, sacraments, and the hierarchical structure of the Church’s organization. It also discusses the Church’s access to sovereign statehood in the form of the Holy See and how this enables it to shape transnational moral norms in intergovernmental forums. As a transnational NGO, the Church can institutionalize its vision of thick moral norms through numerous locally rooted Catholic organizations.

The second part of this chapter discusses how the Catholic Church can thicken transnational moral norms at the domestic level, specifically in the Philippines. Here, the Church’s embeddedness within local communities is especially important. To the extent that society understands the Church as a local institution with moral authority, the Church can shape how transnational moral norms are understood, institutionalized, implemented, modified, or rejected. In the Philippines, the Catholic Church played a crucial role in helping to topple the Ferdinand Marcos dictatorship in 1986. By adopting a principled stance on behalf of the entire Filipino nation at great personal risk to Catholic clergy, members of religious orders, and laity during a historic moment of political crisis, the Church established itself as a moral authority. In particular, the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines (CBCP) gained access to the highest levels of government under the new presidential administration of Corazon Aquino and used the threat of mass mobilization as a form of political power in subsequent administrations. Although the Church has remained an important political player to the present, its moral authority has diminished in recent years, especially in national politics, owing to bruising defeats over reproductive health policy and in the presidential elections of Rodrigo Duterte and Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos, Jr., which it strenuously opposed. The concluding section of this chapter takes stock of the resources that the Catholic Church can employ in thickening transnational moral norms.

The Church as a Transnational Religious Community

Above all else, the Roman Catholic Church is a religious community united by a shared belief that Jesus is the fully human, fully divine, sinless son of God—whose self-sacrifice through an unjust death by crucifixion atoned for humanity’s sins. Catholics further profess that Jesus was raised to new life three days after his death and ascended into heaven, thereby destroying death and opening the way for all to gain eternal life. Catholic teaching holds that at an indeterminate point in the future, Jesus will return in glory as the Christ (“Anointed One”) to judge all humanity and bring the kingdom of God to fulfillment. In preparation for this event, Jesus’s disciples built a community of believers to carry out his charge to evangelize others: “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 28:19).¹ This community is the Church.

The common faith that binds together the transnational Catholic community is refracted through a kaleidoscope of local identities, norms, and social institutions, generating dynamic tensions between the universal and the local. These range from differences in liturgical music to devotions to particular saints, festivals, or the fusion of national identities or political allegiances to membership in the Catholic Church. In his Letter to the Galatians, the apostle Paul exhorted Christians to subordinate national, cultural, economic, and other identities to a common Christian identity (Galatians 3:28), but the reality has always been far more complex due to diverse relationships among Church, state, and society.

Sacraments and the Holy Spirit

The Church’s ability to hold together so many diverse communities derives in large part from common beliefs and rites, as well as institutional structures that locate religious authority within the clerical hierarchy. The most important rites are sacraments—visible signs of God’s presence in the temporal world. In addition to the more generic use of the term as denoting any sign of God’s presence, the Catholic Church also recognizes seven particular sacraments.² The most important of these and the central part of the Catholic Mass is the Sacrament of the Eucharist (also known as Holy Communion), which memorializes Jesus’s self-sacrifice in the sharing of bread and wine. In Catholic teaching, Jesus actually becomes present in the consecrated bread and wine, which become his body and blood. By consuming the bread and wine, Catholics become one with Jesus (Catechism of the Catholic Church 1997, §§1373–1379).

Another central element of Catholic belief is that God continues to play an active role in history through the workings of the Holy Spirit. The second chapter of the Acts of the Apostles describes how Jesus’s disciples, who had been forced into hiding after his death, received the Holy Spirit in a supernatural encounter on the Feast of Pentecost. Emboldened by the Spirit, the disciples embarked upon public ministry, mysteriously able to proclaim God’s teachings in foreign languages previously unknown to them (Acts 2). This event is commemorated as the birth of the Church. Catholic belief holds that Jesus continues to work through the Holy Spirit today. This is not meant to be metaphorical but actual and a basis for the unity of the Church. In the words of the fifth-century church patriarch St. Cyril of Alexandria, “All of us who have received one and the same Spirit, that is, the Holy Spirit, are in a sense blended together with one another and with God” (quoted in: Catechism of the Catholic Church 1997, §738).

The Pope

Another key element in maintaining unity in a diverse church is the role of its formal institutions and particularly the pope as a single earthly leader. The position of the pope originates from the apostolic succession—the belief that the popes have received Jesus’s teachings in an unbroken line from his original 12 followers, the apostles. Matthew’s Gospel describes how Jesus commissioned the apostle Peter to lead the Church (Matthew 16:18–19). Following Jesus’s execution by the Roman authorities, Peter assumed a central leadership role in the Church and, as traditionally recounted, became the first bishop of Rome, where he was later martyred. The Catholic Church has long interpreted this to mean that Peter’s successors as the bishops of Rome hold primacy over other bishops, establishing the basis for the pope as the single paramount leader.

Though the pope is the absolute monarch of the Holy See, far more important to the Church is his supreme magisterial power—that is, the power to interpret for Catholics and the world at large what the Church’s teachings mean. In his official capacity, “the Roman Pontiff has full, supreme and universal power over the Church. And he is always free to exercise this power” (Lumen Gentium 1964, §22). Much of the pope’s teaching is conveyed via writings disseminated to the clergy and Catholics at large. In most cases, these are not simple decrees prescribing or proscribing actions, but instead provide substantive reflections on the reasoning behind those pronouncements, linking them to moral values within the Church’s tradition. These arguments provide a powerful agenda-setting tool for the Church’s activities because they signal to the rest of the Church where the pope’s thinking lies. Bishops often use papal writings as springboards for their own pastoral letters to Catholics in their dioceses. Subsequent popes may cite them in their own writings. Priests, members of religious orders, and laity study papal writings and may integrate elements of them into their own ministries. Papal writings can also establish boundaries for contestation. For example, Pope Paul VI’s 1968 encyclical Humanae Vitae, which declared the use of artificial contraceptives to be immoral, remains controversial to this day, but even its critics feel compelled to respond to its propositions, attesting to its agenda-setting power.

The pope’s teaching power is augmented by the oft-misunderstood concept of papal infallibility. Papal infallibility does not mean that the pope is infallible in all of his pronouncements, let alone in his personal conduct. Rather, the Church understands papal infallibility to be a divine guarantee against the possibility of error when—and only when—the pope solemnly pronounces on a doctrine of faith and morals. The pope can exercise infallibility in two different ways. First, in what is called an exercise of the “extraordinary magisterium,” the pope can define a doctrine infallibly when (1) he does so ex cathedra (“from the chair”) in his official capacity as supreme pastor and teacher of the Church (not merely in his personal capacity as a theologian); (2) he teaches a doctrine on the truths of faith and morals, and (3) he clearly expresses his intent to define that doctrine infallibly and to demand that all Christians adhere to it (Pastor Aeternus 1870, §9). By this criteria, only two such doctrines have been infallibly proclaimed: the Immaculate Conception of Mary, which holds that Mary the mother of Jesus was born without original sin (proclaimed by Pius IX in 1854), and the Assumption, which holds that Mary was brought up to heaven in both body and soul at the end of her earthly life (proclaimed by Pius XII in 1950) (Pope John Paul II 1993).

The second manner in which papal infallibility can be exercised is through the “ordinary magisterium”. In this case, the pope does not need to explicitly declare a doctrine to be infallible. Rather, a doctrine is revealed to be infallible when the bishops,

even though dispersed through the world, but still maintaining the bond of communion among themselves and with the successor of Peter, and authentically teaching matters of faith and morals, they are in agreement on one position as definitively to be held. This is even more clearly verified when, gathered together in an ecumenical council, they are teachers and judges of faith and morals for the universal Church, whose definitions must be adhered to with the submission of faith.

(Lumen Gentium 1964, §25)

In other words, if the bishops and the pope agree that a particular position on a matter of faith or morals is to be definitively held, then it is an infallibly held position. This can (but needs not) be expressed through the declarations of an ecumenical council comprising the pope and all of the bishops (such as the Vatican councils or the Council of Trent). While the doctrine of papal infallibility has been intensely debated within theological circles (particularly with reference to the Church’s teaching against artificial contraception), even non-infallible teachings carry significant weight when pronounced by the pope. A theologian who openly disputes a papal interpretation faces a substantial burden of proof.

Bishops

While the pope exercises “full, supreme and universal power over the Church” and plays an important role in setting moral agendas through his pronouncements, much of the implementation depends upon the bishops. At the end of 2021, there were 5,340 Catholic bishops worldwide (Glatz 2023).

Although the bishops are to be united with the pope, they enjoy a great deal of independence. Under canon law, each bishop must travel to the Holy See and report on the state of the diocese to the pope once every five years (Code of Canon Law 1983, c. 399 §1), but given the large number and diversity of dioceses and the small size of the Vatican administration, papal involvement in diocesan affairs tends to be limited unless a special matter demands papal attention. Bishops thus have flexibility in how to run their dioceses and respond to moral issues arising under their jurisdiction. Variation in dioceses’ sizes, finances, availability of clergy, local culture, the bishop’s management style, and the specific pastoral needs of the population can all affect their organizational culture (Harper and Schulte-Murray 1998).

Through pastoral letters, statements, instructions to diocesan clergy, and resource allocation, bishops can influence attitudes toward religious teachings and social norms. A bishop’s decision to issue a pastoral letter to his diocese can set the diocesan agenda and motivate parishes to emphasize its contents in homilies or parish activities. When such pastoral letters are used to express the bishops’ positions on a matter of public policy, they can signal to the Catholic faithful what position to take and how to justify it, as well as to political leaders over how the Church leadership will react if policy moves in a given direction. Similarly, the establishment of a diocesan commission on a particular issue can help ensure that the matter remains on the diocesan agenda. Bishops can also set diocesan agendas through personnel appointments or removals (Code of Canon Law 1983, c. 1740). Because of their prominence, bishops often have access to the national political discourse and political elites, providing another important channel for norm engagement.

Priests

For most Catholics, the face of the institutional Church is the local diocesan priest. In Catholic teaching, the priest is more than a preacher of the scriptures or the leader of a particular Catholic community; he is a conduit for Jesus himself, specifically in the administration of the sacraments. When a priest pronounces a person forgiven at the Sacrament of Reconciliation, or when he offers bread and wine at the altar in the Sacrament of the Eucharist, the Church understands that it is Jesus who actually forgives and that it is Jesus who offers his own body and blood at the altar in atonement for humanity’s transgressions (Catechism of the Catholic Church 1997, 1348, 1548–1549). In the administration of the Sacraments, the priest acts in persona Christi Capitis—in the person of Christ the Head (of the Church). This is not a matter of the priest’s personal qualities, nor does ordination provide any guarantee against a priest falling into weakness or sin, but it does mean that validly administered sacraments retain the full authority of Jesus (Catechism of the Catholic Church 1997, 1348, 1548–1550). Beyond their liturgical roles, priests also engage in a wide range of ministries depending on the needs of their particular communities. These might include administration, moral advocacy, outreach to certain populations (e.g. the elderly or prison inmates), teaching, or any number of other functions.

Religious Orders

The term “religious orders” is shorthand for a wide variety of professed communities of men and women who have consecrated themselves to a life of prayer and service to the Church according to specific charisms. Religious orders must be approved by the Church and typically operate with the approval of the local diocesan bishop. However, members of religious orders are not governed by the diocese they inhabit but rather a separate hierarchy that runs from local communities up to the Vatican. Some communities, such as the Benedictines, are monastic, spending their lives in contemplation and prayer apart from the secular world. Other communities engage regularly with the secular world through diverse ministries. For instance, the Salesians of Don Bosco focus heavily on primary and secondary education. The Missionaries of Charity follow their founder, Saint Teresa of Calcutta (also known as Mother Teresa), in providing care for the “poorest of the poor.” The Missionaries of St. Charles Borromeo, also known as the Scalabrinians after their founder, Bishop Giovanni Battista Scalabrini, focus on ministry to migrants and refugees. Like diocesan priests, religious orders can play an important role in the Church’s thickening of norms by virtue of their embeddedness within local societies. Through their schools, media outlets, social services, and preaching, religious orders can amplify the Church’s efforts to define identities and relationships, explain how religious teachings are linked to transnational moral norms, and develop institutions and practices that manifest those links.

Laity

Laity are baptized Catholics who have not taken vows of ordination to the clergy or consecration to religious life. They are “ordinary” Catholics whose vocation the Church regards as being “in the world.” Hence, their roles in the Church are as varied as they are in the secular world. While some formally represent the institutional Church, many more are informally involved in organizations that profess Catholic teachings, ranging from informal prayer groups to pro-life advocacy organizations and media outlets. The diverse ways in which laity—particularly when organized into lay associations—express Catholic teachings represent an important element of norm thickening. Because laity are embedded in very specific cultural contexts, their expressions of Catholic teaching are often highly attuned to local circumstances.

Lay associations can obtain canonical recognition at the diocesan level, which can be an important signal that their activities are consistent with Church doctrine and that Catholics can participate in them in good conscience. Among the most important lay associations are those that the Church formally recognizes as “international associations of the faithful” or a similar title. These include well-known associations such as the Community of Sant’Egidio, Communione e Liberazione, and the Legion of Mary. Supervision of such associations by the Holy See tends to be limited. Because they are organized, they tend to attract Catholics with a high degree of interest in visibly practicing their faith and are often focused on specific issues (e.g. evangelization of those who have left the Church in the case of the Neocatechumenal Way; conflict mediation in the case of Sant’Egidio; marriage and family life in the case of Couples for Christ). Lay associations can play an important role in promoting Catholic views of transnational moral norms within their own communities, but often through the lenses of their particular charisms.

Intergovernmental Norm Thickening and the State-ness of the Church

The Catholic Church is unique among organized religions in that it enjoys the perquisites of state sovereignty, but it behaves unlike most states. The Catholic Church actually contains two separate sovereign entities—the Holy See (from the Latin “Sancta Sedes” or “holy seat,” referring to the seat of the Apostle Peter) and the Vatican City State. The Holy See is the central government of the Catholic Church and ruled by the pope, its absolute monarch. Sovereign statehood typically refers to supreme legitimate authority within a given territory (Philpott 1995, 357), but the Holy See does not quite fit this model. Strictly speaking, it is a sovereign government that happens to control a separate territory—the 109-acre Vatican City State—but whose authority extends far beyond the Vatican’s borders. If the Holy See ever lost control of the Vatican City State, it would nonetheless retain its own sovereign statehood.

As a temporal authority, the Holy See can be traced back to the weakening of the Roman emperors. Throughout the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, and into the nineteenth century, the Holy See was generally accorded legitimacy as a full participant in European diplomacy and entered into treaties with various secular rulers (Minnerath 1998). It is from this long history of diplomacy and sovereignty that the Holy See derives its present international status. By the mid-nineteenth century, though, the growing power of secular rulers had significantly weakened the Church’s territorial holdings and in 1870, the Kingdom of Italy annexed the Papal States. For nearly six decades, the popes refused to recognize the Italian state and made a point of not venturing beyond the walls of the Vatican (Morss 2016, 939–941). The stalemate ended on February 11, 1929, when the Holy See and the Kingdom of Italy concluded the Lateran Pacts. In exchange for the Holy See’s recognition of the Italian government, the latter reaffirmed Catholicism as the state religion and granted the Holy See sovereignty over the Vatican City State.³

Mainstream international relations theories posit that states are primarily interested in protecting their sovereignty and territorial integrity or else driven by a desire for economic prosperity (Waltz 1979; Mearsheimer 2001; Keohane 1984). Such theories—particularly from the realist and liberal institutionalist traditions—never argue that states seek primarily to advance a moral agenda. On the contrary, they frequently dismiss moral agendas as either concealing ulterior interests or distracting states from the more “fundamental” interests of security or economic prosperity. Yet, the Holy See has minuscule sovereign territory, no military power to speak of, no real industry, and no aspirations to augment them. Rather, it is primarily an instrument for advancing the Church’s religious mission. Pius XI’s aim in obtaining control of the Vatican was not to restore the Church’s territory but rather to guarantee its political independence so that it could focus on its spiritual and moral mission. Article 24 of the Lateran Treaty declares that the Holy See “desires to remain and will remain outside of any temporal rivalries between other States and the international congresses called to settle such matters, unless the contending parties make a mutual appeal to its mission of peace” (“Lateran Treaty”, Art. 24). Pius (1931) argued that territorial concessions enabled the Church to demonstrate that it was not driven by any earthly motives, thereby increasing its moral authority: “We are pleased to see the earthly material reduced to such minimum terms that it can and must be considered spiritualized by the immense, sublime, and truly divine spirituality that it is destined to support and serve.”

The Holy See’s lack of military or economic power greatly limits its ability to enforce its views on norms at the intergovernmental level. Nevertheless, statehood affords the Catholic Church certain advantages in thickening norms. First, the Holy See has diplomatic standing as an equal among other sovereign governments. Apostolic nuncios, as the personal representatives of the pope, are accredited to foreign governments as ambassadors, enabling them to access the highest levels of government and maintain unity between local Catholic communities and the pope (Troy 2018). Second, statehood enables the Holy See to participate in international governmental organizations as a peer. Since 1964, the Holy See has been a non-member observer state at the United Nations and maintained a permanent observer mission to the UN in New York—the only state aside from Switzerland accorded such a status. The Holy See does not enjoy voting rights in the General Assembly but otherwise can make speeches and participate in UN conferences as if it were a full member. The UN provides the Holy See with a platform for reaching the broadest international audience, making it central to its emphasis on moral issues, which Alan Chong and Jodok Troy (2011, 342) characterize as “diplomacy-as-sermonizing.”

Crucially, the Holy See’s statehood allows it to explain how it understands moral norms to a global audience of governments, as well as to shape international institutions that put norms into practice. Partly because of its lack of geopolitical and economic ambition, the Church has been willing to adopt uncompromising positions in the name of religious and moral principles and to use institutional levers as well as rhetorical persuasion to achieve its objectives. For example, during the 1994 UN International Conference on Population and Development, the Holy See threatened to hold up consensus over provisions regarding abortion and contraception. Only after the inclusion of compromise language explicitly rejecting abortion as a means of birth control did the Holy See relent and allow the final Program of Action to pass. As discussed in Chapter 5, this alienated many of the Church’s interlocutors, but the disapproval of a majority of the world’s governments was of little consideration to the Holy See compared with the religious imperative to protect the sanctity of marriage and human life.

The Church as Transnational NGO: Institutionalizing Thick Norms

The Church also plays a key role as a transnational NGO (or perhaps more accurately, a network of NGOs). Its charitable institutions and activities include schools, hospitals, orphanages, humanitarian relief aid, assistance to workers and migrants, media outlets, addiction rehabilitation centers, poverty alleviation, and peacebuilding, among others. Many charitable ministries are overseen by local dioceses or religious orders, but others are independent organizations that operate in parallel with ecclesiastical structures. The Church’s function as a transnational NGO can aid norm thickening by putting into practice specific teachings, as well as by adapting such teachings to local contexts. In other words, it can institutionalize the practice of Catholic moral norms in a manner tailored to local situations.

Insofar as their work earns them respect and trust in local communities, Catholic charitable organizations can also gain moral authority for the Church. For example, Lisa Ferrari (2011, 97) shows how Catholic NGOs combating HIV/AIDS in sub-Saharan Africa use “spiritual frames” to talk about the disease as opposed to the “scientific frames” of secular NGOs. Whereas the latter focus on the biological and material aspects of HIV/AIDS, the former speak directly to the spiritual meaning of suffering and dying (among other matters). This has particular resonance in African societies, where scarce treatment options often make AIDS a terminal illness. This ostensible purity of motivation has been an important factor in the historical reputation of Catholic NGOs and the Church’s moral authority in various communities worldwide.

With the professionalization of the non-profit sector, there has been growing pressure for Catholic NGOs to distinguish themselves from non-Catholic NGOs, particularly when they provide similar services. In his 2005 encyclical, Deus Caritas Est, Pope Benedict XVI sought to define features of charitable organizations that made them distinctly Catholic. Professional competence, he argued, was necessary but insufficient. Catholic charitable workers should never be motivated by ideology or politics (Pope Benedict XVI 2005, §31). Nor, he continued, should Catholic charity be employed as a means to proselytize; rather, it should be purely motivated by love (Pope Benedict XVI 2005, §31). Hence, Catholic charity workers needed to be motivated by a love for Christ and neighbor (Pope Benedict XVI 2005, §31). In 2012, Pope Benedict XVI went beyond rhetorical definition to institutionalization in a Motu Proprio apostolic letter, “On the Service of Charity,” which formalized bishops’ oversight responsibilities for Catholic NGOs in their dioceses. It obligated diocesan bishops and parish priests to ensure that Catholic NGOs did not advocate measures that contradicted Church teaching or receive financial support from organizations that did so (Pope Benedict XVI 2012, Art. 9 §3, Art. 10 §3, Art. 13). Organizations that did not adhere to Catholic teaching were to be prohibited from using the word “Catholic” in their names (Pope Benedict XVI 2012, Art.11). While this would seem at first to indicate greater central control of Catholic organizations, the apostolic letter emphasized that local ecclesiastical authorities were better suited to managing Catholic organizations in their regions than the Vatican. Still, this instruction from the pinnacle of the Church hierarchy underscores its concern for the centrality of Catholic doctrine to the work of Catholic NGOs.

The Church’s Resources for Domestic Norm Thickening in the Philippines

To think of the Catholic Church as a transnational religious organization requires a certain level of abstraction that glosses over its diverse manifestations in specific societies. While Vatican-level pronouncements speak to the entire Church, they are frequently filtered through the experiences of local communities and interpreted by Catholic actors who belong to those communities. When studying how the Church thickens norms, then, it is necessary to have a sense of the specific societal context in which thickening occurs. This section provides an overview of the Catholic Church’s societal and political role in the Philippines and discusses how the Philippine context conditions the Church’s norm thickening.

Catholicism arrived in the Philippines in the sixteenth century with Spanish conquistadors who colonized the archipelago. Throughout the Spanish period, the Catholic Church played an important role in colonial administration. The three landed orders—the Dominicans, Augustinian Recollects, and Augustinian Hermits—amassed enormous estates from the Spanish crown as reward for their efforts to convert the local populace, making them the archipelago’s largest landholders. The Jesuits also amassed large landholdings until they were suppressed by the Vatican in 1768; though they were restored in 1814, the Jesuits did not return to the Philippines until 1859. Spanish clergy, eager to preserve their own privileges and often disdainful of native Filipinos, resisted calls by the Spanish crown to cultivate Filipino clergy, thereby contributing to the rise of diverse unsanctioned “folk” practices in the absence of a clerical presence with strong local knowledge (Phelan 2011, 84–87).

In 1898, the United States defeated Spain in the Spanish American War. As a consequence, the Philippines became an American colony. Under the Philippine Organic Act of July 1, 1902, the Catholic Church was disestablished and freedom of religion guaranteed. In an effort to pacify Filipino insurgents, the United States purchased the friars’ landholdings in 1903 and redistributed them through a system of homesteading, though mismanagement of the program led ultimately to its failure and the growth of large industrial plantations, thereby exacerbating socioeconomic inequality (Ventura 2016, 470–477). Spanish Catholic clergy were increasingly replaced by American counterparts.

During World War II, Japan occupied the Philippines. After Japan’s defeat, the United States granted full independence to the Philippines in 1946. Independence created a new impetus for localized Catholicism and a corresponding demand to replace American clergy with native Filipinos. The reforms of Vatican II saw expression in the proliferation of lay-led NGOs, the greater integration of Filipino customs and vernacular into the liturgy, and the Church’s increased engagement on social and political issues. The 1970s and 1980s also saw the growth of liberation theology, which emphasized that the purpose of the Church is not merely to proclaim the Gospel or to seek the salvation of souls, but also to manifest Christ in the world by freeing humanity (and especially the poor) from injustice and oppression in the here and now (Sanks 1992, 171–184). In the Philippines, liberation theology was visible in the formation of “base ecclesial communities”—grassroots organizations led by poor lay Catholics who came together for scriptural study, prayer, and community action. These communities enabled Catholics to organize and respond collectively to local conditions, providing a greater degree of flexibility than reliance upon higher levels of Church organization.

Arguably the most important event shaping the Catholic Church’s modern political role in the Philippines was the 1986 People Power Revolution that brought down the dictatorship of President Ferdinand Marcos. Because of the Church’s role, its leaders gained access to the highest levels of decision-making power, the ability to influence the post-Marcos Constitution, and a high degree of moral authority.

Ferdinand Marcos was elected to the presidency in 1965 and won re-election in 1969. Constitutionally limited to two terms, Marcos tried and failed to amend the Constitution to allow a third term. In 1972, he declared martial law, ostensibly because of communist insurgency and a radicalized student population pressing for political reform. In reality, Marcos used his newly acquired powers to expropriate assets, establish export monopolies, and amass enormous wealth for himself, his family (notably his wife, First Lady Imelda Romualdez Marcos, who became notorious for her extravagant spending), and favored cronies in what Paul Hutchcroft (1991) has described as a “neopatrimonial” regime. Under martial law, Marcos curtailed civil rights, seized media outlets and arrested, tortured and assassinated political opponents, labor leaders, religious personnel, and others deemed to harbor communist sympathies or otherwise threaten the regime (Youngblood 1978, 508–513).

The Catholic hierarchy, represented by the CBCP, at first adopted a cautious stance toward martial law, with some bishops supporting Marcos and others calling for civil disobedience. The CBCP described its stance as “critical collaboration.” While it did not call for open defiance of the government, it insisted that obedience to the government was only legitimate insofar as the government’s policies were “truly just and conducive to the attainment of peace in the community” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1983). By appealing to the sacred authority of the Gospel, the CBCP sought to give Catholics a mandate to critically monitor the government.

In August 1983, though, “critical collaboration” turned into full-fledged opposition following the assassination of Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino, Jr., a popular senator and Marcos’s most vocal critic. Although no one was ever charged with the assassination, suspicion immediately fell upon Marcos. The assassination galvanized the Philippine polity, which rallied around Ninoy’s widow, Corazon “Cory” Aquino. In November 1985, Marcos called a snap presidential election. Jaime Cardinal Sin, the Archbishop of Manila, played an important role in persuading Aquino and former opposition senator Salvador Laurel to run against Marcos. The CBCP and the National Council of Churches of the Philippines (comprising mainline Protestant denominations) also backed the National Movement for Free Elections (NAMFREL), an independent monitoring organization established by Catholic laity and staffed in part by clergy and religious. In some areas, all of the Catholic clergy worked for NAMFREL. Additionally, the Church mobilized another 500,000 citizens to monitor the elections (Youngblood 1987, 1245).

Marcos declared victory in the February 7, 1986, snap elections, an outcome widely regarded as fraudulent. In a February 15 pastoral letter, the CBCP declared that the elections were fraudulent, lending legitimacy to popular outrage and support to the Aquino camp (Ofreneo 1987, 329). In addition, the bishops stated that any government in power because of fraud had no moral legitimacy (Bacani 1987, 84–45). They called upon Catholics to undertake nonviolent action.

Amid widespread anti-Marcos demonstrations in Manila, many of which involved large numbers of religious personnel, Defense Minister Juan Ponce Enrile and General Fidel Ramos announced on February 23 that they and their military forces were staging a rebellion against Marcos. Cardinal Sin, speaking through the Church’s radio network, Radio Veritas, personally called on Filipinos to block Epifania De Los Santos Avenue (EDSA)—a major highway running through Manila—and prevent pro-Marcos forces from reaching the rebels, who were fortified in the military bases of Camps Crame and Aguinaldo. Thousands of Catholics responded by pouring into EDSA, with clergy and religious in the front lines, and successfully blocking pro-Marcos forces from moving to attack Enrile and Ramos. When became known as the EDSA Revolution or People Power Revolution ended four days later when the Marcoses fled in exile to Hawaii, clearing a path for Corazon Aquino to become president.

While the Church did not bring down the Marcos regime single-handedly, it played a vital role by legitimizing disobedience to the state. The Church enjoyed organizational advantages in mass mobilization through its broad range of institutions, as illustrated by NAMFREL, Radio Veritas, and the role of CBCP pastoral letters read from the pulpit. In contrast to the Marcos regime’s corruption, plunder, and violent repression of civil society, the Church’s insistence on nonviolent civil disobedience, its emphasis on the best interests of all Filipinos, and the willingness of Catholic clergy and religious to risk their lives all contributed to its moral authority. The Church’s insistence that its actions were motivated by a divinely inspired faith—one shared by the majority of Filipinos—rather than mere politics also helped to elevate its credibility.

In the years immediately following the EDSA Revolution, the Church gained unprecedented influence in national politics. Members of the commission that drafted the 1987 Constitution included high-ranking Catholic clergy, religious, and laity with close ties to the Church. The Constitution reflected in many ways a Catholic view of what a “good” society ought to look like. For instance, Article II declares that the State “shall equally protect the life of the mother and the life of the unborn from conception” (Constitution of the Republic of the Philippines (1987), Art. II §12). Article XII declares that the goals of the national economy were to ensure

a more equitable distribution of opportunities, income and wealth; a sustained increase in the amount of goods and services produced by the nation for the benefit of the people, and an expanding productivity as the key to raising the quality of life for all, especially the underprivileged.

(Constitution of the Republic of the Philippines (1987), Art. XII §1)

As discussed in Chapter 6, the Church was also able to use its influence over the Aquino administration to steer policy related to population and family planning.

Mass mobilization, reflecting the pattern established in the People Power Revolution, became an important means of pressuring political leaders. Huge rallies were often CBCP-led and organized with help from the Church’s extensive network of institutions. Cardinal Sin, who remained a close confidante of President Aquino, openly endorsed political candidates—a move that made some of his fellow bishops uncomfortable (Youngblood 1998, 11). During the 1992 presidential election, Sin condemned then-candidate Fidel Ramos from the pulpit and urged Filipinos to vote for his opponent Ramon Mitra, who ultimately lost to Ramos. Toward the end of his presidency, when Ramos attempted to amend the Constitution to extend presidential terms beyond a single six-year term (an initiative called “Charter Change”), Sin accused him of a naked power grab and attempting to roll back democracy (“Filipino Cardinal Fights Re-Election of President” 1997). On September 21, 1997, the 25th anniversary of the imposition of martial law, Sin and former President Aquino presided over a 500,000-strong rally in Manila’s Luneta Park. In the days leading up to the rally, Manila was subject to nightly noise barrages as churches rang their bells and motorists honked their horns to protest Charter Change (Shirley 2004, 109). Faced with such a stinging rebuke, Ramos backed down and subsequently abandoned Charter Change.

In another example of the Church’s mass mobilization power, it successfully co-orchestrated the 2000 ouster of Ramos’s successor, President Joseph Estrada. The Church had fiercely opposed Estrada’s candidacy to no avail. Estrada, an action film star, was a womanizer who had fathered several children out of wedlock and was fond of drinking and gambling—moral traits that disqualified him in the eyes of many clergy. When allegations surfaced in October 2000 that Estrada was profiting from illegal gambling, he faced impeachment charges and the Church launched a concerted effort to oust him. Though public opinion did not at first support Estrada’s ouster—an October 16 poll by Pulse Asia found that 53 percent of Manila residents wanted him to remain in office—the Church was able to successfully forge alliances with military groups and members of the business community, as well as Corazon Aquino and Fidel Ramos (Shirley 2004, 136).

On November 4, the Church organized an anti-Estrada rally that reportedly drew over 100,000 demonstrators. In a clear effort to evoke memories of Marcos’s overthrow, the rally took place at the EDSA Shrine, a small church built along the highway in 1989 to commemorate the People Power Revolution (Shirley 2004, 141). Estrada’s political allies quickly abandoned him as the impeachment trial got underway in the Senate. When the Senate voted to suppress evidence that was believed to support the case against Estrada, though, the prosecution walked out on January 17, 2001, prompting four days of anti-Estrada demonstrations outside the presidential palace, as well as prayer vigils at the EDSA Shrine. On January 19, the military announced its withdrawal of support for Estrada. The next day, Estrada stepped down and left the presidential palace by river barge. Meanwhile, his vice-president, Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, was inaugurated as president with Cardinal Sin by her side. “EDSA II” marked the return of the Church as a kingmaker and a policy gatekeeper able to impose major political costs on the president.

In hindsight, EDSA II was arguably the high-water mark for the Church’s ability to influence national politics. Since then, the Church has not mounted a similar effort to oust a sitting president. Much of this can be attributed to a change in how the CBCP has understood its national political role. In 1997, the CBCP issued a Pastoral Exhortation on Philippine Politics, which declared it a “duty for the Christian Catholic to transform politics by the Gospel,” including through “active advocacy” and “[lobbying] to defeat bills that militate against the aspirations of the poor, the integral development of our people, the integrity of creation, moral values in the family, the welfare of women, children and the young” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1997b). Although the Pastoral Exhortation conceded that the Church was not to play a partisan role in endorsing candidates, this was a blueprint for a high degree of political engagement by the Church.

In 2005, two important developments set the CBCP on a path toward a less interventionist role (Abellanosa 2008). First, Cardinal Sin, who had played such a critical role in shaping Philippine national politics and the EDSA Revolutions, died in June. Then, in December, the newly elected Pope Benedict XVI published his first encyclical, Deus Caritas Est (“On Christian Love”). Unlike his charismatic predecessor John Paul II, who had played a Sin-like role in helping to topple the communist regime in Poland, Benedict was more focused on evangelizing Europe, combating moral relativism, and engaging Catholics who had rejected the reforms of Vatican II. In Deus Caritas Est, he drew a sharp line between the role of the Church and the role of the state:

The Church cannot and must not take upon herself the political battle to bring about the most just society possible. She cannot and must not replace the State. […] She has to play her part through rational argument and she has to reawaken the spiritual energy without which justice, which always demands sacrifice, cannot prevail and prosper. A just society must be the achievement of politics, not of the Church.

(Pope Benedict XVI 2005, 28)

The CBCP appeared to adopt this new stance with its July 2006 Pastoral Letter on Social Concerns, in which it reiterated that although the Church was duty-bound to issue moral judgments, including on political matters, it could not involve itself in partisan politics or offer a specific political plan for a just society (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2006). When President Arroyo became embroiled in major corruption scandals in 2005 and 2007–2008, she faced popular calls for her ouster. Unlike with Marcos and Estrada, though, this time the CBCP refused to join in those calls, in part due to fears of further undermining the democratic process (Gatmaytan 2006). While the CBCP continues to pronounce on the morality of political matters, it has refrained from attempting to circumvent the electoral process.

The Catholic Church is increasingly a “normal” political actor in the Philippines. While it continues to enjoy a relatively high degree of moral authority in the Philippines, its advocacy is increasingly in competition with that of other actors (Chow 2022, 353). This has been starkly illustrated by the presidency of Rodrigo Duterte (2016–2022) and the 2022 election of President Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr., the son of the former dictator. Duterte, who waged a bloody “war on drugs” marked by thousands of extrajudicial killings, openly rejected the Church’s criticisms and regularly derided its moral authority with profanity-laced insults. Despite this, he enjoyed runaway popularity among ordinary Filipinos fed up with drugs and violence. Marcos (whose vice-presidential running mate was Duterte’s daughter, Sara) won the presidency in a landslide victory, much to the dismay of the Church leadership and despite efforts to remind voters of the atrocities and corruption of the Marcos dictatorship.

The Church’s unusual degree of involvement in Philippine politics, as well as its fluctuating ability to influence political attitudes, highlights the importance of understanding local context. Particularly after the EDSA Revolutions, the Catholic hierarchy enjoyed exceptionally high moral authority and access to the highest levels of political power. This meant that when the Church sought to thicken moral norms—by defining identities and relations, explaining the meaning of transnational norms, and institutionalizing those meanings—political leaders and voters often listened. As the Church’s moral authority has eroded since EDSA II, its ability to thicken transnational moral norms has likewise eroded. Though it remains influential in moral matters, the Church can no longer mobilize the huge crowds that it once used to. It can no longer take audience engagement for granted. This suggests that to persuade Filipinos to adopt its moral positions, the Church will need to work harder to connect with their lived experiences rather than simply appealing to Catholic doctrine.

Nevertheless, if the Church’s political influence in the Philippines has diminished from its heyday in the late 1980s, it remains indelibly imprinted on Philippine culture and society. Its leaders maintain that Catholic identity is essential to Filipino identity and that the Church therefore represents the Filipino people. By extension, any norms that contradicted Catholic teaching were incompatible with Philippine society. The CBCP has lent official sanction to these efforts to fuse Filipino and Catholic identities (Francisco 2014). Notably, the 1997 Catechism for Filipino Catholics, produced by the CBCP as the national sourcebook for Catholic education, titles its first chapter, “Who Is the Filipino Catholic?” It describes “five predominant Filipino characteristics, together with five essential traits of Jesus Christ, both assumed within the typical ‘Filipino way’ to Jesus” (emphasis original) (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1997a, §33). Filipinos, in this description, are (1) “family-oriented” with a “traditional love for children” and an attachment to the extended family; (2) “meal-oriented” (i.e. hospitable, even in the midst of poverty); (3) “kundiman-oriented” (referring to traditional Filipino songs about wounded love and connoting the acceptance of suffering for the sake of love); (4) “bayani-oriented” (i.e. heroic, especially in the defense of the weak and oppressed), and (5) “spirit-oriented” (i.e. possessing a “deep-seated belief in the supernatural and in all kinds of spirits dwelling in individual persons, places and things” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1997a, §§34–36, §37, §39, §41, §43). The Catechism explicitly ties each characteristic to some element of Jesus’s personality and claims to “show that in our country, to become more deeply Christian is to become more truly and authentically Filipino” (emphasis original) (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1997a, §33). These are generalizations, but in articulating them, the Church positioned itself as an authority on what makes for “authentic” Filipino culture. Given the Catechism’s role in guiding how clergy and religious educators teach the Catholic faithful, it helps to shape the Church’s discourse on Filipino identity in distinction from other identities.

Beyond official pronouncements, though, the Catholic Church remains deeply enmeshed in Philippine culture. In a society rife with poverty and political corruption, the Church is still among the most trusted civil society institutions and arguably the most pervasive, running not only churches but also schools, hospitals, media outlets, and various other social services. The ubiquity of Catholicism is visible in the broadcast of the Angelus prayer every noon over loudspeakers in department stores, in the prominence of Catholic lay movements like Couples for Christ, in the construction of Catholic chapels offering daily Masses in shopping malls, and in the persistence of “folk Catholic” practices such as Passion plays on Good Friday or the annual procession of the Black Nazarene statue in Manila’s Quiapo district, which some believe to grant healing powers to cloths that are wiped over its surface. This provides the Church with a large deposit of “social capital” that can be deployed to shape societal norms.

A Complex Source of Moral Authority

The Catholic Church is a multifaceted actor, able to act as a transnational religious community, a state among other sovereign states, and a transnational NGO. This enables it to engage with transnational moral norms at multiple levels. As a religious community with a vast corpus of moral teachings underpinned by a belief in the supernatural guidance of the Holy Spirit, the Church can explain stances on moral norms in a systematic fashion, linking them to other teachings to establish a “thick” religious basis for them. By virtue of its long history of embeddedness in local communities, the Church has become enmeshed in local identities such that the division between religious and other identities is not always distinct. Through the sovereign state that is the Holy See, the Church can shape transnational norms at intergovernmental forums—in some cases directly affecting the language of international agreements—and gain access to top leaders by virtue of its diplomacy. Lastly, as a transnational NGO, the Church is able to put its moral stances into practice on the ground, directly providing services to local communities and institutionalizing Catholic moral norms.

The experience of the Philippines illustrates how local circumstances can dramatically shape the Church’s societal role at the domestic level. With its origins as the religion of the Spanish colonizers, Catholicism was linked from the start with the political establishment. The end of Spanish colonialism, the establishment of American rule, and the creation of the Philippines as an independent republic all provided opportunities for the increased indigenization of Catholicism, especially through the recruitment of native-born clergy. Vatican II accelerated the Church’s trend toward indigenization by encouraging engagement with—rather than retreat from—the secular world, opening the way for greater involvement in matters of social justice. In the Philippines, this was prominently reflected by the Church’s role in overthrowing the Marcos dictatorship in the People Power Revolution, in shaping the 1987 Constitution, and in leading the effort to topple the Estrada presidency. Since the collapse of the Estrada presidency, the Church has pulled back from the pattern of overthrowing presidential administrations, partly because of leadership changes in the CBCP and the Vatican, though it remains highly active in political debates.

As discussed in Chapter 2, scholars have posited that actors gain moral authority to the extent that audiences see their actions as principled rather than opportunistic, and aimed at benefiting the larger community rather than a narrow subset (Grzymała-Busse 2015, 8; Kane 2001, 15). During the People Power Revolution against Marcos, the Church gained a reputation as a principled adversary of the Marcos administration. On the one hand, the Church was a ubiquitous institution that represented the religious beliefs of the majority of Filipinos. On the other hand, the willingness of Catholic clergy, members of religious orders, and laity to risk their lives for democracy by marching on EDSA helped to establish the Church as an actor driven by moral principle to stand up for the Filipino nation. This, in turn, gave the Church moral authority such that political leaders would listen when it pronounced on political and social issues. Even though the Church’s political influence has eroded over time, it remains a pervasive cultural institution with the resources to shape moral understandings.

Notes

The translation of the Bible used in this book is the New American Bible.

These include sacraments of initiation (Baptism, Confirmation, Matrimony, and Holy Orders), the sacrament of Reconciliation, the sacrament of Anointing of the Sick (typically used during grave illnesses or just before death), and the sacrament of Holy Eucharist.

The Lateran Pact was superseded by the Vatican-Italy Concordat of 1984, which abolished Catholicism as Italy’s state religion (though it continued to recognize Vatican City as a sovereign state).

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4 Doctrinal Sources of the Catholic Church’s Approach to Contraception

DOI: 10.4324/9780429457364-4

Contraception represents a classic example of how the Catholic Church has employed norm thickening to oppose transnational moral norms. The spread of the birth control pill in the latter half of the twentieth century fueled a transnational movement to treat access to contraceptives as a matter of women’s health and thus a human right. These found expression in several major intergovernmental forums, especially the 1994 International Conference on Population and Development (ICPD) in Cairo and the 1995 World Conference on Women in Beijing. The Catholic Church regarded these developments with great alarm. For centuries, it had taught that contraception was an immoral act associated with lust, marital infidelity, and abortion. With the promulgation of Pope Paul VI’s encyclical Humanae Vitae (1968), the Church firmly rejected artificial contraception as a threat to marriage, the family, and the sanctity of human life and warned of a society in which births could be prevented at will and children viewed as disposable inconveniences.

To combat the normalization of contraception, the Church has deployed a wide range of identity-defining, explaining, institutionalizing, and enforcement measures at the doctrinal, international, and domestic levels. At the doctrinal level, the Church has developed a complex theology that treats contraception as a threat to fundamental beliefs about the sacredness of human life and thus an incentive to abortion. At the intergovernmental level, the Church has used its status as a sovereign state to shape international agreements outlining “thin” reproductive health (RH) norms. For all the Church’s determined efforts to roll back RH norms, though, it is undeniable that contraception has become more normalized rather than less, as illustrated by the inclusion of contraceptive prevalence targets in the UN Millennium Development Goals and the Sustainable Development Goals. At the domestic level in the Philippines, the official Church hierarchy framed the transnational RH movement, which advocated universal access to contraceptives, as a front for dangerous foreign forces and erosive of Filipino culture. It partly succeeded in influencing the Philippine government to integrate Catholic elements into RH policies. As support for RH norms grew, however, the Church’s uncompromising position eventually froze it out of the political process.

This chapter examines how the Catholic Church has thickened norms regarding contraception at the doctrinal level by defining identities and relationships, explaining what contraception means through theological teachings, and institutionalizing those teachings through formal rules and practices. Centuries before international organizations promoted access to contraceptives as a human right, the Catholic Church had already developed a complex moral theology about contraception. As with other moral norms, the Church’s teachings on contraception begin with an understanding of who people are, which roles they inhabit, and their relationships to others—God, the institutional Church, other Christians, their families, and so forth. From these principles, Catholic theologians developed explanations for why contraception was morally wrong. Particularly since the late twentieth century, the Church has tied contraception to broader questions regarding the meaning of marriage, the sacredness of human life, and the nature of the family in contemporary society, as well as to a “contraceptive mentality” and the incentive to undertake abortions. The Church has institutionalized its moral positions through papal documents proscribing the use of artificial contraceptives and directing Catholics to rely on natural family planning (NFP). All of these ultimately shaped the Church’s stance toward the transnational institutionalization of access to contraception as a human right. The conclusion discusses how the oft-acrimonious disputes over contraception in the Church hold implications for a wide range of moral and ecclesiological issues well beyond contraception itself.

Defining Identities and Relationships: Augustine and the Purpose of Marriage

Ancient and medieval Catholic teachings against contraception grew out of fundamental questions about the identities of spouses. Who were spouses to one another and the Church? What were their roles? Which norms should guide those roles? Theologians regularly highlighted a tension between the moral goods of marriage and procreation on the one hand, and the immorality of sexual passion and lust on the other. Insofar as marriage was holy, how moral was it for spouses to seek sexual gratification from each other? Insofar as spouses were exhorted to raise children, how moral was it for spouses to seek sexual gratification from each other while trying to avoid procreation?

The most influential theologian in this area was Augustine of Hippo (350–430 CE), whose teachings about the nature of marriage and sexuality profoundly shaped the Church’s contemporary doctrine on contraception. Augustine developed these teachings through debates with adherents of Pelagianism and Manichaeism. Pelagianism, which emerged in the fourth century CE from the teachings of the British monk Pelagius, held that man was born fundamentally good and that salvation and damnation resulted from man’s free choice to obey or reject the moral law. This contradicted the idea of original sin—that Adam and Eve’s disobedience in the Garden of Eden had tainted all of humanity with a propensity to sin (“concupiscence”). It also implied that Jesus was not the divine redeemer whose death and resurrection atoned for original sin, but rather an exemplar of moral perfectibility. Thus, humanity alone was responsible for its own salvation (or, for that matter, damnation) (Kelly 1983, 86).

Augustine’s refutations of Pelagianism were important for how he understood the nature of the sexual urge and its relationship to marriage. If human beings were fundamentally good at birth, as the Pelagians held, then sexual passion and natural desires must likewise be fundamentally good. Yet, Augustine was convinced that they were sinful—not least because of his own youth, during which he had kept a concubine with whom he fathered a child out of wedlock (Augustine 1887a, Book IV). Before the Fall of Eden, Augustine speculated, Adam and Eve’s intercourse would happen rationally, calmly, and without passion or lust (Augustine 2014, 45). People’s natural sexual desire—what he called “concupiscentia carnalis” —could not have been part of God’s original plan but was rather a consequence of original sin and thus a human defect (C. Burke 2012, 392). Augustine’s denunciation of sexual passion reflected ancient Christian theologians’ suspicions toward marital intercourse. The apostle Paul described marital intercourse as the “marital debt” (1 Cor. 7:1–7). Spouses, he wrote, should not refuse each other’s requests for sex lest their urges lead them to fornication or other immoral behavior. This was a concession to humanity’s concupiscence but far from a virtue. The theologian Clement of Alexandria (150–c. 215 CE) declared that all non-procreative sex was sinful, even if between husband and wife (Clement of Alexandria 1954, 172–173). The Didascalia Apostolorum, a third-century collection of canons from Syria, condemned marital intercourse during pregnancy because it could not be procreative and was therefore solely for pleasure (Noonan Jr. 1965, 77).

While Augustine rejected marital passion, his debates with adherents of Manichaeism convinced him that procreation was good. Manichaeism emerged in the third century CE to become a major religion in Western and Central Asia. It professed a dualistic anthropology in which humans were beings of light trapped in physical bodies. Procreation prolonged human beings’ imprisonment by passing the light into new bodies rather than setting it free. Hence, while the Manichaeans allowed marriage and sexual intercourse, their anthropology took a dim view of procreation and advocated contraception (Eliade 1982, 392; McCann 2009, 264). Augustine (1982, Bk. 9, Ch. 7, Par. 12) contended that since God describes the creation of humanity as good in the Book of Genesis, procreation and thus marriage must also be good. Combining this with his objections to Pelagianism, Augustine concluded that the moral dangers of sex did not lie with procreation but rather sexual passion. Marital intercourse without procreative intent was an act of lust that rendered a marriage meaningless (Augustine 1887b, Bk. 1, Ch. 17). These explanations had a lasting influence on Catholic doctrines on marriage and contraception.

Explaining Contraception: Conscience, Natural Law, and Evolving Moral Theology on Contraception

Over succeeding centuries, the Church’s stance on contraception remained fundamentally unchanged, but theological developments and historical circumstances generated new explanations clarifying or (de)emphasizing different parts of that teaching. One such explanation focused on how individual conscience could determine the sinfulness of a particular act. While an action might be objectively wrong, the moral theologian Alphonse de Liguori (1696–1787) argued that its sinfulness also depended on the conscience of the actor. If a person truly believed that their objectively wrong actions were good and in conformity with God’s will, they would have an “invincibly erroneous conscience” and would not be sinning (Printy 2005, 450–451). The widespread adoption of Liguori’s views in seminaries meant that priests were instructed not to ask penitents in the confessional about contraception. This was to avoid contaminating penitents’ (presumably) invincibly erroneous consciences and turning their “innocent” acts of contraception into unambiguous sin (e.g. Batzill 1944, 17–18).

In 1930, at the Seventh Lambeth Conference, the bishops of the Anglican Communion passed a resolution allowing contraception by married couples “where there is such a clearly felt moral obligation to limit or avoid parenthood, and where there is a morally sound reason for avoiding complete abstinence,” while simultaneously condemning “the use of any methods of conception control from motives of selfishness, luxury, or mere convenience” (The Lambeth Conference: Resolutions Archive from 1930 2005, Res. 15). This shift in the Anglican Communion’s teaching challenged the Catholic Church’s longstanding condemnation of non-procreative sex.

In response, Pope Pius XI issued the 1930 encyclical Casti Connubii (“On Chaste Wedlock”), which upheld the Church’s prohibition on contraception. Pius reasserted that marriage was primarily for procreation but also “unitive” since it provided “mutual aid, the cultivating of mutual love, and the quieting of concupiscence…” (Pope Pius XI 1930, §11, §59). This was an important redefinition of identity as it officially acknowledged for the first time that marriage was not solely for procreation, though procreation still took precedence. Additionally, while Augustine condemned contraception for giving free rein to concupiscence, Casti Connubii condemned it for violating the natural moral law. The Church has conceptualized natural moral law as fundamental moral principles that arise from human beings’ nature as rational creatures (Budziszewski 1997, 67–69). By definition, the natural moral law is immutable and binding upon all people regardless of religion, culture, history, or any other situational factor (Catechism of the Catholic Church 1997, 1960).¹ Contraception and non-procreative sex, Casti Connubii maintained, violated the natural moral law because it was inconsistent with the natural function of sexual intercourse: procreation (Pope Pius XI 1930, §54). Casti Connubii peremptorily dismissed any objections, declaring that

[n]o difficulty can arise that justifies the putting aside of the law of God which forbids all acts intrinsically evil. There is no possible circumstance in which husband and wife cannot, strengthened by the grace of God, fulfill faithfully their duties and preserve in wedlock their chastity unspotted.

(Pope Pius XI 1930, §61)

In other words, the obligation to follow the natural law made it possible.

Casti Connubii declared that contraception was intrinsically evil because it violated the procreative nature of the sexual act. But, what if the purposes of sexual intercourse were equally procreative and unitive? If so, then might non-procreative marital intercourse be natural and at least sometimes morally permissible? The 1951 Allocution to Midwives by Pope Pius XII answered in the affirmative: for serious reasons, married couples could avoid pregnancy by limiting sexual intercourse to the wife’s infertile period. The logic derived from Pius’s understanding of the “marital debt.” Spouses, he argued, could not deny each other’s requests for sexual intercourse, but they could refrain from requesting intercourse during the wife’s fertile periods, even for the purpose of spacing or limiting pregnancies. The Allocution to Midwives generated interest among Catholic leaders in NFP or “fertility awareness” methods. Pius warned, however, that unless undertaken for grave motives, even periodic abstinence could be sinful. Contraception, he insisted, remained intrinsically immoral and would always be so because it expressed the natural and divine law (Pope Pius XII 1951). This foreshadowed Pope John Paul II’s later emphasis on the “contraceptive mentality.”

Humanae Vitae: Explaining and Institutionalizing the Church’s Rejection of Artificial Contraception

Piece by piece, the Catholic Church’s contemporary teaching on contraception was taking shape. Augustine established the moral goodness of procreation and the immorality of non-procreative sex. Liguori emphasized the role of individual conscience in determining the sinfulness of a particular moral act. Casti Connubii explained that contraception violated the God-given nature of sexual intercourse as procreative. The Allocution to Midwives permitted periodic abstinence as the only legitimate means of family planning because it did not attempt to interrupt intercourse’s procreative nature.

The growing availability of the birth control pill in the 1960s demanded new explanations of the Church to justify its doctrine. Unlike a condom or periodic abstinence, the pill enabled women to control their fertility without the cooperation of the male partner. Its low cost, reliability, and discreetness meant that family planning was within reach of a much larger number of couples. In this context, Pope Paul VI’s 1968 encyclical, Humanae Vitae, addressed two key questions. First, must every act of marital intercourse be open to procreation, or only the “totality” of a marriage? If the latter were true, then a couple could use contraceptives provided that they were not completely opposed to having children (Pope Paul VI 1968, 3). Second, within marriage, could artificial contraceptives like the pill or condoms be legitimately used in addition to periodic abstinence?

In 1966, two years before Humanae Vitae, a Pontifical Birth Commission of clergy and lay experts authored a report on birth control’s impact on marriage. Citing developments in scientific research, the family, women’s roles, and understandings of sexuality, a majority of commissioners argued that birth control “appears necessary for many couples who wish to achieve a responsible, open and reasonable parenthood in today’s circumstances” (Pontifical Commission on Birth Control 1966, par. 1.2.2.1). They further argued that the Church’s teaching did not prohibit regulation of births per se—only doing so for selfish or hedonistic motives:

The opposition is really to be sought between one way of acting which is contraceptive and opposed to a prudent and generous fruitfulness, and another way which is, in an ordered relationship to responsible fruitfulness and which has a concern for education and all the essential, human and Christian values.

(Pontifical Commission on Birth Control 1966, par. 1.3.7)

Hence, while it would be wrong if a married couple used contraception because they regarded children as a burden, the Commission maintained that married couples could legitimately use contraception if they considered “various objective criteria,” including the Church’s teachings, their own material and spiritual conditions, and their well-formed consciences. Such decisions, the report averred, could only be determined on a case-by-case basis (Pontifical Commission on Birth Control 1966, par. 1.4.1.2). By this logic, it was unnecessary for every single conjugal act to be open to birth so long as the marriage itself were not closed to children.

Pope Paul VI rejected the Pontifical Birth Commission’s arguments. In Humanae Vitae (1968), he held that all sexual intercourse must be open to procreation and forbade all contraception except periodic abstinence. Humanae Vitae declared that the loving union between husband and wife is itself a primary good of marriage, but that willingness to raise children is also integral to marriage (Pope Paul VI 1968, 9). It reiterated that sex was designed by nature for procreation and strengthening the marital union. Even a single act of contraception would contradict the nature and end of marital intercourse, irrespective of whether a couple later decided to have (or already had) children (Pope Paul VI 1968, 12–13). Neither good intentions nor extenuating circumstances could ever completely mitigate an intrinsically wrong action (Pope Paul VI 1968, 14).

Humanae Vitae upheld Casti Connubi’s argument that contraception interfered with God’s design for marital intercourse. Human beings, it contended, do not create life but are instead vessels through which God creates it. Because contraception interfered with God’s procreative intent for sex, it violated the natural moral law and challenged God’s authority.

…An act of mutual love which impairs the capacity to transmit life which God the Creator, through specific laws, has built into it, frustrates His design which constitutes the norm of marriage, and contradicts the will of the Author of life. Hence to use the divine gift while depriving it, even if only partially, of its meaning and purpose, is equally repugnant to the nature of man and woman, and is consequently in opposition to the plan of God and His holy will. But to experience the gift of married love while respecting the laws of conception is to acknowledge that one is not the master of the sources of life but rather the minister of the design established by the Creator.

(Pope Paul VI 1968, 13)

NFP was permissible because it respected how God made intercourse simultaneously procreative and unitive (Pope Paul VI 1968, 16). Humanae Vitae also warned of societal consequences for normalizing contraception, including increased marital infidelity, increased sexual objectification of women, and reduced resistance to government regulation of births (Pope Paul VI 1968, 17).

Ecclesiological Consequences of Humanae Vitae

The Papal Birth Commission’s report, along with the broader spirit of reform associated with the Second Vatican Council, raised expectations that the Church would revise its teachings on contraception. Thus, Humanae Vitae was met with dismay by significant portions of the Catholic theological community and laity. In 1970, University of Tübingen theologian Fr. Hans Küng took Humanae Vitae as his point of departure in his book-length challenge to papal infallibility, Infallible? An Inquiry, which triggered an investigation by the Vatican and ultimately led to the revocation of his license to teach theology (Küng 1971). At the Catholic University of America, more than 600 theologians under the leadership of Fr. Charles E. Curran signed a dissenting statement claiming that Humanae Vitae ignored the experiences of many Catholics as well as of other Christian churches and ecclesial communities, and ignored both modern science and the Papal Birth Commission. It further claimed that Humanae Vitae’s use of natural law theory ignored the existence of diverse interpretations of natural law and that the encyclical would exacerbate poverty, exaggerated the negative consequences of artificial contraceptives, and adopted an overly static view of human development (“Text of the Statement by Theologians” 1968). The theologians opined that spouses, relying upon their consciences, could legitimately decide to use artificial contraception and that doing so could even promote the integrity of marriage (“Text of the Statement by Theologians” 1968). Although the statement did not prompt any re-evaluation of Humanae Vitae by the Vatican, it encouraged dissent from what was now the Church’s official teaching. In 1986, the Vatican revoked Curran’s license to teach theology over his positions on a range of moral issues, including artificial contraception, after which he was removed from his professorship at Catholic University of America.

Critics of Humanae Vitae argued that dissent from the teaching was justified because the pope had not explicitly declared it to be an infallible teaching. This reopened the larger debate over the extent of papal authority. The Jesuit priests and theologians John Ford and Gerald Kelly argued that Humanae Vitae had been proclaimed infallibly by the “ordinary magisterium”—the longstanding teaching of the bishops in communion with the pope. Noting both the gravity of the issue and that the Church had for centuries taught that contraception was objectively and gravely immoral, they concluded that the teaching must be both correct and immutable, or else it would mean that the Church had grossly failed in its divine mission (Ford and Kelly 1964, 258).

Ford and Kelly’s argument sharpened the ecclesiological dimensions of the contraception controversy. On the one hand, the pope enjoyed the weight of tradition and his role as supreme teacher of the Church. On the other hand, significant numbers of Catholics—including theologians, as well as some religious and clergy—disputed Humanae Vitae, and certainly many more Catholics quietly disobeyed it.² Moreover, Paul had not explicitly declared Humanae Vitae to be infallible ex cathedra. The theologian Fr. Richard McCormick argued that Catholics should presume the correctness of even non-infallible teachings and respond with religious submission of will and intellect. Yet, given the significant number of otherwise loyal Catholics who had problems accepting the teaching on contraception, he suggested that the correctness of the teaching could be less than fully certain. Mirroring Ford and Kelly’s argument for infallibility, McCormick (1981, 222) raised the question: if dissent from a non-infallible teaching could not be justified in this situation, then in what case could it be?

Divisions over contraception increasingly reflected different ecclesiological predispositions. Those who saw contraception as a threat emphasized the teaching authority of the pope, the weight of tradition, and the danger of ascendant secular norms. In this view, the censuring of Küng and Curran represented a necessary enforcement of the Church’s unity. To challenge the pope’s teaching was to undermine the very foundations of Catholic unity and invite schism. Those who saw Humanae Vitae as anachronistic and insensitive tended to emphasize the limitations of papal teaching authority and gave greater interpretive weight to the experiences and beliefs of the faithful—the sensus fidelium—as well as to emerging norms of reproductive and sexual health. In this view, the censuring of dissident voices like Küng and Curran was a form of authoritarian overreach by the Vatican and a betrayal of the Vatican II spirit. Hence, one’s position on contraception increasingly came to be regarded as a proxy for how one understood the nature of authority in the Church.

Pope John Paul II and the “Contraceptive Mentality” as a Unifying Explanation

As the 1970s and 1980s proceeded, the widespread use of contraception—particularly the use of condoms to guard against HIV/AIDS—and the global expansion of legalized abortion ensured the continued salience of Humanae Vitae’s controversial legacy. Paul VI died in 1978. His successor, John Paul I, held office for barely a month before dying himself. The 58-year-old Cardinal Karol Wojtyla, the Archbishop of Krakow, Poland, was elected pope and took for himself the name John Paul II. His reign of 26 years (1978–2005) was the second-longest documented papacy in history and afforded him tremendous influence in shaping the Church as it moved into the twenty-first century. His role in dismantling communist rule in Poland and his willingness to engage with the global public to a far greater extent than his predecessors made him a global icon and gave him significant moral authority, even as it was later undermined by the clergy sex abuse scandals.

More than any other pope, John Paul II focused his reign on safeguarding the sacredness of human life and the family against purported threats from modern society. In his 1995 encyclical Evangelium Vitae (“The Gospel of Life”), he defined the relationship between God and humanity. Every person, he wrote, is created by God and ultimately called to eternal life united with him, granting them inherent dignity and sacredness (Pope John Paul II 1995, 2, 34, 52). But, because it is God who grants life to man, people cannot do with it as they please; the power of life and death belongs solely to God and can never be sacrificed for other earthly goods or values (Pope John Paul II 1995, 61, 68, 70). This definition of humanity’s relationship with God laid the groundwork for John Paul’s moral theology on the sanctity of human life.

John Paul saw in the normalization of abortion and euthanasia profound threats to the sanctity of human life, particularly of the unborn, old, and infirm. Such normalization, he held, proceeded from cultural currents that prized efficiency above all else.

[A] life which would require greater acceptance, love and care is considered useless, or held to be an intolerable burden, and is therefore rejected in one way or another. A person who, because of illness, handicap or, more simply, just by existing, compromises the well-being or life-style of those who are more favored tends to be looked upon as an enemy to be resisted or eliminated. In this way a kind of “conspiracy against life” is unleashed.

(Pope John Paul II 1995, 12)

Within this framework, contraception became an accessory to abortion by fostering a “contraceptive mentality” in which procreation is regarded as “an obstacle to personal fulfillment” (Pope John Paul II 1995, 13). Consequently, “the life which could result from a sexual encounter thus becomes an enemy to be avoided at all costs” so that if contraception fails and pregnancy results, abortion becomes “the only possible decisive response” (Pope John Paul II 1995, 13). By directly linking the contraceptive mentality to abortion and the “culture of death,” John Paul raised the stakes and made it imperative for the Church to seek the end of contraceptive practices.

To fight the “culture of death,” John Paul II called upon Christians to proclaim the Gospel, the idea that humanity’s destiny is eternal life in union with God, and that human life is an inviolable gift. Referring to abortion and euthanasia, the encyclical warned that people are “under grave obligation of conscience not to cooperate formally in practices which, even if permitted by civil legislation, are contrary to God’s law” (Pope John Paul II 1995, 74). It further warned lawmakers that they were obligated by conscience to follow the moral law (Pope John Paul II 1995, 69–70). “[W]hoever attacks human life,” wrote the pope, “in some way attacks God himself” (Pope John Paul II 1995, 9). Thus, Catholic supporters of policies deemed “anti-life” were by definition challenging God’s sovereignty. It also left little room for compromise—either one opposed the culture of death or else one abetted it; there was no morally acceptable middle ground. This all-or-nothing approach would characterize much of the Church’s positioning toward family planning norms and policies at both the intergovernmental and domestic levels.

Pope Benedict XVI on Contraception

Pope Benedict XVI’s (2005–2013) views on contraception largely elaborated upon and continued his predecessor’s explanations. In 2009, during a multi-country visit to Africa, Benedict called the HIV/AIDS epidemic “a tragedy that cannot be overcome by money alone, that cannot be overcome through the distribution of prophylactics, which can even increase the problem” (“Interview of the Holy Father Benedict XVI During the Flight to Africa” 2009). Benedict proposed instead to “[bring] out the human dimension of sexuality […] to give spiritual and human strength for proper conduct towards our bodies and those of others,” and to offer “true friendship…to those who are suffering, a willingness to make sacrifices and to practice self-denial, to be alongside for the suffering” (“Interview of the Holy Father Benedict XVI During the Flight to Africa” 2009). His comments sparked a backlash, including by several EU member states who declared that condoms were essential to family planning and preventing HIV/AIDS in the developing world, and that stigmatizing condom use would exacerbate discrimination against AIDS sufferers (“Pope’s Condom Stance Sparks Row” 2009).

In 2010, Benedict triggered another brouhaha over contraceptives when, in the course of a book-length interview with journalist Peter Seewald, he seemed to suggest that condoms might legitimately be used to reduce the risk of HIV infection. He characterized the hypothetical case of a male prostitute using a condom with the intent to prevent HIV transmission as a sign of an initial step toward moralization, taking responsibility for one’s actions and recognizing that one was not permitted to act as one pleased. But Benedict hastened to add, this was far from ideal; what was really needed was to humanize sexuality (Pope Benedict XVI 2010, 119).

Media outlets breathlessly reported that Benedict was changing the Church’s teaching against contraception (e.g. Eichler 2010). A closer reading of these remarks in their immediate context makes it obvious that Benedict was not endorsing condom use. Just before this passage, he argued that condom use banalizes sexuality and reduces sex from an act of love to something resembling a self-administered drug (Pope Benedict XVI 2010, 118–119). The specific hypothetical of a male prostitute using a condom to limit the spread of HIV is significant for several reasons. First, same-sex intercourse is not procreative, so Benedict’s example sidestepped the separation of the procreative and unitive aspects of intercourse. Second, prostitution has no unitive aspect because it is extramarital and exemplifies the banalization of sexuality that Benedict criticized. Third, Benedict described the prostitute’s use of a condom to prevent the spread of HIV as an initial step toward greater moralization insofar as it required consideration of another person, but he was clear that this was not the intended moral destination; after all, prostitution remains a moral wrong in Catholic teaching. The media furor was large enough that the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith issued a statement clarifying that Benedict had made no change to the Church’s teaching (Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith 2010). As an academic example, Benedict’s explanation worked, but it was confusing to broader audiences and illustrated just how volatile and complex the contraception issue remained nearly 50 years after Humanae Vitae.

Like Paul VI, John Paul II and Benedict did not view contraception in isolation but rather saw it as tightly connected with much larger questions about the nature of society. For all three popes, a society that normalized contraception no longer understood procreation as miraculous and sacred, nor did it gratefully accept human life as a gift but instead coldly weighed it against an ever-growing list of competing priorities. In this view, arguments that contraception reduced poverty, empowered women, or reduced the incidence of sexually transmitted infections put the cart before the horse. Rather than reducing births to limit poverty, argued John Paul and Benedict, people should ask how economies could be reordered to enable families to raise children without falling into dehumanizing poverty (Pope John Paul II 1995, par. 91; Pope Benedict XVI 2009, par. 28). Rather than reducing births to enable women to enter the workforce, societies should make motherhood as prestigious as other occupations and ensure that wives and mothers were not forced to work outside the home (Pope John Paul II 1981, par. 23). Rather than reducing the risk of sexually transmitted infections in prostitution, people needed to see others as humans possessing dignity rather than mere instruments for their own sexual gratification (Pope John Paul II 1981, par. 24). To reject contraception was not just to think about sex in a different way, but rather an invitation to pursue a radically different vision of societal roles and norms.

Pope Francis on Contraception

Pope Francis’s (2013–present) views on contraception have been the subject of much speculation owing to his different ecclesiological outlook. Both John Paul II and Benedict XVI emphasized how the Church’s prohibition of contraception was universally binding as a matter of the natural moral law. In contrast, Francis evinced a suspicion of the Vatican’s institutional structures and expressed that the Church ought to de-emphasize strict enforcement of doctrine in favor of proclaiming the Gospel and attracting people to the faith through a joyful encounter with Christ (Pope Francis 2013, §§7–8, 15; Spadaro 2013). In public, Francis has been largely consistent with his predecessors in upholding the Church’s teachings against contraception, even if he has devoted less energy to doing so. At the same time, within the Church, controversy persisted over Humanae Vitae’s explanations for why contraception was immoral.

In 2016, an outbreak of Zika virus in Latin America generated a global public health emergency and raised new questions about the morality of contraceptive use. Zika is primarily transmitted by mosquitoes but can also be spread through sexual contact and passed from mother to child during pregnancy, potentially causing microcephaly and other fetal brain defects. As the virus spread around the world, governments advised women to delay pregnancy. Demand for abortions rose throughout Latin America as women feared giving birth to children with severe disabilities (Landry 2016).

During a press conference on February 17, 2016, a journalist asked Francis whether abortion might be a “lesser evil” to allowing a child to be born with Zika-caused disabilities. Francis maintained that abortion was not a lesser evil but a crime, but that the prevention of pregnancy was “not an absolute evil” (“In-Flight Press Conference of His Holiness Pope Francis from Mexico to Rome” 2016). He referenced the apocryphal case of Pope Paul VI’s granting a dispensation to Congolese nuns to use non-abortifacient contraceptives in the event they were raped during the 1961 civil war (“In-Flight Press Conference of His Holiness Pope Francis from Mexico to Rome” 2016).³ Historical accuracy notwithstanding, the argument for the dispensation rested on the recognition that even within marriage, intercourse against the wishes of one spouse was a moral offense; this extended a fortiori to rape by a non-spouse (Pope Paul VI 1968, §13). Since rape is not a conjugal act, using non-abortifacient contraceptives in this case could be considered a form of legitimate “self-defense” by a woman against her rapist (Smith 2016a, 2016b).

In comments clarifying the pope’s statement, Vatican spokesman Fr. Federico Lombardi explained that Francis was referring to truly exceptional situations in which a properly formed conscience could potentially discern the need to use non-abortifacient contraceptives. Yet, it was unclear how the Congo case applied to Zika since with the latter it was not presumed that women were being coerced into having sex. Assuming free will on the part of both spouses, the only form of birth control consistent with Catholic teaching would still be to abstain from intercourse.

The key to Francis’s remarks was discernment via a well-formed conscience. While the Church teaches that couples must follow their consciences, “conscience ought to be in accord with the law of God in the teaching authority of the church, which is the authentic interpreter of divine law” (Gaudium et Spes 1965, §50). It is clear that Francis did not intend to change the Church’s teachings but rather to suggest the possibility of exceptional circumstances that might lie beyond their scope. The distinction, however, was lost on many observers. Major media outlets interpreted his remarks to mean a potential change in the Church’s teachings (e.g. Sherwood 2016; D. Burke and Cohen 2016; Rocca 2016). In the Philippines, former Congresswoman Risa Hontiveros, who had co-authored legislation to widen the availability of contraceptives, praised Francis’s remarks, while Congressman Edcel Lagman, another co-author of the legislation, described Francis’s remarks as a relaxation of the Church’s position on contraception (Gomez 2016).

The problem of discernment resurfaced in May 2022, when the Pontifical Academy for Life hosted a seminar to explore theological ethics of life. The conference was centered on a “basic text” produced by a group of theologians that aimed, in the words of Academy President Archbishop Vincenzo Paglia, to provide

a fundamental exposition of the Christian vision of life, illustrated in its existential aspects that are most relevant to the dramatic nature of the human condition and addressed from the perspective of an anthropology that is appropriate to the cultural mediation of faith in today’s world.

(Paglia 2022, 9)

While the basic text covered a range of topics, its treatment of contraception generated significant controversy.

The basic text claimed that a couple’s decision to apply the Church’s teachings against contraception were subject to a “practical discernment which cannot coincide with the automatic application and material observance of a norm, as is evident in the practice of natural family planning methods” (“Testo Base 147–173” 2022, 304). “The wise choice,” it held, “will be made by appropriately evaluating all the possible techniques with reference to their specific situation and obviously excluding abortifacient ones” (“Testo Base 147–173” 2022, 305). In other words, a couple could legitimately discern that their particular situation required them to use artificial (albeit non-abortifacient) contraceptives. The basic text employed Saint Thomas Aquinas’s argument that the application of moral norms required discernment, as an act that would otherwise be good might have bad results under certain circumstances. The decision to use NFP required discernment. If a couple were open to children in the present or the future, they could still decide to use artificial contraceptives in a given moment. In other words, the act of using artificial contraception was not problematic, but rather the intent behind it. This echoed the Pontifical Birth Commission report and directly challenged Humanae Vitae’s assertion that deliberate contraception was intrinsically wrong—that is, that a good intention behind contraception could not change its fundamental immorality.

In an article in the magazine First Things, former Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith Cardinal Gerhard Müller and Professor Stephan Kampowski of the Pontifical Theological John Paul II Institute for Marriage and Family Sciences argued that the basic text erred by conflating positive moral precepts (positive actions necessary to promote the good) with negative moral precepts (prohibitions necessary to avoid harming the good). While it was usually good to apply positive moral precepts, discernment was necessary to ensure that doing so would indeed promote the good in a given situation. But, when it came to negative moral precepts like the Church’s ban on contraception, the authors argued that there was no room for discernment because a good intention could never negate an intrinsically immoral act (Müller and Kampowski 2022).

While the proceedings of the conference did not constitute official Church teaching, Müller and Kampowski (2022) as well as others warned that they nevertheless risked scandalizing the Catholic faithful, particularly since the conference was hosted by the Pontifical Academy for Life and supposedly enjoyed the blessing of Pope Francis. Perhaps more significantly, the open challenge to Humanae Vitae indicated that its underlying moral theology was still in dispute. This revived the old debates between those who saw Humanae Vitae as a practically—if not formally—infallible teaching based on the teaching authority of the popes and those who looked to the sensus fidelium as an indication of Humanae Vitae’s illegitimacy.

As evidence that Francis’s views on contraception continued to align with those of Humanae Vitae, in April 2023, he issued a letter affirming his support for NFP and reiterating the importance of “the inseparable connection between the unitive and procreative meanings of the conjugal act” (“Message of His Holiness Pope Francis to Participants in the WOOMB International Congress on The ‘Billings Revolution’ 70 Years Later: From Fertility Knowledge to Personalized Medicine” 2023). Without both elements, he argued,

the experience of sexuality is impoverished, reduced to sensations that soon become self-referential, and its dimensions of humanity and responsibility are lost. The tragedy of violence between sexual partners—including the murder of women—here finds one of its main causes.

(Message of His Holiness Pope Francis to Participants in the WOOMB International Congress on “The ‘Billings Revolution’ 70 Years Later: From Fertility Knowledge to Personalized Medicine” 2023)

Here, Francis is clear about his rejection of contraception on the same bases as Humanae Vitae. In light of this, it makes sense to read his comments about contraceptive use in the face of Zika as applying to an extremely limited set of cases.

The Confounding Complexity of Catholic Teaching on Contraception

The episodes described above illustrate just how difficult it has been for the Catholic Church to maintain a united front on contraception. Even when there is fundamental agreement among the popes that contraception is morally wrong, there are still important differences in how they have explained those teachings. This is primarily because of two factors. First, there is the tension between theology and lived experience. The religious rules governing moral behavior, which might seem clear in the abstract, can become much blurrier when framed against the messiness of ordinary life amid competing moral pressures and the need for pastoral sensitivity in applying Catholic teachings. This was starkly illustrated by the controversies surrounding Benedict XVI’s hypothetical scenario about condoms and male prostitutes and Francis’s suggestion that artificial contraceptives might be used to prevent the transmission of Zika. Benedict, the theology professor, offered an explanation that was technically correct but had little applicability beyond a very narrow scenario. Francis offered a more pastoral recommendation that potentially eased the burden on Catholic couples but might also be interpreted in a way that directly challenged Humanae Vitae. Both popes’ explanations reflected and arguably added to confusion over the meaning of the Church’s teaching, but this had less to do with their personal traits than with the nature of the contraception issue itself.

Second, the issue of contraception expands far beyond the simple act of preventing birth to encompass fundamental issues of morality, human purpose, and the relationship between God and humanity. Paul VI argued that God had ordained marital intercourse to be both unitive and procreative; thus, contraception was wrong because it threatened the sanctity of marriage and usurped God’s authority. John Paul II and Benedict XVI connected contraception to abortion through the ideas of the “contraceptive mentality” and the “culture of death”; thus, contraception was wrong because it helped to normalize the rejection of children and potentially abortion. Francis, while maintaining that contraception was morally wrong, evinced a willingness to consider pastoral exceptions to the Church’s blanket prohibition. Critics and proponents of Humanae Vitae alike often viewed contraception through the lens of papal authority, with those favoring a stronger papacy supporting Humanae Vitae and those emphasizing the limits of papal authority opposing it.

Contraception has become something of a Rorschach test for how one understands moral authority in the Church, the relationship between the Church and modernity, the role of women in the family and society at large, the notion of what is “natural” human behavior (such as in terms of concupiscence or NFP) and the bounds of human freedom. The abundance of moral ideas driving the Church’s stances on contraception greatly complicates its efforts to institutionalize norms regarding family planning and contraception. The next chapters show how this Church’s efforts to apply its teachings to transnational family planning norms were inescapably constrained by its own moral theology.

Notes

In practice, though, the Church teaches that because of humanity’s sinfulness, God’s grace and revelation are needed to clarify the natural law.

For example, a study of contraceptive use by women in the United States based on data from the 1995 National Survey of Family Growth found that 70 percent of Catholic women were currently using some form of artificial contraception (Fehring and Schlidt 2001, 172).

The event is apocryphal due to the absence of any evidence that Paul or his predecessor Pope John XXIII (who was pope in 1961; Paul did not become pope until 1963) had actually granted such a dispensation.

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5 Thickening Contraception Norms at the Intergovernmental Level

DOI: 10.4324/9780429457364-5

As the Catholic Church staked out a position firmly opposing contraception, a growing transnational movement comprising states, women-focused NGOs, and activists was promoting the idea that access to contraception was a matter of women’s reproductive health and thus a human right. Against neo-Malthusian ideas of state-led population control and socially conservative gender roles, the movement framed itself as empowering families, individuals, and especially women to make informed choices about their reproductive health and well-being. Access to contraceptives represented an important element in offering more choices. The Church regarded these emergent norms with alarm, seeing in them a slide toward the normalization of sexual immorality and especially abortion. As a sovereign state, the Holy See inserted itself into the international debate over reproductive health (RH) norms and attempted to halt their codification and legitimization.

This chapter first examines the emergence of “thin” transnational RH norms and how access to contraception came to be regarded as a matter of human rights. The 1994 International Conference on Population and Development (ICPD) became a major battleground between the Holy See and RH advocates as they clashed over the international definition of reproductive health as codified in the Program of Action. The Holy See sought to shape the institutionalization of RH norms by leading a minority of UN members opposing universal access to contraceptives and the broader concept of reproductive health as a right. Its arguments, rooted in Catholic teaching, largely failed to convince ICPD delegations, but it was able to use procedural stalling to elicit changes in language defining reproductive health, particularly where abortion was concerned. While the Holy See was partially successful in securing such changes, it could not stop the propagation of RH norms, which were increasingly taken up by states for domestic implementation. RH norms were reinforced at the 1995 World Conference on Women in Beijing and in the UN Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) and Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs). The conclusion to this chapter argues that the Church ultimately failed to halt the legitimization of RH norms at the intergovernmental level, leading it to focus on norm thickening at the domestic level.

The Emergence of “Thin” Transnational Reproductive Health Norms

The growth of the UN’s global human rights regime helped to accelerate the RH movement. Key multilateral conferences—including the World Population Conference in Bucharest (1974) and the UN World Conferences on Women in Mexico City (1975), Copenhagen (1980), and Nairobi (1985)—laid foundations for the idea that family planning should be treated as a matter of women’s health. In 1979, the UN Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW) became the first multilateral human rights treaty to mention family planning when it exhorted states to provide equal access to information on family “health and well-being,” including family planning (United Nations General Assembly 1979, 10(h), 12§1) and required states to grant women and men “the same rights to decide freely and responsibly on the number and spacing of their children and to have access to the information, education and means to enable them to exercise these rights” (United Nations General Assembly 1979, 16§1(e)).

But it was the landmark 1994 ICPD in Cairo that produced the first multilateral agreement to treat reproductive health as a matter of human rights. Although the ICPD aimed to cover a wide range of issues related to population and development, reproductive health and family planning dominated the agenda. Before the ICPD, various preparatory conferences helped to forge a consensus on reproductive health among civil society organizations. The 1993 UN Roundtable on Women’s Perspectives on Family Planning, Reproductive Rights and Reproductive Health declared that reproductive rights were human rights, called for increased support for contraceptive research, and recommended that unsafe abortion be treated as a public health issue (Recommendations 1994).

The “Reproductive Health and Justice: International Women’s Conference for Cairo ‘94” meeting in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, produced the Rio Statement, which framed reproductive rights in terms of reproductive health. Reproductive health, in turn, encompassed family planning, prenatal and perinatal care, prevention and treatment of sexually transmitted diseases, “safe, non-compulsory abortion,” and implied the right of women to make free and informed choices regarding their reproductive health (“International Women’s Health Conference for Cairo ‘94” 1994, §§8–12). Consistent with the latter, the Rio Statement rejected coercive population control as a distraction from the more serious problem of unjust economic structures. It also explicitly linked reproductive rights to other rights, including gender equality and basic needs such as food, shelter, livelihood, security, and education (“International Women’s Health Conference for Cairo ‘94” 1994, preamble and §14). Thus, by the eve of the 1994 ICPD, family planning had become grafted on to the language of human rights by way of reproductive health. Population control had been largely rejected as a legitimate rationale for family planning in favor of women’s autonomy and access to RH services.

From September 5 to September 13, 1994, over 4,000 delegates from 180 national governments descended upon Cairo, along with some 4,200 journalists and, in a departure from previous UN population conferences, representatives from over 1,200 NGOs who attended a parallel conference (Cohen and Richards 1994, 150). The resultant Program of Action reflected a consensus among diverse actors, including feminists, environmentalists, development agencies, and religious actors, as well as governments. Considering that many of these groups disagreed vehemently with each other, it is remarkable that they were able to agree on the final text. The process, however, was made far more difficult by the opposition of the Holy See.

Catholic Thickening of Reproductive Health Norms at the ICPD

The Holy See feared that institutionalizing reproductive health as a human right would normalize a “contraceptive mentality” and a “culture of death.” In a statement issued a week before the start of the ICPD, Vatican Press Office Director Joaquin Navarro-Valls (1994) declared on behalf of Pope John Paul II that the conference

presents itself as a crucial challenge to Christianity’s most fundamental doctrine on the sanctity of life as it is to come to be and exist in the family. […] This issue of human life and population undergirds all others. A false step here leads to a general disorder of civilization itself.

Perceiving such a grave threat to its moral teachings, the Holy See delegation aggressively sought to shape the institutionalization of RH norms in the ICPD Program of Action by harnessing the conference’s consensus format.

The Holy See’s efforts began during the third and final preparatory committee meeting (“Prepcom III”) in 1994, which aimed to build a preliminary consensus among delegates for the draft Program of Action. Throughout Prepcom III, the Holy See criticized prevailing views of family planning, complaining that they seemed synonymous with contraception and excluded natural family planning (Martin 1994). It claimed that reproductive rights did not arise from the dignity of the human person and the common good, but rather a pernicious ideology of extreme individualism cloaked in the language of universal human rights (Martin 1994). Because of the Holy See’s objections, the entire text of the draft Program of Action pertaining to contraception, abortion, and access to sexual and reproductive health information by adolescents was bracketed for debate at the ICPD. Of the 203 items bracketed in the draft, 147 were bracketed by the Holy See or countries with a majority Catholic population, effectively setting the agenda for Cairo (Knickerbocker 1994).

One sign of the Holy See’s almost single-minded commitment to preventing the normalization of reproductive and sexual rights at the ICPD was its efforts to enlist Islamist governments in opposing the draft Program of Action’s language on abortion. Approximately a month before the ICPD, representatives of the Holy See met in Tehran with Iranian Deputy Foreign Minister Mohammad Hashemi Rafsanjani, who reportedly characterized the mutual support of religious governments in banning abortion as a starting point for future collaboration against “materialists” (Tagliabue 1994). The Holy See also engaged Libya, whose media reported that in exchange for Tripoli’s support at the ICPD, the Holy See had offered assistance in negotiating with Western countries over the 1988 bombing of a Pan Am jetliner over Lockerbie, Scotland. The Holy See denied any such tit-for-tat arrangement, though the mere suggestion helped to tarnish the Church’s moral authority at the conference (Tagliabue 1994; Phillips 1994). The Holy See and Islamist governments worked to strike language in the draft Program of Action that implied a universal right to abortion or linked abortion to family planning, women’s health, or population management. Unlike Catholic teaching, however, Islamic law permitted abortion in certain situations (though never as a means of family planning) and did not absolutely forbid contraception (Bowen 1997, 178). Thus, most Islamic countries only expressed a general reservation to those parts of the Program of Action not in conformity with Shari’a but made no objection to contraception or the use of abortion when the mother’s life was at stake.

In his opening statement to the ICPD, the Holy See’s delegate, Archbishop Renato Martino (1994a, §3), claimed that contemporary sexual norms prioritized individual pleasure above all else. He criticized the draft Program of Action for seeking to manage the risks of irresponsible sexual behavior without changing the roots of such behavior; this, he suggested, could signal acceptance of sexual irresponsibility (Martino 1994a, §3). Two sections generated especially heated controversy: Section 8.25 on unwanted pregnancies and Chapter 7 on reproductive rights and reproductive health. In Section 8.25, the Holy See took issue with the terms “unsafe abortion” and “unwanted pregnancy.” “Unsafe abortion,” it claimed, was a contradiction in terms because abortion was by definition unsafe for the fetus. The Holy See argued that some pregnancies that might appear “unwanted” were actually wanted but the parents were unprepared. Calling such pregnancies “unwanted,” it claimed, depicted pregnancy in a negative light (Dañguilan 1997, 94).

After three days of revisions, the delegates arrived at a consensus on Section 8.25. The final paragraph of 8.25 now declared that “[i]n no case should abortion be promoted as a method of family planning” (United Nations 1994, §8.25), a victory for the Holy See that angered women’s groups at the conference. Whereas the draft had called upon countries to replace criminal punishment for abortion with a women’s health framework, the new section affirmed the right of states to determine their own responses to abortion, leaving open the possibility of criminalization: “Any measures or changes related to abortion within the health system can only be determined at the national or local level according to the national legislative process” (United Nations 1994, §8.25). While this was another victory for the Holy See, it was only partial as the new statement retained the language of “safe abortion”: “In circumstances where abortion is not against the law, such abortion should be safe” (United Nations 1994, §8.25). When the Holy See suggested further discussion of 8.25, other delegates erupted in a loud chorus of boos in an unprecedented breach of decorum (Cohen and Richards 1994, 153).

Chapter 7 on reproductive health and reproductive rights was next on the agenda. The Prepcom III draft had stated that:

[Sexual and reproductive rights embrace certain human rights that are already recognized in various international human rights documents and in other documents reflecting international consensus.] The cornerstone of [sexual and reproductive health] rests on the recognition of the basic right of all couples and individuals to decide freely and responsibly the number, spacing and timing of their children and to have the information and means to do so, [and the right to the enjoyment of the highest attainable standard of sexual and reproductive health.] It also includes respect for [security of the person and] physical integrity of the human body as expressed in human rights documents, [and the right of couples and individuals to make decisions concerning reproduction free of discrimination, coercion and violence]….

(Dañguilan 1997, 103)

The Holy See had bracketed all references to “reproductive health” and “sexual and reproductive rights,” fearing that the terms could be interpreted as normalizing extramarital sex. Ultimately, the phrase “sexual and reproductive rights” was abandoned in favor of “reproductive rights,” which still elicited objection from the Holy See. As in Chapter 8, compromise over Chapter 7 was achieved in part by acknowledging the sovereignty that individual states enjoyed in implementing the Program of Action. A new paragraph was inserted at the beginning of Chapter 7, stating that “This chapter is especially guided by the principles contained in Chapter 2 and in particular the introductory paragraphs” (United Nations 1994, §7.1). This was a reference to the following passage:

The implementation of the recommendations contained in the Program of Action is the sovereign right of each country, consistent with national laws and development priorities, with full respect for the various religious and ethical values and cultural backgrounds of its people, and in conformity with universally recognized international human rights.

(United Nations 1994, Ch. 2)

In other words, with respect to the entire Program of Action but especially reproductive rights, states could choose for themselves how to implement them.

The final version of the Program of Action defined reproductive health to encompass not just the treatment of disease but also social and psychological factors that affect a woman’s sexual well-being, maternity and child-rearing, such as discrimination, violence, and women’s autonomy within a family or society at large.¹ The Program of Action declared that governments should provide family planning resources to individuals seeking them out, but never force family planning upon the unwilling (United Nations 1994, §7.12). This emphasis on individual autonomy is reflected in defining reproductive health as encompassing the freedom to decide whether, when, and how often to reproduce (United Nations 1994, §7.2). Men and women had the right to “safe, effective, affordable and acceptable methods of family planning of their choice” (United Nations 1994, §7.2). The Program of Action also affirmed the right to “[o]ther methods…for regulation of fertility which are not against the law” (United Nations 1994, §7.2), including abortion in places where it was legal. Yet, it also mentioned twice that abortion should “in no case…be promoted as a method of family planning” (United Nations 1994, §7.24, §8.25) and called on governments to reduce (though not outlaw) abortions and provide treatment for women suffering from post-abortion complications (United Nations 1994, §7.6).

At the end of the conference, the Holy See surprised participants by announcing that it would join the consensus on the Program of Action, albeit partially and with reservations. In Archbishop Martino’s final statement to the ICPD, he approvingly noted the Program of Action’s rejection of all forms of coercion in population policies, its recognition of the need to protect the family as the basic unit of society, and its provisions on migration and the improvement of women’s education and health care. However, Martino (1994b) said that the Holy See could not support Chapters 7 and 8 because of language permitting abortion. Ultimately, the Holy See and 21 other countries—all predominantly Catholic or Muslim—registered reservations on the final document.

It was striking to see the great lengths the Holy See took to block RH norms at the ICPD—risking diplomatic good will and its moral authority by resorting to procedural stalling and associating with pariah states like Libya and Iran. While the Holy See saw itself as defending the sanctity of human life and traditional families, many others resented it for its refusal to negotiate and appearing to side with a repressive culture of patriarchy (Dañguilan 1997, 115; Crossette 1994). The Holy See did not see RH norms as a matter for diplomatic negotiation but, as Joaquin Navarro-Valls (1994) declared, “a crucial challenge to Christianity’s most fundamental doctrine on the sanctity of life as it is to come to be and exist in the family.” Having constructed human life, sexual intercourse and the traditional family as fundamental to the faith and under attack, the Holy See saw only one possible path: to fight back.

Nevertheless, the Holy See’s stubborn resistance was only partially successful. While it won some concessions, it was unable to suppress the idea that reproductive health should encompass contraception or even access to abortion. The overwhelming majority of states—including several with Catholic majorities—approved the Program of Action without reservation. International consensus, though fractured, was a powerful factor in legitimizing RH norms.

Transnational Reproductive Health Norms Go Mainstream

After the ICPD, the intergovernmental battle over reproductive health shifted to the upcoming World Conference on Women in Beijing in 1995, which aimed to develop an agenda for promoting gender equality across a wide range of issues, including education, reproductive health, combating violence against women, alleviating poverty, and environmental protection. The resultant Beijing Declaration and Platform for Action reinforced much of the ICPD’s language on reproductive health and offered specific policy recommendations. Among these were to facilitate sexual and reproductive health education in schools and to halve the 1990 global maternal mortality rate by 2000, then halve it again by 2015. Notably, given the excision of similar language from the ICPD Program of Action, the Beijing Declaration called on governments to “[c]onsider reviewing laws containing punitive measures against women who have undergone illegal abortions” (United Nations 1995a, §107(k)).

As it had at the ICPD, the Holy See strenuously objected to many of the proposals in the Beijing Platform for Action, indicating a general reservation on the entirety of Chapter 4, which focused on women’s health and included the ICPD’s definition of reproductive health. In her statement expressing the Holy See’s reservations, papal envoy and Harvard professor Mary Ann Glendon drew a direct line between the acceptance of sexual and reproductive health norms and acceptance of abortion and homosexuality (United Nations 1995b, 161). The Holy See also bracketed all references to gender in the draft Platform for Action, arguing that referring to gender as a social construct sought to eliminate divinely ordained differences between men and women and thus the social roles to which they were ordered (especially motherhood). Glendon quoted Pope John Paul II (1995, §11):

[O]ne can also appreciate that the presence of a certain diversity of roles [original emphasis] is in no way prejudicial to women, provided that this diversity is not the result of an arbitrary imposition, but is rather an expression of what is specific to being male and female.

Feminist treatments of gender as a malleable social category were to be rejected because they sought to de-emphasize those aspects of femininity naturally endowed by God—namely, the vocations of being a wife and mother. Any denigration of motherhood or the sacrament of marriage therefore constituted an inherent violation of the dignity of women. A culture that promoted sexual promiscuity, contraception, and abortion in the name of women’s liberation, argued the pope, was just as demeaning to women as sexual discrimination, exploitation, violence, and the relegation of women to second-class status (Pope John Paul II 1995, §4–5). Relatedly, the Holy See criticized the emphasis on rights-based development, claiming that it would breed an “exaggerated individualism” (United Nations 1995b, 159).

Despite the Holy See’s efforts to contest the Beijing Platform for Action, it proved unable to modify the language regarding reproductive health. By reiterating the language of reproductive health and reproductive rights at Cairo, the Beijing Platform for Action further legitimized them. Together, the two statements constituted important sources of authority for promoting wider access to contraceptives and other means of family planning, as well as for stimulating heated national conversations about sexual ethics and the role of women in society.

The MDGs further cemented family planning and reproductive health as key components of development. In September 2000, the UN General Assembly adopted the Millennium Declaration, which called upon states to recommit to the principles of the UN Charter and to ending poverty. In September 2001, the UN Secretary-General published the eight MDGs: (1) eradicating extreme hunger and poverty, (2) achieving universal primary education, (3) promoting gender equality and empowering women, (4) reducing child mortality, (5) improving maternal health, (6) combating HIV/AIDS, malaria, and other diseases, (7) ensuring environmental sustainability, and (8) developing a global partnership for development. Progress toward these goals was to be measured according to 48 different indicators. MDGs 5 and 6 bore particular relevance to family planning. To improve maternal health, the Road Map aimed to reduce the maternal mortality rate by three-quarters between 1990 and 2015, as measured by the maternal mortality ratio and the proportion of births attended by skilled health personnel. To combat HIV/AIDS, the Road Map aimed to halt and begin to reverse the spread of HIV/AIDS by 2015 as measured by the HIV prevalence rate among 15–24-year-old pregnant women, the number of children orphaned by HIV/AIDS, and the contraceptive prevalence rate (Road map towards the implementation of the United Nations Millennium Declaration 2001, 57).

Critics noted that the MDGs had been drafted by UN technocrats with little grassroots consultation and that the indicators did not adequately reflect the underlying goals (Fukuda-Parr 2016, 45–46). For instance, MDG 3 on promoting gender equality was to be measured by only four indicators: the gender ratio in schools, female literacy rates, the share of women employed for wages in non-agricultural jobs, and the proportion of seats held by women in the national parliament (Road map towards the implementation of the United Nations Millennium Declaration 2001, 56).

In 2015, the MDGs were succeeded by the SDGs, which were formulated through a much broader process of consultation including national governments and civil society groups. The result was a sprawling agenda comprising 17 goals with 169 specific targets. With respect to reproductive health and family planning, the SDG targets were substantially more comprehensive than the MDGs’ aim of reducing maternal mortality. Importantly, they focused on policy changes at the domestic level. For example, Target 3.7 aimed “[b]y 2030, [to] ensure universal access to sexual and reproductive health-care services, including for family planning, information and education, and the integration of reproductive health into national strategies and programs” (United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs 2024a). This was to be measured by (1) the proportion of women aged 15–49 who have their need for family planning satisfied with modern methods, and (2) the adolescent birth rate for girls and women aged 10–14 and aged 15–19 (United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs 2024a). Target 5.6 sought to

[e]nsure universal access to sexual and reproductive health and reproductive rights as agreed in accordance with the Program of Action of the International Conference on Population and Development and the Beijing Platform for Action and the outcome documents of their review conferences.

(United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs 2024b)

This was to be measured by (1) “the proportion of women aged 15–49 who make their own informed decisions regarding sexual relations, contraceptive use and reproductive health care,” and (2) “the number of countries with laws and regulations that guarantee full and equal access to women and men aged 15 years and older to sexual and reproductive health care, information and education” (United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs 2024b).

The Holy See maintained its criticisms of reproductive health and reproductive rights throughout the MDG and SDG processes. Though it did not engage in the obstruction that characterized its approach at the ICPD, the delegation repeatedly claimed that reproductive health and reproductive rights masked a pro-abortion agenda driven by an exaggerated individualism. For example, it questioned whether “it would not be better to speak clearly of the ‘health of women and children’ instead of using the term ‘reproductive health’? Could there be a desire to return to the language of a ‘right to abortion?’” (Sodano 2005). It criticized the inclusion of sexual and reproductive health targets in the MDGs as potentially “introducing practices and policies detrimental to human dignity and sustainable development, distracting our focus from the original goals and diverting the necessary resources from the more basic and urgent needs” (Migliore 2008). The Holy See claimed that efforts to address the ICPD’s role in maternal health were “hampered by sanitary policies that fail to take into account the right to life of the unborn child and that promote birth control as a development policy and disguised health service” (United Nations General Assembly 2009, 27). In a number of statements, the Holy See’s critiques of reproductive health and rights seemed rote, simply referring to its prior reservations on the 1994 ICPD Program of Action and the 1995 Beijing Conference (e.g. Permanent Observer Mission of the Holy See to the United Nations 2011, 2016; United Nations General Assembly 2011, 6).

Conclusion: A Case of Failed Norm Thickening

The Holy See’s interventions on contraception and reproductive health at the United Nations clearly illustrated the process of norm thickening. In defining identities and relationships, the Holy See sought to focus attention on women as mothers within traditional marriages. This was rooted in the Church’s belief that human beings were co-operators with God in bringing forth new life and that a primary purpose of marriage was to raise children. Sexual relations, then, could only legitimately take place between spouses who were open to procreation. Natural family planning fit into this paradigm because it presumed a stable and loving relationship between husband and wife and a mutual vision for their family. While the Church surely recognized that this ideal was not widely shared at the intergovernmental level, in its view, that made it all the more important to uphold the standard. At the UN, however, the Church had a more difficult time persuading other states to adopt its views of who women were and what role marriage played. For RH advocates, the priority was women’s health; a woman’s marital status was immaterial to her right to make and implement her own reproductive decisions.

In explaining its position on RH norms, the Church relied on arguments that, while not explicitly Catholic, were clearly rooted in Catholic teaching. Scholars have observed that the Holy See’s post-Cairo and post-Beijing statements on reproductive health have increasingly relied on technical arguments and rights-based language rather than appeals to doctrine in an apparent effort to make its position more acceptable (Coates et al. 2014, 120). Yet, the basic arguments underpinning the Church’s criticisms of RH norms remain: reproductive rights are a human fabrication rather than a recognition of God-given natural rights and thus have no real authority. At a 2018 event on the sidelines of the UN’s 62nd Session of the Commission on the Status of Women, Archbishop Bernardito Auza (2018), the Permanent Observer of the Holy See to the UN, declared that

[t]he very terms “reproductive” and “reproduction” themselves obscure the transcendent dimension of human “procreation,” a term that reflects the wonder of the participation of man and woman in the continued work of creation, and the reality that the full dignity of men and women is expressed when they relate to each other with mutual respect and commitment in all aspects of life, including procreation. Moreover, such reductive terms similarly betray a narrow and materialistic concept of health, one that in focusing on specific bodily systems fails to embrace the woman or the man in the entirety of who she or he is.

Although Auza did not explicitly invoke Catholic theology, his statement emphasized how the concept of reproductive health excluded the transcendent sacredness of marital intercourse. Claims that contraceptives would reduce the transmission of sexually transmitted infections, alleviate poverty, empower women, or even save lives were nonstarters. Even if contraceptives did all that and more, the Church maintained that the act of contraception took procreation and marriage out of the equation and reduced sex to mere hedonism.

All of the Church’s efforts at identity-defining and explanation were aimed at institutionalization. In particular, it sought to institutionalize the idea that reproductive health norms legitimized the “contraceptive mentality.” The Church recognized that a multilateral endorsement of RH norms and goals would generate pressure on states to conform to them and greatly complicate its efforts to oppose contraception. The Holy See’s bracketing of the draft Program of Action at the ICPD Prepcoms, its efforts to obstruct consensus over abortion, and its efforts to enlist allies even from among “pariah states” like Iran and Libya all aimed to make the international institutional environment more hospitable to Catholic moral teachings. Yet, resorting to such tactics indicated that the Holy See’s arguments could not persuade an intergovernmental audience. While the Church could claim victory in the Program of Action’s discouragement of abortion as a form of family planning and its emphasis that states should have the final say in their family planning policies, it failed to de-link access to contraception from reproductive health norms. Aided by the Program of Action’s emphasis on state autonomy in implementing RH norms, the Church increasingly focused on thickening them at the domestic level, where documents like the Program of Action served as templates for national and subnational RH legislation.

Note

The full definition of reproductive health in the Program of Action is:

a state of complete physical, mental and social well-being and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity, in all matters relating to the reproductive system and to its functions and processes. Reproductive health therefore implies that people are able to have a satisfying and safe sex life and that they have the capability to reproduce and the freedom to decide if, when and how often to do so. Implicit in this last condition are the right of men and women to be informed and to have access to safe, effective, affordable and acceptable methods of family planning of their choice, as well as other methods of their choice for regulation of fertility which are not against the law, and the right of access to appropriate health-care services that will enable women to go safely through pregnancy and childbirth and provide couples with the best chance of having a healthy infant (United Nations 1994, §7.2).

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6 Thickening Contraception Norms in the Philippines

DOI: 10.4324/9780429457364-6

As Asia’s largest Catholic-majority country and one where population and poverty posed recurrent social questions, the Philippines became an important front in the Church’s efforts to contest the right to access contraception and, more broadly, the right to reproductive health (RH) as defined by the International Conference on Population and Development (ICPD) Program of Action. Over several decades, various governments in the Philippines have attempted to expand access to family planning services, including contraception. Such policies faced intense opposition from the Church and particularly the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines (CBCP), which thickened transnational RH norms in an effort to make them seem foreign and un-Filipino as well as anti-Catholic. Although the Church in the Philippines was strongly guided by the official Catholic stance against contraception, how it sought to block transnational RH norms reflected its own political history, organization, and understanding of what Catholic teachings meant within the local context.

Church leaders deployed explanations rooted in Catholic doctrine and ideas of Filipino identity. They argued that transnational RH norms would legitimize a “contraceptive mentality” and pave the way for legalized abortion. Their efforts to institutionalize and enforce these views on family planning were shaped by the Church’s moral authority and access to Philippine political institutions. Among theologians, views on family planning were more diverse and nuanced than official institutional rhetoric would suggest. But, efforts by theologians to justify a more accommodative stance toward family planning policies often met with opposition from the bishops even as they gained traction with lawmakers who saw in them a potential path to compromise.

The CBCP’s approach was, with few exceptions, uncompromising toward the government, rooted in its repeated claims that legitimizing contraception would pose a dire threat to Philippine society. Because of its moral authority and political influence gained from the EDSA Revolution, the Church under CBCP leadership successfully forestalled implementation of the Cairo and Beijing norms. Yet, over time, its explanations increasingly failed to resonate with local populations and political elites. Its efforts to enforce Catholic teachings by shaming politicians who favored RH legislation increasingly backfired. With the election of Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino III to the presidency in 2010, the Church found itself facing a government determined to pass a national RH law guaranteeing universal access to family planning. Confronted with the choice to help shape a compromise law or stand their ground, the CBCP dug in and refused to provide input into RH legislation. The result was the 2012 passage of the Philippines’ first national RH law. While the law provided a number of concessions to the Church, such as religious exemptions, the Church ultimately failed in its goal to block the institutionalization of universal access to contraceptives.

The remainder of this chapter relates how the Catholic Church has attempted to thicken transnational RH norms in the Philippines. It briefly outlines RH policies in the Philippines from the population control initiatives of the Marcos dictatorship to the administration of Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino III and details how the Church engaged in all three elements of norm thickening. In terms of defining identities and relationships, the Church sought to define Filipino national identity as constituted in part by the Catholic faith and a particular understanding of the role large families play in Filipino society while RH advocates represented foreign forces intent on undermining the Philippines. In explaining its teachings on contraception and how they related to RH norms, the Church drew upon Humanae Vitae and arguments emanating from the Vatican level, but it also challenged arguments that contraception was necessary to slow population growth or that Catholics could support RH legislation in good conscience. Since the early 2000s, the Church’s efforts to institutionalize its opposition to contraception have focused on preventing the passage of RH laws to implement the Cairo and Beijing norms. This often took the form of enforcement actions, including by attempting to shame supporters of RH legislation and threatening to withhold Communion from them. Rather than compel compliance, the Church’s attempted enforcement undermined its ability to present itself as “above the fray” of partisan politics and eroded its moral authority.

An Overview of Family Planning Controversies in the Philippines

Debates over family planning and reproductive health in the Philippines can be roughly periodized according to different presidential administrations.¹ In 1969, the administration of President Ferdinand Marcos (1965–1986) introduced a national development strategy that relied upon population planning, limiting government parental benefits for families with more than four children, and providing contraceptives and family planning education (Population Act of the Philippines 1971, §§4(e), 4(f), 5(a), 5(d)). These policies were supplemented by international funding for family planning activities, particularly from the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) and the UNFPA, as well as NGOs like the Ford, Rockefeller, and International Planned Parenthood Foundations (Concepcion 1977, 121). As a result, between 1970 and 1987, annual population growth averaged 2.55 percent while total fertility rates declined from 6.2 births per woman to 4.5 births (World Bank 2024). While the population management program did not cap the number of children a couple could have, the idea of “population control” became associated with the Marcos dictatorship and heavy-handed state interference in family affairs. Subsequent efforts to promote family planning in the Philippines often faced suspicion that they were population control measures in disguise.

Under President Corazon Aquino (1986–1992), family planning policies underwent a dramatic shift. As discussed in Chapter 3, the Catholic Church was a crucial ally of the Aquino administration and played an important role in shaping the 1987 Constitution, particularly in areas pertaining to the family. Although the Aquino administration promoted family planning throughout the Philippines, it desired to avoid antagonizing the Church on contraception. It dramatically shrank the institutional infrastructure for population management, emphasized maternal and child health over family size, and promoted natural family planning (NFP) in addition to artificial contraceptives. As a result, in 1989 USAID suspended funding for population planning in the Philippines. The Aquino administration subsequently promoted a “cafeteria” approach to family planning in which artificial contraception would be offered alongside NFP methods. Secretary of Health Alfredo Bengzon emphasized, however, that the program was not aimed at fertility or population control but rather at promoting birth spacing for vulnerable populations so as to improve childcare and education (Youngblood 1998, 9). The Philippines’ policy changes were followed by a $25 million UNFPA grant and $40 million from USAID to purchase contraceptives (Isberto 1990).

Under President Fidel Ramos (1992–1998), the Philippines participated in the 1994 ICPD and signed and ratified the Program of Action. Ramos, a Protestant, regarded reduced population growth as a path to national development. To achieve his goal of $1,000 in annual per capita income by 1998, he aimed to reduce population growth to below 2 percent, mainly by broadening access to family planning. The Catholic Church, which had vigorously opposed Ramos’s candidacy, mobilized opposition to his family planning policies, warning that they would corrupt the moral fabric of Filipino society. Despite protests by Church leaders—including a rally in Manila’s Luneta Park that drew demonstrators estimated to number from 200,000 to about 1.2 million—the Philippines adopted the ICPD Program of Action without reservation (Dañguilan 2018, 66). Although Ramos initiated a national RH program, its implementation was slowed by Church opposition and Ramos’s failed efforts to revise the Constitution to allow for extending his presidential term. Meanwhile, because of the Program of Action, family planning advocates in the Philippines increasingly reframed family planning from an issue of population to one of reproductive health (Cornelio 2018, 202).

The administration of President Joseph Estrada (1998–2001) largely continued the Ramos administration’s RH policies, though it de-emphasized demographic targets in favor of facilitating access to RH care. The Estrada administration also began to move the Philippines toward greater “self-reliance” in contraceptive provision by phasing out USAID donations of contraceptive commodities in favor of stimulating private sector production and distribution. At the same time, these policies were overshadowed by the scandals that surrounded Estrada, which led ultimately to his impeachment and subsequent ouster in a revolution spearheaded by the Church leadership (especially Cardinal Sin) and business and military allies. “EDSA II,” as the revolution was called, marked the Church’s return to its kingmaking role, giving it renewed influence over family planning policies.²

Estrada’s vice-president, Gloria Macapagal Arroyo (2001–2010), assumed the presidency with the Church’s enthusiastic support. Arroyo’s administration framed family planning as primarily a matter of reducing maternal and infant mortality as well as abortions and moved decisively away from demographic targets. From the 12th Congress in 2001 onward, congressional lawmakers in the Philippines attempted to advance legislation modeled on the RH norms expressed in the ICPD Program of Action and the Beijing Platform for Action. Major provisions included a national RH policy, provision of a wide range of contraceptives, mandatory sexual and reproductive health education in schools, the declaration that reproductive health was a human right, and penalties for impeding reproductive rights or deliberately providing misinformation about reproductive health.

For the next decade and a half, the RH controversy was a prominent fixture in Philippine politics and a major focal point of the Catholic Church’s energy. The CBCP deployed numerous arguments to frame RH norms as antithetical to Filipino identities and support for such norms as tantamount to support for abortion. It also pressured political leaders to oppose the various RH bills, which were routinely introduced but failed to pass. At the doctrinal level, despite broad agreement on the moral theology surrounding artificial contraception, there was significant debate over how far the Church should go in its opposition to RH legislation, but ultimately the Church’s leadership opted for an uncompromising position.

In 2010, Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino III, the son of former president Corazon Aquino, became president. In 2012, the Senate and House of Representatives finally passed the latest version of the RH Bill, and in December, Aquino signed it into law. Almost immediately, the new law was challenged by Catholic NGOs in court. In 2014, after a year and a half of deliberations, the Supreme Court largely upheld the RH law, effectively ending the legislative debate over RH norms.

“Thin” Reproductive Health Norms in the Philippines

On the one hand, the emergence of RH norms in the Philippines can be seen as an instance of what Hopgood calls “upper-case Human Rights”—human rights norms that arise from the internal deliberations of intergovernmental elites and are codified in international agreements. For Catholic opponents of RH norms and legislation in the Philippines, this was an important point of emphasis: that such norms were imposed on Philippine society by distant intergovernmental organizations and incompatible with Filipino culture, whereas the Church’s moral teachings were deeply rooted in and resonant with Filipino culture.

Yet, for all its connectedness to transnational norms and organizations, the movement for RH norms in the Philippines also reflected much of what Hopgood (2013, viii) describes as “lower-case human rights”—that is, whatever principles grassroots organizations use to combat abuses they and their communities face. Advocates of RH norms were able to tap into a societal demand for improved access to family planning, maternal and infant health services, and other reproductive and sexual health services. A diverse range of organizations engaged in both advocacy and service provision, including volunteer health and family planning associations, community-based development organizations, as well as larger national NGOs. Such organizations varied widely in size and resources, but they had the advantage of growing out of local communities and aiming to meet their specific needs, particularly the needs of the poor (e.g. Lacey and Carba 1996; Dañguilan 2018, 121–132).

With the push for national RH legislation in 2001 came the establishment of the largest pro-RH civil society network: the Reproductive Health Advocacy Network, comprising over 300 organizations representing a broad range of sectors, including women’s rights, health care, academia, party lists, and grassroots organizations (Cornelio 2018, 197). Philippine civil society organizations played a pivotal role in mobilizing public opinion in favor of RH services, endorsing political candidates who supported RH legislation and organizing no-vote campaigns against candidates who opposed it (Cornelio 2018, 200). The coalition to promote RH norms was well-connected both horizontally with other domestic civil society organizations and vertically with international organizations, including the UNFPA and overseas civil society organizations. Thus, the Philippines became a battleground for two competing groups of norm advocates, each of which was linked to a dense network of transnational actors and local societies. RH advocates and their Catholic opponents both claimed moral authority by virtue of community benefit and principled motivation.

The drive for national RH legislation that began in 2001 can be attributed to at least three factors. First, in 2000, the Philippines signed on to the UN Millennium Development Goals, committing itself to MDG 5—reducing maternal mortality by three-quarters from 1990 levels by the year 2015. The 13th Congress’s incarnation of the RH Bill (HB 5043) in 2008 was the first to declare that “The State upholds and promotes responsible parenthood, informed choice, birth spacing and respect for life in conformity with internationally recognized human rights standards” (emphasis added; Reproductive Health and Population Development Act of 2008 2008, §2).

Second, USAID—the Philippines’ chief supplier of contraceptives—was phasing out deliveries as part of an Estrada-era agreement to cultivate a private market and promote contraceptive self-sufficiency. USAID ended shipments of condoms to the Philippines in 2003, birth control pills in 2007, and injectables in 2008 (USAID 2003). While Estrada had stockpiled contraceptive supplies in anticipation of the USAID phaseout, Arroyo abruptly halted this practice. A devout Catholic, Arroyo was also well aware of the Church’s role in enabling her presidency and overthrowing the Marcos and Estrada administrations. Likely with an eye on the 2004 election, she heavily supported the Church’s positions against artificial contraception in both rhetoric and policy, including by refusing to allocate funds for additional contraceptive supplies and stalling congressional efforts to do so (e.g. Lee, Nacionales, and Pedroso 2009, 100; “DOH Has P100M It Won’t Touch” 2004; Jimeno 2007).

Third, devolution of governmental functions to the local level, which began in 1991 under the Corazon Aquino administration, gave rise to an inconsistent patchwork of local policies, including in reproductive health. This was shaped by differences in local governments’ finances, technical capabilities, and political leaders’ stances toward the Church, artificial contraceptives and NFP (Dañguilan 2018, 40–50; Lakshminarayanan 2003). In Metro Manila alone, the municipalities of Manila and Quezon City adopted opposite stances toward family planning. Under the mayoralty of José “Lito” Atienza, who chaired Pro-Life Philippines, a major pro-life advocacy organization closely associated with the Church, Manila banned the sale and distribution of all contraceptives, arrested street vendors who sold condoms, and intimidated women’s health clinics into shutting down (“Manila Mayor Orders Crackdown on Selling of Abortion Pills” 2005; C. Alison McIntosh 2007). By contrast, neighboring Quezon City embraced RH norms and pushed through a controversial ordinance requiring the municipal government to provide RH services, including free tubal ligations, management of post-abortion complications, and sexual education from the fifth grade through high school (An Ordinance Establishing a Quezon City Population and Reproductive Health Management Policy 2007). A national RH law promised to bring the Philippines into greater conformity with transnational norms, standardize policies across the country, and ensure a more consistent quality of RH services.

Defining Identities and Relationships: Contraception as a Threat to the Filipino Nation

As Chapter 3 relates, the Catholic Church, led by the CBCP, has sought to fuse Filipino and Catholic identities. This has had significant implications for how the Church has thickened norms related to contraception. On the one hand, it could invoke explicitly Catholic justifications in the name of all Filipinos. Thus, in a 1994 pastoral letter decrying the Ramos administration’s promotion of contraception, the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines (CBCP) wrote: “We especially object to the promotion of contraception as an abrasive act of insensitivity to the sentiments of the majority Church whose ethical principles prohibit such practices” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1993). On the other hand, conflating Filipino and Catholic identities also gave the CBCP a way to dodge accusations that it was imposing Catholic beliefs on non-Catholics (Francisco 2014, 363). For example, in a 2011 pastoral letter condemning pending RH legislation in the Congress, the CBCP (2011a) cited constitutional provisions declaring that “the State values the dignity of every human person,” “recognizes the sanctity of family life,” and “equally protect the life of the mother and the life of the unborn from conception” (Constitution of the Republic of the Philippines (1987), Art. II). The CBCP (2011a) explained that it cited the Constitution “because we intend to write you on the basis of the fundamental ideas and aspirations of the Filipino people and not on the basis of specifically Catholic religious teachings.” It went on to declare:

Far from being simply a Catholic issue, the RH bill is a major attack on authentic human values and on Filipino cultural values regarding human life that all of us have cherished since time immemorial. […] Simply stated the RH Bill does not respect moral sense that is central to Filipino cultures.

(Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2011a)

The letter describes RH legislation as an affront to Filipino cultural values rather than Catholic values. Given that Muslims, Protestants, atheists, and other Filipinos do not face the same moral prohibitions against contraception that Catholics do, the CBCP’s declaration that rejection was the only authentically Filipino response to RH norms was problematic. Nevertheless, insofar as Catholic opponents of RH norms understood the Filipino nation as fundamentally Catholic, they regarded state endorsement of contraception as a threat to “essential” Filipino attributes. Political leaders who sought the Church’s support recognized this, even at the highest levels. In one notable example, during President Arroyo’s 2005 speech to the UN General Assembly, she declared that UN funding provided to the Philippines for RH purposes would be used for training married couples in NFP. “We expect the United Nations,” she said, “to be sensitive to the deep Catholicism of the vast majority of the Filipino people” (United Nations General Assembly 2005, 25).

A corollary to the fusion of Filipino and Catholic identities and Catholic norms was the idea that RH norms were fundamentally foreign and therefore not to be trusted. One prominent anti-RH lobbyist complained that “you have programs of action that are simply imposed on countries like ours despite the fact that the documents of the UN say that you have consideration of social, cultural, religious, and spiritual beliefs of people” (Interview with Lobbyist 2, June 2008). Another anti-RH lobbyist described RH norms as “contraceptive imperialism” aimed at population control in developing countries, deploying a term frequently used by Catholic anti-RH opponents (Interview w/ Senator, May 2008; Interview w/ PopCom official, April 2008; Interview w/ Lobbyist 3, February 2009; Interview w/ Catholic Bishop 1, April 2008).

A frequent claim by opponents was that RH norms were driven by a Western population control agenda and enabled by credulous Philippine leaders seduced by the lure of foreign aid and the cachet of meeting international development standards. As evidence, anti-RH advocates frequently cited the United States’ 1974 National Security Study Memorandum 200 (“NSSM 200”), “Implications of Worldwide Population Growth”, produced under the supervision of Henry Kissinger at the National Security Council during the Richard Nixon administration (Interview with Bishop 1, April 2008; interview with PopCom official 1, April 2008; interview with Senator 1, May 2008; interview with Lobbyist 3, February 2009). Written after the 1974 World Population Conference in Bucharest and declassified in 1989, it warned that rapid population growth threatened global food supplies, contributed to poverty, and posed political and national security risks to the United States. It proposed that the United States should aim to reduce annual world population growth from 2 percent to 1.1 percent by 2000 through increased funding for UNFPA activities, support for private organizations that provide family planning services and research, promotion of a two-child family as an ideal, contraceptive provision through USAID, and support for national policies conducive to fertility decline (United States National Security Council 1974, 4–10). NSSM 200 highlighted the Philippines as one of the “largest and fastest growing developing countries where there is special US political and strategic interest” (United States National Security Council 1974, 10). Especially alarming to Catholic opponents of abortion was a section arguing that “[n]o country has reduced its population growth without resorting to abortion” (United States National Security Council 1974, 114). Although USAID funds were congressionally barred from use for abortion provision or promotion, NSSM 200 recommended that the US fund research related to abortion, which was permitted (United States National Security Council 1974, 116).

In 1975, the Gerald Ford administration issued National Security Decision Memorandum 314, which largely endorsed the findings of NSSM 200. However, it emphasized that while “[l]eaders of key developing countries should be encouraged to support national and multilateral population assistance programs,” the United States’ objective was

to work closely with others rather than to seek to impose our views on others. […] In all these efforts, we should recognize the basic dignity of individuals and his or her right to choose freely family goals and family planning alternatives.

(Scowcroft 1975, 2)

In 1985, the Ronald Reagan administration first implemented the Mexico City policy, which prohibited international NGOs from receiving federal funds if they provided, facilitated access to, or advocated for abortions. Since then, Democratic presidential administrations have routinely rescinded the Mexico City policy while Republican administrations have routinely reinstated it. Despite this more nuanced reality, however, the idea that US development policy is driven by a population control agenda remained a persistent theme among Catholic opponents of RH norms.

While these views were prominent among the more uncompromising contingent of Catholic RH opponents, suspicion of RH norms’ international provenance was also evident among Catholic actors with a more moderate approach. A doctor who worked with former Secretary of Health Alfredo Bengzon described USAID calls for proposals and terms of reference as comprising

essentially only five or six: increasing contraceptive prevalence rate, decreasing total fertility rate, and there’s another third one on population and all the other diseases…[like] tuberculosis, HIV/AIDS, dengue, malaria. But 50 percent of the indicators are always on population.

(Interview with Physician 1, June 2008)

A Catholic bishop critical of what he called the “militants in the pro-life movement [who] would tend to go overboard sometimes in defense of doctrine” nevertheless expressed concern that the standards of development driving the RH agenda were based on “questionable” presuppositions and being imposed on the Philippines without the involvement of ordinary Filipinos (Interview with Bishop 2, April 2008).

Thus, RH opponents harnessed the Philippines’ Catholic culture and its status as a developing country to frame Philippine society as vulnerable to manipulation by powerful foreign influences. In this view, the Church’s fight against RH norms became a battle wherein defeat meant not only acquiescence to non-Catholic sexual mores but also betrayal of the Philippines’ sovereignty and cultural distinctiveness. The logic of power asymmetry could also be used to reject compromise with RH advocates: because the Philippines was weak and RH advocates strong, any compromise would merely weaken the Church’s position in future confrontations. This raised the stakes for politicians who sought to gain the Church’s support for election campaigns, as well as for anyone who sought accommodation between RH advocates and opponents.

Explaining Contraception in the Philippines: Religious Rationales for Rejection

To justify opposition to RH norms, Catholic opponents in the Philippines deployed a wide range of explanations about Catholic moral teachings on contraception. While some of these explanations echoed Vatican-level arguments—such as the role of the contraceptive mentality in tying contraception to abortion—others reflected more specifically Filipino concerns, such as the relationship between contraception and population growth. Church leaders’ explanations of what contraception meant to the Philippines were important in setting the legislative agenda and shaping a specifically Filipino Catholic response to transnational RH norms.

Connecting Contraception to Abortion

Humanae Vitae had declared that contraception was wrong primarily because it interfered with the sacred and natural function of marital intercourse as both procreative and unitive (see Chapter 4). Yet, this was not the main reason driving the Catholic Church’s opposition to RH norms in the Philippines. In fact, out of 34 CBCP statements between 1990 and 2016 discussing contraception or reproductive health that were posted to the CBCP website, the inseparability of the unitive and procreative functions is mentioned in only three (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1990b, 1993, 2001).

Of far greater importance to the CBCP and its allies was the possibility that the adoption of RH norms would legitimize abortion, which the Church regarded as the greatest threat to the sanctity of human life. Abortion is mentioned with reference to contraception in 20 of the 34 CBCP statements. Here, Pope John Paul II’s connection between the “contraceptive mentality” and abortion is particularly important. Although the Philippine Constitution explicitly outlaws abortion, bishops repeatedly raised the threat of legalized abortion in their criticisms of RH norms and legislation. Specifically, the CBCP argued that (1) acceptance of contraception would lead inevitably to acceptance of abortion (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1990c, 1993, 1994, 2011a, 2012); (2) contraceptives that prevented implantation of a fertilized egg in the uterine lining (e.g. “morning after” pills) were actually abortifacient because, according to Catholic teaching, life begins at the moment of fertilization (e.g. Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2008); (3) RH norms as defined by the ICPD Program of Action allowed for abortion (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2003);³ (4) increased rates of contraception would raise abortion rates by encouraging couples to engage in risky behavior resulting in more unintended pregnancies (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2011a, 2013).

The Church’s insistence that RH norms and legislation aimed to normalize abortion helped to recast support for the RH Bill as defiance of core Catholic moral teachings, raising the prospect of ecclesiastical penalties. The connection between contraception and abortion signaled to Catholic clergy, religious, and lay personnel that accommodation to RH norms was dangerous. It also set the agenda for debate. Anti-RH legislators frequently claimed that the various RH bills legalized abortion, forcing pro-RH legislators to insist repeatedly that RH legislation would not legalize abortion (Dañguilan 2018, 177–182). As a result of the Church’s focus on abortion, the final text of the 2012 RH law explicitly prohibited the state from providing abortifacient contraceptives, defined to include those that prevented implantation of a fertilized embryo in the womb (Responsible Parenthood, Reproductive Health, and Population and Development Act of 2012, §§4(a), 9).

Explaining the Population Issue

While explanations of contraception by the Catholic leadership in the Philippines largely mirrored those at the Vatican level, its emphasis on the relationship between population and family planning grew out of specific local circumstances—in particular, the Philippines’ history of population control. Although Church leaders acknowledged that rapid population growth could create social problems, they frequently argued that focusing on economic development and rooting out corruption were more appropriate than aggressive family planning, while some Church leaders directly questioned whether population growth was a problem at all.

In December 1973, the CBCP issued two pastoral letters on population growth. The first was addressed to Catholic hospitals and medical personnel. It acknowledged that “the swift growth-rate of our population is a cause of national concern” but argued that a solution must respect “our basic values, including: the sacredness of human life, the primacy of love, the true nature of human sexuality, the stability of marriage and family life, and the unique value of every child” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1973a). It also reminded Catholic medical personnel of their obligation to conscientiously object to and recuse themselves from any procedure involving direct abortion, sterilization, or contraception so as to avoid conveying the impression that the Church condoned it (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1973a). The second pastoral letter, addressed to Filipino Catholics at large, directly criticized the government’s population program. While the CBCP insisted that it did not seek to promote births without limit, it argued that problems attributed to rapid population growth actually stemmed from inequitable resource distribution and a selfish unwillingness to care for society’s neediest members (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1973b). Furthermore, the CBCP warned against single-mindedly pursuing material well-being, especially at the expense of violating conscience, freedom, or moral integrity (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1973b). The population program, the CBCP claimed, would breed a “radical and depersonalizing contraceptive mentality” and start the Philippines down a slippery slope “from repeat-decision contraceptives to the one-decision surgical sterilization. …From the voluntary towards the compulsory. All this clearly leads towards the gradual depersonalization of people” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1973b).

Under the Corazon Aquino administration, the population argument became less salient as the government emphasized maternal and child health over population management. After Fidel Ramos took office and began to re-emphasize population management as a component of development, though, the CBCP adopted a harder line. Whereas the CBCP had previously acknowledged population growth as a cause for concern, it now argued that such concerns undermined the sacredness of children. In a July 1993 pastoral letter issued as the Ramos administration was preparing to roll out a new family planning program, the CBCP warned of “a subtle attack on human life” in the guise of efforts to improve the quality of life. The letter described the family as “a true church in microcosm” and “the first church for every Christian” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1993). Children were holy because they were children of the Covenant between God and the Church. As sacred beings, they merited special protection from the threat of the “contraceptive mentality.” Parents, the letter warned, were beginning to worry about how having children would affect their economic livelihood and were thus beginning to accept the idea that two children were sufficient. Such a calculation was morally dangerous because it “replac[ed] esteem for young human life” with “the appeal of the good life” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1993). The CBCP contrasted this mentality with what it described as “the stance of the church of the poor”:

As against this calculation in how much love to expend, we must praise and give public recognition to parents even among the poor who manage to raise a large family responsibly. […]

This is not necessarily to deny material assistance to the poor. But their stance is that of a beggar before Divine Providence. This is the stance of the church of the poor. And here we are affirmed by the witness of many couples. While thinking themselves poor, they actually possess the greatest gift one can have: to be able to love unselfishly.

(Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1993)

These passages attempted to recast population growth as the result of religious virtue and inverted the conventional sociological wisdom of greater affluence correlating with smaller families. In accepting more children despite their poverty, poor families subordinated their economic livelihood to the higher good of unconditional love for their children and exemplified Catholic selflessness. Yet, the pastoral letter seemed to assume that having more children was the result of a choice. Left unmentioned was whether all couples had equal access to family planning methods, or what the impact of additional children might have on the ability of a family already living in poverty to care for its members.

Behind the CBCP’s official statements was a spectrum of views within the Church about how population related to family planning. At one end was the view that population growth was a red herring or even population control propaganda. In a 2008 interview with the author, one prominent lay activist who worked with the CBCP rejected official government statistics claiming annual population growth of over 2 percent. “The Church had been telling [the Philippine government] that our growth rate couldn’t be that high because they’re on the ground. They’re doing work with people, so they know whether the families are growing or decreasing” (Interview with Lobbyist 1, May 2008). Another lay activist argued that “[p]overty is principally caused by government neglect, government exploitation or private exploitation and corruption in government” (Interview with Lobbyist 3, February 2009). A somewhat different angle was expressed by a bishop who questioned the wisdom of reducing population growth and advocated shifting government resources to support a larger population. “I’m sorry, if only government would spend much money on the education of people rather than focusing…on lessening the population, […T]hese people who are considered burdens really become assets for government and for society” (Interview with Bishop 1, April 2008).

There also existed a view in the Church that, at the very least, there was room for debate and not just outright denial of the relationship between population growth and poverty. One Jesuit theologian pointed to Pope John XXIII’s 1961 encyclical Mater et Magistra to argue that “[T]he Church accepts that there is a population problem” and that “the Church has to address the population problem but in her own way, not the way of the world” (Interview with Priest 1, April 2008). Mater et Magistra acknowledged the difficulties that societies face when populations grow without corresponding growth in the economy, but it argued that such problems “are caused, more often than not, by a deficient economic and social organization, which does not offer living conditions proportionate to the increase in population. They are caused, also, by the lack of effective solidarity among such peoples” (Pope John XXIII 1961, 190). At issue was not whether population growth caused economic or social hardships, but rather the means by which such matters should be addressed.

Much of the Catholic discourse that defined opposition to RH norms was driven by elites. Organizations and individuals who operated closer to poor communities tended to evince more nuanced views of contraception and family planning. An academic researcher who frequently worked with squatter populations in Manila wryly observed that married, upper-class women are much more likely than their poorer counterparts to have the time and education to wrestle with the moral and theological implications of using contraception (Interview with Researcher 1, March 2008). A theologian who was also a Catholic priest acknowledged that laity were likely more sympathetic to RH legislation than clergy “because they’re the ones who live married life and they have to struggle as married persons”; he further noted that it was “a problem” that most opponents of RH legislation hailed from the middle and upper classes (Interview with Priest 3, February 2009). Another respondent, a sister in a Catholic religious order, proceeded from the recognition that many Filipino women, especially those living in poverty, often lacked agency when it came to fertility despite the potentially life-threatening consequences of pregnancy. This lack of agency, she said, is often exacerbated by a culture of machismo in which men expect their wives to be submissive. She criticized the Church’s insistence on NFP as insensitive to this reality, offering as examples a woman whose husband threatened to beat her if she did not have sex with him, or of a seafarer insisting on having sex with his wife after returning home from a months-long voyage. “What is the protection of the wife then? These are real problems of women which I don’t think the bishops really understand.” While the sister emphatically rejected abortifacient contraceptives, she said that “If you ask me, I am for giving a choice to the women to have fertility control” (Interview with Religious Sister 1, May 2010).

Explaining Conscience

Catholic supporters of RH norms often argued that it was morally permissible for an individual to use artificial contraceptives if they genuinely believed that it was the right thing to do. In 2008, a group of faculty from the Jesuit-run Ateneo de Manila University issued a position paper titled, “Catholics Can Support the RH Bill in Good Conscience” and argued for the primacy of conscience over “wooden compliance” with the instructions of political and religious leaders (“Catholics Can Support the RH Bill in Good Conscience: Position Paper on the Reproductive Health Bill by Individual Faculty of the Ateneo de Manila University” 2008). They suggested that decisions by married Filipino women to use artificial contraception out of a regard for their own interests and those of their families reflected obedience to their own “well-informed and well-formed consciences” (“Catholics Can Support the RH Bill in Good Conscience: Position Paper on the Reproductive Health Bill by Individual Faculty of the Ateneo de Manila University” 2008).

In 2011, Senator Miriam Defensor Santiago, a co-author of RH legislation, delivered a co-sponsorship speech that began by discussing the “primacy of conscience” in Catholic theology. Citing Dignitatis Humanae, the Second Vatican Council’s 1965 declaration on religious freedom, she argued: “Conscience is inviolable, and the individual Catholic has a right to follow her own conscience, even when it is erroneous” (“Miriam Defends RH, Cites ‘Primacy of Conscience’ in Catholic Theology” 2011). During the 2012 debates over the final version of what would become the RH law, 17 members of the House of Representatives separately made reference to the primacy of individual conscience in arguing their support for the legislation (Doce 2018, 301).

In contrast, Catholic opponents of RH norms argued that conscience must be informed by Catholic teaching and cannot be reduced to simple preference or even fervent personal conviction. In 2010, Manila Archbishop Gaudencio Cardinal Rosales declared that supporters of RH legislation had demonstrated improperly formed consciences and that a well-formed Christian conscience precluded support for any political measure contrary to faith and morals (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2010). Similar statements from the CBCP repeatedly emphasized not just following one’s conscience but also following a “right,” “correct,” or “informed” conscience that adhered to the Church’s moral teachings (e.g. Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2011a, 2011b, 2012). Notably, the CBCP emphasized the “inviolability” of individual conscience with respect to health workers and employers who refused to provide artificial contraceptives or educators who refused to teach family planning methods forbidden by Catholic teaching (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2008, 2014).

Not all Catholic clergy agreed that one’s conscience could never legitimately lead one to support RH legislation. One theologian, a Jesuit priest, argued that even an erroneous conscience has rights. While a person should strive to follow the Church’s teachings, one could not be forced to do so if the circumstances made it impossible. Echoing St. Alphonse de Liguori (see Chapter 4), the theologian argued that while one might act in a morally wrong manner by following one’s conscience, that would not constitute a sinful act so long as one genuinely believed that one was following the best possible course of action, such as in the case of choosing what one believed to be the lesser of two evils or in acting in good faith on wrong information (Interview with Priest 2, February 2008). The theologian added that by calling for the junking of RH legislation, opponents were also denying Protestants, Muslims, and other religious groups that permitted the use of artificial contraceptives the opportunity to make decisions of conscience themselves (Interview with Priest 2, February 2008).

Separately, a Catholic bishop echoed the need to respect individual conscience, though he was troubled by what he characterized as the government’s “quick fix” approach to population growth and poverty by promoting artificial contraception. The Church, he said, has a responsibility to form consciences but must also respect individuals’ decisions. “There is a tendency sometimes on the part of the hierarchy to disrespect conscience and I think unfortunately that’s a kind of image that we end up projecting when we become very intolerant, intolerant even of dialogue” (Interview with Bishop 2, April 2008).

The prominence of individual conscience as a justification for one’s position on RH norms and legislation reflects how the Church’s teachings helped to set the agenda for debate. Without the Church’s emphasis on the primacy of individual conscience, it is unlikely that it would have become such a prominent topic for argument. Because of different understandings of what the primacy of individual conscience meant—whether it referred to a deeply felt personal conviction or whether official Church teaching limited the range of what a conscience could legitimately command—it became an ambivalent source of authority with utility for both RH advocates and RH opponents.

Explanation and Norm Thickening

In sum, the Church offered a broad range of explanations for why RH norms and particularly access to contraception needed to be opposed. Some were explicitly theological, such as the sacredness of human life or the sanctity of marriage. Others were more sociological, such as the argument that rapid population growth was exaggerated or that it was more effectively addressed by attacking political corruption. Underlying all of these explanations, however, were a commitment to the Church’s deep-seated opposition to contraception and the belief that its legitimization would inevitably lead to the normalization of abortion. This set hard limits on the Church leaders’ abilities to deviate from the teachings. It meant that any attempt to accommodate RH norms could not gain legitimacy from the Church simply because it might make political sense. Instead, advocates of such accommodation would need to demonstrate that it somehow fit with deeper Catholic principles. This was easier for matters on which there was room for debate, such as population, but on abortion, the Church leadership was unequivocal; there could be no room for compromise.

Because of the Church’s political influence in the Philippines, its explanations were important in setting the agenda for debate over RH policies, even more so than in the Cairo and Beijing conferences. The fact that a senator like Miriam Defensor Santiago felt obligated to argue publicly with the Church over the meaning of following one’s conscience in supporting RH norms illustrates how Catholic explanations could set the agenda for debate. Part of the reason for this is that Catholic teachings against abortion were already embedded in the Philippine Constitution and that the Church historically enjoyed a high degree of moral authority. As the next sections illustrate, even when the Church was on the losing side of the policy battle, it could still leave its mark on the final legislation.

Institutionalizing Catholic Teachings on Family Planning in the Philippines: The Costs of Uncompromising Commitment

As a politically influential actor, the Catholic Church played a central role in shaping how transnational RH norms were to be institutionalized in policies and practices. The Church was particularly concerned about institutions that would normalize and expand access to contraceptives. Thus, it engaged heavily in legislative processes surrounding RH laws. Internally, though, Church leaders also debated how far they should go in engaging with the government. On the one hand, cooperation with the state might grant the Church access to shape how family planning policy might be implemented. Doing so, however, would require the Church to acquiesce to the state’s adoption of RH norms to some degree. On the other hand, an uncompromising rejection of any cooperation with the government might ensure that the Church’s position on contraception would be crystal-clear to audiences, but it also risked closing off the Church’s channels for shaping family planning policies and norms.

Confrontation vs. Dialog and “Love Is Life” (1990)

An early example of the tension between confrontation and dialog with the government over reproductive health took place in 1990 as the Corazon Aquino administration began to pursue a “cafeteria” policy of allowing Filipinos to select from a range of family planning methods, including artificial contraceptives. This alarmed the CBCP, which regarded the move as a precursor to the legitimization of abortion.

In July 1990, the CBCP warned the Aquino administration that it intended to publish a pastoral letter condemning the government’s new family planning program. Wishing to avert a politically embarrassing rift with one of its closest allies, the Aquino administration convened a dialog with the CBCP in August. This led to a joint statement in which the government declared that the family planning program was not specifically aimed at reducing population growth or legalizing abortion and that it would cease distributing any contraceptives found to be abortifacient. The CBCP agreed to postpone the pastoral letter and in the statement, acknowledged that people were free to disagree with its teachings and pledged to respect the government’s toleration of contraceptives provided they were not abortifacient (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1990a).

The dialog was intended to be a starting point, but in October 1990, it collapsed when the CBCP suddenly issued the pastoral letter, “Love Is Life,” an abridged version of which was read in churches around the country. The letter echoed the warnings of a contraceptive mentality in John Paul II’s writings, declaring that “[i]n the contraceptive culture, there is one god who lords it over all: the god of efficiency. […] The philosophical distinction between contraception and sterilization, and between these and abortion, are irrelevant” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1990c). The letter cast the Aquino administration’s family planning campaign in stark anti-natalist terms:

We are unwittingly caught in a systematic campaign against childbearing. It is a worldwide drive that undermines the value of life. It is evil. This attack on life is an attack on the human person’s capacity to love. Ultimately, it is an attack upon God who is Love.

(Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1990c)

The letter concluded that the Church could not be associated with the family planning program, “not even in appearance” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1990c).

According to two clergy familiar with the CBCP’s deliberations, there was disagreement among the three bishops tasked with writing the pastoral letter: Jesus Varela—who chaired the CBCP’s Episcopal Commission on Family and Life—Orlando Quevedo, and Francisco Claver. Varela and his secretary, Fr. Vicente San Juan, both perceived the government program to be a major threat to Catholic teachings. They drafted the letter and sent it to Quevedo and Claver, who requested to meet with Varela to rewrite it. While they agreed that population control was wrong, they also believed that the consequences of rapid population growth for the poor needed to be handled in a more nuanced manner than was in the current letter. Just before the proposed meeting, though, Varela sent the letter to CBCP President Leonardo Legaspi, who, believing it to be the final draft, had it printed in the official Vatican newspaper, L’Osservatore Romano. Quevedo and Claver were angry at what they perceived to be a deception, but there was nothing they could do about it. The pastoral letter was now official CBCP policy and could not be withdrawn without undermining the Church’s unity and moral credibility (Interview with Bishop 3, May 2008; interview with Priest 2, May 2010). The Philippine government reacted harshly to the apparent “betrayal” by the CBCP and moved ahead more decisively on a nationwide family planning program. As a result, further dialog between the Church and the government on family planning was no longer an option and relations between the two entered a lengthy period of polarization and mistrust.

Institutionalizing Natural Family Planning and the Problem of Collaboration with the State (2005–2007)

The Church also wrestled with how to approach the government’s RH policies when the Arroyo administration proposed cooperation with the Church in promoting NFP. In 2005, the CBCP and the government piloted a program in which the Archdiocese of Cagayan de Oro (Mindanao) would administer NFP training programs with funding from the Philippine government. This promised to promote the Church’s call for NFP as a substitute for artificial contraception. At the same time, Church-state cooperation brought to the fore sharp divisions over the broader direction of national family planning policy.

As discussed in Chapter 4, the 1951 Allocution to the Midwives the Church permitted periodic abstinence as a legitimate means by which married couples could space or limit births. This gave rise to the development of NFP methods, which included “calendar” or “rhythm” methods that sought to limit sexual intercourse to infertile days in the woman’s menstrual cycle, as well as more sophisticated “fertility awareness” methods (e.g. lactational amenorrhea, basal body temperature, sympto-thermal) that gauged a woman’s fertility by monitoring for specific symptoms.

The Billings Ovulation Method (BOM), developed by physicians John and Evelyn Billings in the 1950s and 1960s to help Catholics plan their families in accordance with Church teaching, was especially prominent in Catholic NFP advocacy. BOM relied upon the monitoring of a woman’s cervical mucus to determine the likelihood of pregnancy. Advocates emphasized that it could be used to avoid pregnancy or to increase the chances of becoming pregnant. Because of BOM’s origins as a response to Catholic teachings, it went beyond clinical monitoring to integrate ideas of Catholic responsible parenthood, marriage, and openness to children. Today, BOM training is frequently administered through local parishes (sometimes as part of marriage preparation classes) and may include prayer, discussions of Church doctrine regarding marriage, responsible parenthood, and contraception. In this sense, BOM was a particularly “thick” form of NFP—an institutionalized practice embedded in Catholic understandings of parenthood and marriage.

The relatively high degree of training, communication between partners, and regular monitoring required by BOM created certain barriers to widespread use. Partly to lower the barrier to NFP, in 2001 the Institute for Reproductive Health at Georgetown University developed the Standard Days Method (SDM), a calendar-based fertility awareness method for women with regular menstrual cycles of 26–32 days, which applies to approximately 50–60 percent of childbearing age. Based on statistical data, SDM identifies a period of 12 days during which women whose menstrual cycles fall into the indicated range are likely to be fertile. Women trained in SDM are taught to use “CycleBeads,” a set of colored beads to track their menstrual cycles and when they are likely to be fertile or infertile. Proponents of SDM argued that it was more suitable for conditions with poor privacy or sanitation and could help increase the proportion of women employing NFP methods. In terms of effectiveness in preventing pregnancy, SDM was found to be less effective than BOM but easier to use (Germano and Jennings 2006, 471, 474). To increase SDM’s effectiveness, couples could use artificial contraceptives as a “backup.”

In the Philippines, NFP has historically been utilized at low levels compared with other family planning methods. The 2008 National Demographic and Health Survey found that among women aged 15–49 who had ever used contraception, only 3 percent had ever used a modern NFP method, compared with 13.3 percent who had used the rhythm method, 25.8 percent who had used withdrawal, and 28.5 percent who used the pill (National Statistics Office 2009, Table 5.3). Observing low levels of NFP use, Bishop Antonio Ledesma of the Archdiocese of Cagayan de Oro initiated a pilot “All-NFP” program in Ipil Prelature in early 2003. The program taught “all modern, scientifically-based NFP methods,” including SDM, reached out to all members of the community, and promoted NFP without any “backup” methods (Ledesma 2011).

In July 2003, the Plenary Assembly of the CBCP issued a Consensus Statement that SDM could be taught as part of an NFP curriculum so long as users were not instructed to use “backup” contraceptive methods or to believe that they were morally equivalent to NFP (Ledesma 2007a). Ledesma reported that the program was highly successful, boasting nearly 1,000 SDM users and 250 volunteer trainers as of 2007. Moreover, he emphasized that current SDM users were more likely to have previously used artificial contraceptives than another method of NFP, suggesting that he was succeeding in his objective to reduce the number of artificial contraceptive users (Ledesma 2007a).

In late 2005, the Philippine government proposed a joint NFP initiative with the Church in line with President Arroyo’s call to promote NFP. While cautious, the CBCP agreed to a pilot program in Cagayan de Oro. Ledesma, who had recently been elected Vice-President of the CBCP and would be appointed Archbishop of Cagayan de Oro in March 2006, was chosen to supervise the program. In December 2006, he asked a lay organization, the Catholic Women’s League, to sign a Memorandum of Agreement with the regional office of the Department of Health and the Population Commission (POPCOM) wherein the Church and the government would collaborate in providing NFP training. The Memorandum stipulated that the government would provide funding from the national budget while the Archdiocese of Cagayan de Oro would provide training materials and personnel. To comply with Church teaching, NFP would not be taught alongside artificial means of contraception. Although the program would be jointly supervised and monitored by the Church and the government, the bishop would be given significant influence in designing the Regional NFP Program Plan (Ledesma 2007a).

In explaining his support for collaboration, Ledesma highlighted the government and Church’s shared interest in promoting NFP, arguing that the Church should seriously consider the opportunity to utilize government resources if it wanted to expand NFP beyond its extremely low usage rate (Ledesma 2007a). Ledesma also pointed out that without a partnership, the government would still proceed with its own NFP promotion efforts, but without the Church’s guidance and value formation (Ledesma 2007a).

Despite his efforts, Ledesma soon came under strong criticism from sectors within the Church who claimed that he was actually undermining Catholic teachings. One lay organization, calling itself the Family and Life Apostolate (FLA) of Mindanao Region, dismissed SDM as inferior to BOM and other NFP methods because it merely sought to avoid the use of artificial contraceptives. In contrast, the FLA argued, because BOM relied on communication between spouses regarding changes in the wife’s body, it strengthened the marriage bond and was therefore more faithful to Catholic doctrine (Realiza, Realiza, and Schwegmann 2008a, 3). In effect, the FLA argued that SDM was morally “thin” (as evidenced by users’ option to use backup contraception) unlike other NFP methods that were more thickly embedded in Catholic morality. The FLA also cited Cardinal Alfonso Lopez Trujillo, President of the Pontifical Council for the Family, who emphasized the laity’s special competence in marriage and family issues. The FLA insisted that the promotion of NFP was fundamentally the domain of lay leaders and that clergy seeking to promote SDM were out of their depth (Realiza, Realiza, and Schwegmann 2008a, 2). The FLA also warned of Church collaboration with organizations that appeared to have broadly beneficial motives but were actually aimed at promoting an “anti-life” ideology. It recommended against any collaboration with POPCOM but noted with regret that an unnamed archdiocese in Mindanao had done so via a Memorandum of Agreement, a thinly veiled reference to the Cagayan de Oro program (Realiza, Realiza, and Schwegmann 2008b).

Similar themes emerged in interviews with lay activists and clergy in the Philippines. A lay activist affiliated with the CBCP’s Episcopal Commission on Family claimed that Ledesma was naïve in trusting the government and complained that clergy needed to let lay Catholics take the lead in political activism against the promotion of contraception. Bishops, claimed the activist, were too soft in their criticism of the government and thus easily outmaneuvered by politicians. “They’re usurping a role to the total neglect of what they should be doing, which is: tell us what the teaching of the Church is all about before we go out there and fight” (Interview with Lobbyist 3, February 2009). In another interview, a Catholic bishop expressed suspicion of SDM, noting that it was less effective at preventing pregnancy than BOM and suggesting that the government was promoting it in the expectation that it would eventually fail, thereby discrediting NFP altogether. Moreover, the bishop worried that Church cooperation with the government in promoting NFP could be misconstrued by the public as full Church endorsement of RH norms (Interview with Bishop 1, April 2008).

Ultimately, mistrust of the government undid the Church-government collaboration. Ledesma announced in February 2007 that the Memorandum of Agreement would be terminated, only two months after it was first instituted. In a letter to Catholic leaders in the Archdiocese of Cagayan de Oro, Ledesma explained that some bishops were concerned that the Church could be seen as supporting population control and that the government might not be sincere about promoting NFP methods exclusively. Terminating the collaboration, he wrote, would enable the Archdiocese and other organizations connected with the Church to maintain a “critical distance” from the government (Ledesma 2007b). While the Archdiocese would continue to promote NFP, it would do so without any assistance from the government.

The case of SDM in Cagayan de Oro illustrates how local internal dynamics could shape the Church’s institutional response to transnational RH norms. On the one hand, SDM had the approval of the CBCP as a legitimate NFP mechanism. Ledesma’s efforts aimed to increase NFP usage—a long-held Church objective. Collaboration with the government promised to speed NFP training and increase its usage. On the other hand, opponents of SDM proffered explanations that SDM was less effective and morally “thinner” than BOM and other fertility awareness methods, that the laity—not clergy—should take the lead in advocating for Catholic morals with the government, and that collaboration with the government would taint the Church’s moral authority. It is possible that institutionalized collaboration between the Church and the government could have given the Church the opportunity to guide the government’s implementation of RH norms toward greater NFP adoption. Instead, it chose to reject even the appearance of cooperation with the state, maintaining the image of uncompromising moral commitment but sacrificing policy influence.

The Reproductive Health Bills and the Church’s Strategy of Confrontation and Enforcement

In the Church’s efforts to shape the adoption of transnational RH norms in the Philippines, the highest stakes lay with proposed national RH legislation. Because such legislation aimed to institutionalize RH norms—including access to contraception and sexual health education—nationwide, the CBCP regarded its defeat as a top priority. While the CBCP and its political allies were able to forestall the passage of RH legislation, they increasingly found themselves at odds with public opinion.

House Bill 4110 (2001)

The first RH Bill was introduced in the House of Representatives during the 12th Congress as House Bill (HB) 4110, the “Reproductive Health Care Agenda Act of 2001.”⁴ It employed the ICPD Program of Action’s definition of reproductive health and framed access to reproductive health as a matter of human rights, with population only mentioned in passing. The bill called for the establishment of a National Reproductive Health Management Committee led by the Department of Health and comprising representatives from POPCOM, the Department of Interior and Local Government, and the National Commission on the Role of Filipino Women. The Committee, in turn, was to undertake a full review of all laws that infringed upon sexual and reproductive health and rights (Reproductive Health Care Agenda Act of 2001, §5(c)). The bill called for access to the “full range of family planning methods,” including NFP, oral contraceptives, IUDs, voluntary sterilization, and emergency contraception (Reproductive Health Care Agenda Act of 2001, §5(d)(2)(b)). It also called for eliminating “excessive regulation, requirements for third-party authorizations, and prohibitions on the dissemination of information regarding contraceptives” (Reproductive Health Care Agenda Act of 2001, §5(d)(4)). It proposed fines of up to 20,000 pesos and/or imprisonment of up to six months for any restrictions on the provision of RH information. And it required the integration of sexual and RH education in public and private schools from middle school through the secondary and tertiary education system, as well as the provision of such information at all government and private places of employment (Reproductive Health Care Agenda Act of 2001, §5(a)).

The Catholic Church quickly vowed to fight HB 4110. On May 31, 2003, the CBCP issued a pastoral statement dismissing reproductive health care and reproductive rights as “subtle” but deceptive ideas sourced from the ICPD definition, which allowed for abortion. A government review of all laws that could infringe upon sexual and reproductive health, the CBCP warned, could undermine both the laws against abortion and the moral teachings underpinning them (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2003). The CBCP also criticized HB 4110’s call to provide the “full range” of contraceptives, arguing that since IUDs, pills, and injectables prevented implantation of the embryo in the uterine lining, they were abortifacient. As before, it rejected the notion that poverty was caused by population growth, declaring instead that “development is a result of a more complex interplay of education, good governance, integrity and transparency, trade, industry, agriculture, etc.” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2003). The CBCP warned that the bill muted the sacred procreative nature of sex and would foster “an amoral culture…that relegates morality and sacredness to the fringes of human life” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2003). It concluded by declaring: “we are confident that our Catholic legislators will act in accordance with the moral beliefs they have received from God through His Church” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2003). This was a clear signal to Catholic legislators that the Church’s political support for them depended significantly on their rejection of HB 4110. President Arroyo, speaking at the State of the Union Address two months later, declared “Pro-life pa rin ako [I am also pro-life]. I will veto any bill that will try to smuggle in abortion” (Arroyo 2003). Of the 90 congresspeople who were originally listed as co-authors of HB 4110, 16 subsequently withdrew their authorship, including six who withdrew after the CBCP published its pastoral statement. Ultimately, HB 4110 languished in the Committee on Health until the end of the Congress, whereupon it expired.

House Bill 3773 (2005)

In 2005, the 13th Congress saw the introduction of HB 3773, “The Responsible Parenthood and Population Management Act of 2005,” which consolidated several previously introduced RH bills. A total of 113 congressional representatives ultimately became sponsors of the bill, though four of them later withdrew their sponsorship. Many of the main provisions in HB 3773 mirrored those in HB 4110. For instance, reproductive health and reproductive health rights were again defined according to the ICPD Program of Action. The “full range of family planning methods, techniques and devices” would be made available to couples and adults of reproductive age, though abortion would remain a crime (Responsible Parenthood and Population Management Act of 2005, §3(j)). Like HB 4110, HB 3773 aimed to establish a Reproductive Health and Population Management Council comprising cabinet-level officials and co-chaired by the Secretary of Health and the Director-General of the National Economic and Development Authority (Responsible Parenthood and Population Management Act of 2005, §5).

Compared with HB 4110, HB 3773 focused more heavily on population management. It declared that “[t]he limited resources of the country cannot be suffered to be spread so thinly to service a burgeoning multitude that makes the allocations grossly inadequate and effectively meaningless” (Responsible Parenthood and Population Management Act of 2005, §3(b)). Population management was to include encouraging a limit of two children per family and granting preference to children from such families in receiving college scholarships, promoting “an optimum fertility rate vis-à-vis equitable allocation and utilization of resources,” and stemming the tide of migration from the provinces to urban centers (Responsible Parenthood and Population Management Act of 2005, §4(l), §12). Other provisions called for the freedom of parents and couples to determine the number and spacing of their children and to receive comprehensive information on reproductive health and sexuality from “qualified State workers and professional private practitioners,” protecting gender equality and women’s rights, ensuring that reproductive health was the concern of both the national and local governments, and preventing abortion while simultaneously providing for post-abortion care (Responsible Parenthood and Population Management Act of 2005, §4(l), §3). HB 3773 also proposed penalties for impeding the implementation of RH policies, but the new bill went significantly further. Whereas HB 4110 only proposed fines on those who restricted the dissemination of RH information, HB 3773 proposed penalties for a much wider range of violations, including knowingly spreading disinformation about RH care or refusing to provide RH services on religious grounds (Responsible Parenthood and Population Management Act of 2005, §16–17).

As it had with HB 4110, the Church responded negatively to HB 3773. In the February 2005 pastoral letter “Hold on to Your Precious Gift,” the CBCP asserted that the chief motive behind RH legislation was to promote economic growth through population reduction (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2005). The CBCP contended that Marcos’s population control policies had failed to reduce poverty. “If this population trend continues—and it will if we remain unmoved—the Philippines, much to its peril, will lose precious human capital” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2005). By framing the RH Bill as a population control measure, the Church sidestepped the charge that it was appealing only to religious criteria and claimed that it threatened not only Catholics but also the entire Filipino nation. The pastoral letter also warned that no Christian could “write or support measures which contradict the basic rights of families and the fundamental imperatives of faith and morals” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2005). Citing the Vatican’s document, “On the Participation of Catholics in Political Life,” it declared that “Christian leaders have both a political and moral obligation to safeguard ‘the laws of nature and of nature’s God’. Failure in this duty is a betrayal of public trust and an open defiance of your Faith” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2005).

HB 3773 is notable for being the first of the Arroyo-era RH bills to make it to the second reading in Congress, which occurred on December 12, 2005. Although the chief sponsors of the bill were allowed to deliver sponsorship speeches, the bill was not taken up for debate for the remainder of the Congress.

House Bill 5043 (2008)

With the failure of HB 3773, legislators tried again to pass RH legislation in the 14th Congress. HB 5043, titled the “Reproductive Health and Population Development Act of 2008” (along with its Senate counterpart, SB 3122), largely mirrored its predecessor bill, but with a stronger emphasis on reproductive health over “population management,” which was dropped in favor of “population development.” HB 5043 described “population development” as

A program that aims to (1) help couples and parents achieve their desired family size; (2) improve reproductive health of individuals by addressing reproductive health problems; (3) contribute to decreased maternal and infant mortality rates and early child mortality; (4) reduce incidence of teenage pregnancy; and (5) enable government to achieve a balanced population distribution.

(Reproductive Health and Population Development Act of 2008, §4(r))

While population growth management was part of the agenda, HB 5043 emphasized protecting maternal and child health and empowering couples and parents. Though the state would “encourage them to have two children as the ideal family size” (Reproductive Health and Population Development Act of 2008, §16). HB 5043 removed the preference for college scholarships to students from two-child families. Like HB 3773, HB 5043 also mandated that the state provide access to contraceptives. A new provision would designate birth control pills, IUDs, injectables, and “other allied reproductive health products and supplies” as “essential medicines,” meaning that hospitals and other health units would be required to maintain stockpiles in sufficient quantities to ensure an uninterrupted supply (Reproductive Health and Population Development Act of 2008, §10). While penalties for spreading disinformation about reproductive health remained, the provision was changed from “willful disinformation” to “malicious” disinformation, which could be interpreted as a concession to actors who sought to contest scientific data on contraceptive safety out of a genuine belief that they had the right data (Reproductive Health and Population Development Act of 2008, §21(e)).

By 2008, polling data suggested that there was strong popular support for the RH Bill. In October 2008, a Pulse Asia poll found that 82 percent of Filipinos believed that the government should provide couples with modern family planning methods (both natural and artificial) and instruction on how to use them. 63 percent expressed support for the RH Bill, 8 percent expressed opposition, and 29 percent were ambivalent (Pulse Asia 2008). A Social Weather Stations poll conducted that same month found 71 percent of Filipinos in favor of the RH Bill, with 76 percent favoring the inclusion of family planning in school curricula. Religion, frequency of church attendance, and trust in the Catholic Church appeared to have no effect on the results (Social Weather Stations 2008). Despite evidence of strong support, the House of Representatives refrained from taking up HB 5043 before the adjournment of the 14th Congress in February 2010, effectively sending it back to square one.

The CBCP again issued pastoral letters against RH legislation. In “Standing Up for the Gospel of Life,” it framed its opposition in terms of the sanctity of human life. The CBCP insisted that “human life from the moment of conception is sacred” and that the bill did not explicitly state that preventing the implantation of a fertilized ovum constituted abortion (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2008). “We cannot prevent overt abortions by doing hidden abortions. It is a fallacy to think that abortions can be prevented by promoting contraception. Contraception is intrinsically evil” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2008). The latter sentence was a departure from previous pastoral letters on RH legislation, which had refrained from declaring contraception “intrinsically evil.” As before, the CBCP also condemned mandatory sexual health education as violating parents’ rights to teach their children and criticized penalties for spreading disinformation about reproductive health.

House Bill 4244 (2010–2012): The Church’s Defeat

Unlike Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, whose presidency had benefited from the support of the Church (and who had gone out of her way to placate the Church on reproductive health), Noynoy Aquino faced opposition from the Church from the start of his presidential campaign in 2009. Aquino, then a senator, had been a co-author of HB 5043 and its Senate counterpart, SB 3122. Throughout the campaign, he was consistently firm in his support for RH legislation. In September 2009, Cebu Archbishop Cardinal Ricardo Vidal, a senior prelate, condemned Aquino as “anti-life” during a television interview (“The ‘Cory-Ninoy Magic’ Glow on Candidate Noynoy” 2009). Aquino shrugged off the criticism, saying that he was more worried about the problems that would emerge if the RH Bill were not passed (Panti 2009).

In December 2009, the CBCP’s Episcopal Commission on Family and Life under the chairmanship of Archbishop Paciano Aniceto issued A Catechism on Family and Life for the 2010 Elections. Like other catechisms issued by the CBCP, it was intended primarily as a platform statement and training document for Catholic activists. It began by stating:

We are going to face serious challenges in the 2010 Elections that are not only political but also clearly and profoundly moral. We are a nation that values family and life and yet for years our elected leaders have been attempting to make laws that pose a grave threat to those values.

(Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2009)

The Catechism emphasized that Catholics had an obligation to vote as Catholics as well as Filipinos and that the faith ought to guide their decisions.

Following Humanae Vitae, the CBCP declared contraception morally wrong because of its separation of the unitive and procreative aspects of intercourse. “In contraception, it is like the spouses telling each other, ‘I love you as long as we do not give birth.’ In short, contraception makes the conjugal act a lie” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2009). The CBCP criticized the UN definition of reproductive health, arguing that while “[t]he conjugal union is natural and proper in marriage, …in contrast, reproductive health disposes all people, including children and adolescents, to the sexual act” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2009).

To the argument that the Church’s position constituted an imposition on non-Catholics, the Catechism made a conspicuous sidestep. It declared that there was nothing wrong with tolerating other views, but warned against “believing that other peoples’ points of view are equally good as one’s own” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2009). Instead of engaging with the question of whether policies like banning contraceptives might violate the conscience of non-Catholics, the Catechism raised the specter of contraceptive imperialism, blaming “foreign-funded lobby groups” for “openly advocat[ing] for the enactment of population control laws, as well as abortion-friendly laws in pursuit of the UN Cairo Conference objective of universal abortion rights” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2009). As evidence, the Catechism cited NSSM 200 and rhetorically asked: “Do not reproductive health advocates bow down to their impositions? Is it not more correct to say that they are the ones imposing their policies on our country?” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2009). The Catechism concluded that a candidate who supported reproductive health was “unacceptable regardless of his position on other matters” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2009).

The consistency of the CBCP’s rhetoric was striking. Although the RH debate had been ongoing for decades, the arguments advanced in the Catechism were largely identical to those advanced against RH norms during the Corazon Aquino administration. While part of this was undoubtedly due to the limitations imposed on the CBCP by Humanae Vitae and religious principles regarding the sanctity of life, it was also an indication of how deeply the CBCP had internalized the idea that RH norms were fundamentally foreign. Given the high level of polarization, movement on RH legislation would turn on political maneuvering in the legislature rather than attracting new converts to the Church’s explanations.

Noynoy Aquino played a central role in the drive for RH legislation in the 15th Congress. Despite the Church’s warnings, he won the May 10 presidential election by a landslide with over 40 percent of the vote and approximately 75 percent of registered voters participating (McLean 2010; Huang 2010). From the start of his presidency, Aquino telegraphed his support for RH legislation. At the beginning of the 15th Congress, members of the House of Representatives filed six versions of the RH Bill that were referred to the Committee on Population and Family Relations. In February 2011, the Committee approved a consolidated bill—HB 4244—for debate. The bill, titled the “Responsible Parenthood, Reproductive Health and Population and Development Act of 2011,” largely mirrored its predecessor, HB 5043.

Over the next 18 months, HB 4244 languished in the House as congressional representatives debated it, unable to secure the necessary votes to end debate and call a vote. There were some halting efforts at fostering negotiation between the Church and the government. In July 2010, immediately after Aquino’s inauguration, the Loyola School of Theology and the John J. Carroll Institute on Church and Social Issues, both at the Jesuit-run Ateneo de Manila University, published “Talking Points for Dialog on the Reproductive Health Bill” by Fr. Eric Genilo, Fr. John J. Carroll, and Fr. Joaquin Bernas. In it, the authors attempted to organize the various arguments advanced by proponents and opponents of the RH Bill and highlight areas where mutually acceptable provisions could be included. In their opening remarks, the authors argued that while the Church was correct to point out the potential for the RH Bill to violate human rights and freedom of conscience, there was still a moral imperative to prevent high infant mortality, maternal death, and abortion rates, which would not be affected if the RH Bill were completely rejected (Genilo, Carroll, and Bernas 2010). To this end, the authors offered a number of “middle-ground” proposals, including:

The government officially determining whether or not preventing the implantation of a fertilized embryo (as might happen with IUDs or Plan B emergency contraception) constituted abortion;

Allowing parents to exempt their children from school sexuality education and teachers to conscientiously object to and exempt themselves from teaching the curriculum;

Allowing religious schools to write and implement their own sexuality education curriculum according to their religious traditions;

Establishing parallel programs with separate budgets for teaching natural and artificial family planning, allowing Catholic trainers to teach only NFP methods if they choose;

Convening a panel of medical experts to determine which contraceptives prevent diseases or address emergency situations and should thus be included as “essential medicines” in government procurement lists;

Making explicit what would constitute “malicious disinformation” about reproductive health or, failing that, scrapping the provision so as to preserve freedom of speech;

Ensuring that the committee responsible for the RH legislation’s implementing norms included representatives of major religious traditions (Genilo, Carroll, and Bernas 2010).

Although not an official Church document, Genilo, Carroll, and Bernas’s proposal demonstrated that in theory, at least, there was room for both the government and the Church to maneuver. Whether either side found these compromises appealing, however, was a different matter.

Following a controversial September 2010 interview in which CBCP President Nereo Odchimar suggested the possibility that Aquino could be excommunicated for supporting RH legislation (discussed in detail below), in October 2010 the CBCP and the government agreed to a rhetorical “ceasefire” in preparation for dialog on RH legislation (“CBCP: No gag order on church officials during ‘RH ceasefire’” 2010). An initial meeting that same month between the CBCP (represented by Odchimar, Vidal, Antonio Ledesma, and Imus Bishop Chito Tagle) and the government (represented by Aquino, as well as Presidential Management Staff head Julia Abad, Social Welfare Secretary Dinky Soliman, and Health Secretary Enrique Ona) did not yield any breakthroughs (“Aquino Meets Bishops over RH Issue” 2010). In April 2011, Aquino indicated his support for the bill at a commencement ceremony at the University of the Philippines, Diliman, after which Cardinal Vidal called for the termination of dialog with the government, arguing that Aquino’s position made it futile (Uy 2011). In August 2012, as the end of the 15th Congress approached, Aquino called on congressional representatives in the House to end debate and move ahead with amendments to HB 4244. Although the CBCP was invited to participate in the amendments process via a Technical Working Group, it refused and declared that it would not participate in any further amendments or dialogs with the government. In early September 2012, CBCP President Archbishop José Palma explained the CBCP’s refusal to participate in the Technical Working Group as a matter of principle, arguing that doing so would suggest that the Church only disagreed with minor elements of the bill when in reality it was fundamentally opposed to its entirety (Lebumfacil 2012).

Anti-RH opponents in the Congress continued to stall by making privilege speeches on unrelated topics, but on November 26, 2012, the amendments period began (Fonbuena 2012). The version of HB 4244 that was ultimately approved by the House made a number of amendments apparently intended to placate Catholic opponents. Elements that carried over to the final law included:

Reiterating that “the State recognizes the Filipino family as the foundation of the nation” will “protect and strengthen the family as a basic autonomous social institution” and will “equally protect the life of the mother and the life of the unborn from conception” (Responsible Parenthood, Reproductive Health, and Population and Development Act of 2012, §2);

Funding and promoting training in the Billings Ovulation Method (Responsible Parenthood, Reproductive Health, and Population and Development Act of 2012, §3(e));

Including in the category of abortifacients any drug or device that prevents the implantation of a fertilized ovum in the womb (Responsible Parenthood, Reproductive Health, and Population and Development Act of 2012, §4(a));

Exempting hospitals owned and operated by religious groups from the requirement that all accredited health facilities must provide a full range of modern family planning methods (Responsible Parenthood, Reproductive Health, and Population and Development Act of 2012, §7);

Tasking the Food and Drug Administration with determining whether a given family planning method is abortifacient (including by preventing implantation of the fertilized ovum) (Responsible Parenthood, Reproductive Health, and Population and Development Act of 2012, §10);

Allowing “flexibility” in reproductive health and sexuality education curricula for sectarian schools (Responsible Parenthood, Reproductive Health, and Population and Development Act of 2012, §16);

Not including any provisions criminalizing disinformation about reproductive health or the RH law by individuals. However, public and private health care providers could still be punished for knowingly withholding information or providing misinformation about RH programs, services, and rights (Responsible Parenthood, Reproductive Health, and Population and Development Act of 2012, §26(a));

Punishing pharmaceutical companies that collude with officials in the government distribution, procurement, or sale of family planning supplies (Responsible Parenthood, Reproductive Health, and Population and Development Act of 2012, §26(3e));

Removing provisions that would promote two children as an ideal family size;

Language throughout emphasizing that RH education and services would be provided with consideration of individuals’ religious convictions.

Ironically, although the CBCP had excluded itself from the amendments process, the final version of the law included many of the “middle-ground” proposals put forth by Genilo, Carroll, and Bernas. For the CBCP, however, it was the provision of contraceptives itself that rendered the bill unacceptable. Its refusal to participate in the amendments process echoed its previous refusal to cooperate with the Arroyo administration in promoting NFP for fear of appearing to endorse the government’s artificial contraception programs. Following approval of the House bill, the Senate approved a similar bill shortly afterward. On December 21, 2012, President Aquino signed the reconciled bill into law as Republic Act 10354.

Enforcing Catholic Teachings on Contraception

As the Church sought to influence the institutionalization of transnational RH norms in the Philippines, it not only deployed explanations to persuade Catholic constituents and policymakers to reject RH legislation, but it also sought to enforce Catholic teachings on contraception against policymakers who refused to vote against the legislation. Over time, these enforcement mechanisms backfired as targeted policymakers used the opportunity to openly question the Church’s moral authority.

Threats to Excommunicate or Deny Communion

As the RH Bill took center stage in Philippine politics, some Catholic clergy threatened to impose ecclesiastical sanctions on politicians who supported RH legislation—in particular, the denial of Holy Communion and excommunication. While both are rare occurrences, they represent the most severe penalties that the Church can impose upon a Catholic. Crucially, such threats backfired on bishops and the CBCP by provoking ridicule from pro-RH supporters, highlighting the Church’s declining moral authority.

The Church teaches that the reception of Holy Communion, which it believes to be the actual body and blood of Christ, must be undertaken with the utmost reverence. The Code of Canon Law requires that one who “obstinately persever[es] in manifest grave sin” must refrain from receiving Communion (Code of Canon Law 1983, c. 915). While most clergy do not ask communicants about whether they have committed grave sin, some clergy have expressed willingness to exclude from Communion public figures who openly challenge the Church’s positions on such issues as abortion, euthanasia, women’s ordination, and same-sex marriage. Beyond the denial of Communion, excommunication represents the most severe sanction that the Church can impose. An excommunicated individual is banned from receiving the sacraments or taking active part in the public life of the Church. The Code of Canon Law enumerates several offenses that can incur excommunication, including apostasy, heresy, schism, procurement of an abortion, ordination of a woman, consecrating a bishop without papal authority, sacrilege against the Eucharist, a priest disclosing what was said in a sacramental confession, and physically attacking the pope (Code of Canon Law 1983, c. 1370 §1, c. 1379 §§2–3, c. 1382 §1, c. 1384, c. 1386 §§1–2, c. 1387, c. 1397 §2).

By far the most vocal bishop favoring the denial of Communion to RH supporters was Archbishop Jesus Dosado of Ozamis. In July 2008, he issued a pastoral letter to the Archdiocese of Ozamis instructing that Communion should be denied to anyone advocating to overturn laws against abortion, including RH legislation allowing for contraceptives that prevented implantation of a fertilized embryo (Dosado 2011). It is not clear how many people in the Archdiocese of Ozamis were actually denied Communion for supporting RH legislation. However, RH advocates quickly attacked the pastoral letter as violative of the separation of church and state (“Group Slams Bishop Who Threatened Communion Ban on ‘Pro-Abortionists’” 2008; Macairan 2008). On the one hand, Church officials acknowledged the letter of the law, but they also appeared to recognize the risks of seeming to withhold the Eucharist for political reasons. Archbishop Paciano Aniceto of Pampanga, Chair of the CBCP Episcopal Commission on Family and Life, indicated that he was “open” to Dosado’s position, but stopped short of full endorsement, saying that it was necessary to consider the situation (Vargas 2008).

In 2007, there was a similar outcry when Quezon City Councilman Joseph “Sep” Juico, who sponsored the Quezon City Reproductive Health Ordinance, claimed that he had moved his planned wedding to a different venue because he had been denied Communion over his support for the Ordinance. For its part, the local diocese denied that Juico had been refused Communion or the ability to wed in the Church (“Philippines: QC Councilor Dared to Name Church Official Who Denied Him Communion and Sacrament of Marriage” 2008). In 2011, social media posts purporting to be from a parish in Mandaluyong City in Metro Manila claimed that supporters of RH legislation were banned from receiving the Eucharist. Both the CBCP and the parish denied that the statement was genuine. Fr. Melvin Castro, the CBCP’s executive secretary, rejected the claims as rumor, suggesting that pro-RH advocates were trying to stir up anger against the Church (Lapeña 2011). The denial, however, did not stop pro-RH advocates from urging people to stage walkouts during Mass (Jaymalin 2011).

Yet another backlash occurred when then-CBCP President Bishop Nereo Odchimar suggested in a September 2010 interview that President Noynoy Aquino could potentially be excommunicated for his support of RH legislation (Calonzo and Sisante 2010). Instead of being intimidated, Aquino shrugged it off and vowed to continue seeking passage of RH legislation (Catholic News Service 2011). The CBCP sought to downplay the possibility that Aquino might be excommunicated and insisted that it was not contemplating such a measure (Mogato 2010). Yet, the mere suggestion that the Church might excommunicate President Aquino prompted expressions of defiant outrage from various sectors, including senators, the media, and activists. Filipino Freethinkers, an atheist organization, hosted an “excommunication party” complete with speeches by pro-RH advocates, live music, t-shirts, and symbolic “excommunication documents” that attendees could sign and send to their home parishes and the CBCP expressing support for the RH Bill (Torregoza 2010; Santos 2011). Compounding the problem, in May 2011, Congressman Edcel Lagman, the primary sponsor of the RH Bill, announced in a commencement speech at the University of the Philippines that he was ready to face excommunication if necessary. In reply, Bishop Arturo Bastes of Sorsogon declared that Lagman did not need excommunication; he had automatically incurred it by leading the advocacy for RH legislation in Congress (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2011c). The CBCP quickly issued a statement through spokesman Msgr. Juanito Figura insisting that it was not contemplating excommunication of Lagman, Aquino, or any other figure, and accusing pro-RH advocates of hyping excommunication to cast the Church in a bad light (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2011c).

Why did the threat to deny Communion or excommunicate RH supporters fail to appreciably change elites’ positions on RH legislation? First, even among Catholic leaders, there was reluctance to take such drastic actions for simply supporting RH legislation, particularly since it explicitly proscribed abortion. If a politician could be denied Communion or even excommunicated for supporting reproductive legislation, what did that mean for ordinary Filipino Catholics? In a 2008 op-ed in the Philippine Daily Inquirer, Fr. Joaquin Bernas, who would later co-draft the “Talking Points for Dialog on the Reproductive Health Bill,” argued that canon law reserved denial of Communion only for those who commit grave sin with full knowledge and consent. Since the state of a person’s intent is beyond the knowledge of the person administering Communion, Bernas argued that denying Communion should be reserved only for “notorious public sinners.” Considering that the Philippines was a pluralist society, he openly doubted whether lawmakers’ support of RH legislation was sufficient to make them “notorious public sinners” (Bernas 2008). Such arguments provided cover to those targeted by the denial of communion or excommunication.

Second, denial of communion and excommunication were not intended to persuade RH advocates that the Church had a better set of arguments; given the polarized nature of the RH debate, most Filipinos had already made up their minds. Rather, they were intended to compel opponents to abandon their support of RH legislation by threatening public shame and exclusion from the Church. The measures are framed in Church teaching as necessary and even automatic in that certain acts cut a person off from the Church ipso facto. But, in a pluralistic and secular society, even suggesting that President Aquino could be excommunicated fed the perception that the CBCP was willing to subvert Filipino democracy for a policy victory. Given the widespread presumption that the Church was already deeply enmeshed in politics, denial of communion and excommunication were not seen as costly signals of principled commitment, but instead crude political cudgels. Pro-RH political leaders recognized that the threat of excommunication or denial of communion would not cost them their majorities, but that they could accuse the Church of political interference. The CBCP’s accusations that pro-RH advocates were hyping excommunication and denial of Communion demonstrated that they also recognized the potential for blowback.

“Team Buhay/Team Patay”: Wading into the Fray

With the passage of the RH Bill in December 2012, the Church faced a major defeat. Unable to halt the legislative process, it turned to the Supreme Court. In the meantime, opponents of the bill in the Church sought to punish lawmakers who had supported it. Two months later, in February 2013 as elections were approaching, the Diocese of Bacolod in the central Philippines hung two large tarpaulins measuring approximately six feet by ten feet outside San Sebastian Cathedral, the diocesan seat (UMA Pilipinas 2015). The first tarpaulin displayed the slogan, “RH Bill Ibasura,” meaning “Junk the RH Bill.” The second tarpaulin was titled “Conscience Vote” and consisted of two sections. The first section, colored red, was titled “(Anti-RH) Team Buhay” (“Team Life”) and had a large white checkmark. On it were listed the names of six lawmakers and two party lists that had voted against the RH Bill. Below that was a second section, colored in black and titled “(Pro-RH) Team Patay” (“Team Death”) with a large red “X,” listing the names of seven lawmakers and four party lists that had voted in favor of the RH Bill.⁵

The tarpaulins—particularly the second one—drew national attention when the Commission on Elections (COMELEC) accused the Diocese of Bacolod of violating electoral campaign laws by endorsing specific candidates with such large advertisements. COMELEC determined that the tarpaulins constituted electoral propaganda subject to its jurisdiction and ordered the Diocese to take them down. The Diocese of Bacolod and its bishop, Vicente Navarra, appealed to the Supreme Court, arguing that the tarpaulins were protected speech rather than electoral propaganda. In its January 2015 ruling, the Supreme Court decided 9–5 in favor of the Diocese of Bacolod. It argued that because the tarpaulins were on the Church’s private property and not paid for by or coordinated with any candidate, they constituted protected free speech and were not subject to COMELEC regulation. “This is not speech by candidates or political parties to entice votes,” wrote Justice Marvin Leonen for the majority. “It is a portion of the electorate telling candidates the conditions for their election. It is the substantive content of the right to suffrage” (Diocese of Bacolod and Bishop Vicente M. Navarra vs. Commission on Elections and Atty. Mavil V. Majarucon 2015). In a dissenting opinion, Justice Arturo Brion observed that the Omnibus Election Code defined electoral campaign materials in a way that did not distinguish between whether they were produced by or at the behest of a candidate, or if they were produced by politically unaffiliated private individuals. “When the law does not distinguish, neither should we,” he wrote (Diocese of Bacolod and Bishop Vicente M. Navarra vs. Commission on Elections and Atty. Mavil V. Majarucon 2015, J. Brion Dissenting Opinion). More pointedly, in a concurring opinion, Justice Antonio Carpio warned that although the law restricting the size of advertisements unconstitutionally limited free expression, the court’s ruling exempting non-candidates and non-parties from electoral campaign restrictions meant that candidates would “have a ready means of circumventing these limitations by simply channeling their campaign propaganda activities to supporters who do not happen to be candidates or political parties” (Diocese of Bacolod and Bishop Vicente M. Navarra vs. Commission on Elections and Atty. Mavil V. Majarucon 2015, J. Carpio Concurring Opinion).

Diocese of Bacolod v. COMELEC was a watershed for the Catholic Church because it decisively allowed it to endorse or reject specific electoral candidates without restriction. Yet, notwithstanding the legality of such actions, some critics questioned whether it was prudent for the Church to engage in partisan politics. In a statement on the decision, Bishop Vicente Navarra insisted that the tarpaulins were solely to help form voters’ consciences by explaining who they needed to vote for according to Catholic moral teaching on the RH Bill (UMA Pilipinas 2015).

Fr. Eric Genilo (2013), the Ateneo de Manila-based moral theologian, noted that although the CBCP could order the lay faithful to vote for a particular political position as detailed in its Catechism on Church and Politics, this was intended to be used in extreme cases that placed the survival of the Church and its mission at risk. Genilo (2013) expressed skepticism that a legislator’s decision to vote in favor of the RH Bill rose to that level. Nevertheless, the decision to order the laity to vote in a certain way or face ecclesiastical penalties remains within the discretion of the individual bishop. While Archbishop Ramon Arguelles of Lipa and Bishop Emilio Marquez of Lucena also posted lists of candidates, the CBCP itself refrained from endorsing political candidates. Several other bishops announced that they would not endorse candidates and rejected efforts by lay groups to use Church property for that purpose, citing the primacy of conscience and concerns that partisanship would ultimately harm the Church’s interests (Dionisio 2014, 15–16).

The Team Buhay/Team Patay episode illustrates how difficult it was for the Church to walk the fine line between moral exhortation and partisan politics. As discussed in Chapter 2, a key source of an actor’s moral authority is the perception that it is able to remain above the fray of normal politics and act on behalf of the greater good of society, rather than for partisan interests. On the one hand, efforts to promote political candidates sympathetic to the Church’s moral positions are a natural element of institutionalizing the Church’s preferred norms. On the other hand, the act of partisan endorsement can also undermine the very moral authority that facilitates the Church’s ability to thicken norms.

The Church’s Moral Authority in the Philippine Reproductive Health Controversy

Stephen Hopgood (2009, 252) has argued that the non-contingency and transcendence of religious authority can make it a more powerful force than global institutions for legitimizing human rights. In the case of the RH controversy, the Church’s authority was arrayed against norms emanating from global institutions. Still, despite the Church’s non-contingent and transcendent claims, as well as its history of political influence, it nevertheless failed to halt the adoption of RH norms in the Philippines. Given the Church’s social and political influence and the salience of the contraception issue, this was surprising.

Why did the Church ultimately fail to prevent the adoption of transnational RH norms? Grzymała-Busse (2015, 8) and Kane (2001, 15) have separately argued that to have moral authority, an actor needs to demonstrate that it is driven by principle rather than politics, and that it aims to benefit society as a whole rather than its own narrower constituency. In the RH controversy, the Church’s opposition was certainly principled. Catholic leaders appealed frequently to religious teachings in justifying their positions on family planning. In keeping with Pope John Paul II’s warnings in Evangelium Vitae, they consistently claimed that normalizing contraception would erode marriage, normalize the “contraceptive mentality,” and pave the way for legal abortion. On multiple occasions, Catholic leaders rejected initiatives that would give the appearance of compromise with advocates of RH norms, even when doing so seemed to promote the Church’s stated interests (as in the case of Church-government cooperation in promoting NFP). These moves were costly to the Church, but because of their cost, they demonstrated a principled commitment to the moral prohibition of contraception.

Yet, principled action was not sufficient for the Church to gain the moral authority it needed to successfully thicken RH norms. The Church also needed to demonstrate that its interests extended beyond itself and its supporters. It had done so in the past during the 1986 EDSA Revolution, when it amplified popular calls for the overthrow of the Marcos dictatorship. In its rhetoric, the Church attempted to style itself as a defender not of particular Catholic values, but rather of Filipino values that were under attack by foreign interlopers. But, by challenging a popular norm that promised to improve Filipinos’ health and economic well-being, the Church set itself against a large portion of the public. By employing partisan tactics, particularly by endorsing or rejecting specific political candidates, the Church compromised its ability to remain above the fray of ordinary politics and instead came to be perceived as just another interest group. Threats to excommunicate or withhold communion from supporters of RH legislation generated backlashes against the Church since they were seen as political cudgels rather than expressions of principled commitment. It was also not lost on many Filipinos that the clergy who led the charge against RH norms were privileged men vowed to celibacy, while the ones most affected by such norms (or their suppression) were women and the poor. The attempt to frame opposition to RH norms as a Filipino cultural norm also raised questions about whether the Catholic Church was overstepping the bounds of religious freedom, particularly given that many Protestant and Muslim communities supported the RH bills. All of this undermined the Church’s moral authority and ability to block RH norms.

Could things have gone differently for the Church in the Philippines? There were clear limits to how the Church could have positioned itself with respect to RH norms. Humanae Vitae and Evangelium Vitae, as well as the Holy See’s determined efforts to block the ICPD Program of Action, laid out in stark language the dangers of normalizing contraception and fostering a “contraceptive mentality.” The Catholic hierarchy could not budge from its opposition. Within those boundaries, however, there was still room for a range of approaches toward RH norms. The Church could have refrained from endorsing or rejecting specific political candidates based on their position on the RH Bill, thereby maintaining an image of scrupulous non-partisanship. It could have eschewed the use of threats to vote out lawmakers who supported RH legislation. It could have cooperated with the government in improving the abysmally low rates of NFP usage. It could have allowed itself to participate in shaping the implementing rules and regulations of the RH laws instead of refusing to have anything to do with them. These probably would not have stopped the spread of RH norms or legislation in the Philippines, but they could have created more opportunities for the Church to shape policy from the inside and, more importantly, preserve its moral authority.

List of Interviews*

Bishop 1 | April 2008
Bishop 2 | April 2008
Bishop 3 | February 2009
Lobbyist 1 | May 2008
Lobbyist 2 | June 2008
Lobbyist 3 | February 2009
Physician 1 | June 2008
PopCom official 1 | April 2008
Priest 1 | April 2008
Priest 2 | February 2008
Priest 3 | February 2009
Religious Sister 1 | May 2010
Researcher 1 | March 2008
Senator 1 | May 2008

* All interviews were conducted in Luzon, Philippines, unless otherwise indicated.

Notes

Readers seeking a detailed narrative of the reproductive health controversy in the Philippines from the Corazon Aquino administration to the Rodrigo Duterte administration are highly recommended to read Dañguilan (2018).

See Chapter 3 for further details on EDSA II.

As described in Chapter 5, the ICPD Program of Action defined reproductive health to include the right to access abortion in countries where it was legal, though it also emphasized that abortion should not be promoted as a method of family planning.

In the Philippines, a legislative bill is introduced into one of the two houses of Congress (the House of Representatives or the Senate) by a member (“First Reading”), whereupon it is referred to the relevant congressional committee, which can approve, amend, or recommend consolidation or substitution with other legislation. If the committee approves the proposed bill, it is then calendared for a “Second Reading,” in which congressional representatives debate the bill. Second Reading ends with a period of amendment followed by a vote on the bill. If the vote passes, then the bill moves to the “Third Reading,” in which a vote is taken on the final printed version. If that vote passes, then the bill is sent to the other house of Congress, where it must clear the same series of readings and committee hearings. Any differences between each house’s final approved bill must be resolved in a Bicameral Conference Committee. The final legislation is then submitted to the president, who may either veto it or sign it into law.

“Team Buhay” included: JV Estrada, Gregorio Honasan, Mitos Magsaysay, Koko Pimentel, Antonio Trillanes, Cynthia Villar, and the Buhay and Ang Pamilya party lists.

“Team Patay” included: Juan Edgardo Angara, Teddy Casiño, Alan Peter Cayetano, Jackie Enrile, Francis Escudero, Risa Hontiveros, Loren Legarda, and the party lists Gabriela, Akbayan, Bayan Muna, and Anak Pawis.

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7 The Development of “Thin” Norms against Human Trafficking

DOI: 10.4324/9780429457364-7

Human trafficking represents a serious and growing threat to millions of people worldwide. Generally speaking, it refers to the manipulation or movement of people—whether by threat, coercion, deception, or some other means—for the purposes of exploitation (United Nations 2000b, Art. 3, par. a). The term “modern slavery” is sometimes used interchangeably with human trafficking, though unlike the latter, it lacks an international legal definition. Nevertheless, it usefully evokes the atrocious conditions that trafficked persons suffer.

Human trafficking often occurs in plain sight and takes diverse forms, for example: sexual exploitation, child workers and soldiers, forced begging, illegal adoption, prison labor, migrant and “guest” workers who are denied compensation or abused by their employers, drug couriers, people kidnapped and forced into running online scams for criminal organizations, women who enter marriages with foreign nationals located overseas via “international marriage brokers”, fishermen forced into uncompensated labor on shrimp boats, and victims of forced organ removal. Some trafficked persons are moved across borders while others remain in their country of origin. Some trafficked persons are deceived or forced into slavery while others may recognize their own exploitation but see it as their best chance to escape an even worse situation, such as poverty, abuse, or disaster.

Human traffickers also come in different guises, including organized criminal gangs who kidnap and enslave victims, apparently legitimate businesses that employ trafficked labor, governments that enslave citizens, recruiters who lure trafficked persons with the promise of legitimate employment, and even relatives who sell family members into slavery. In addition, there are actors who facilitate trafficking even if they do not directly engage in it, such as customs and law enforcement officials who look the other way, financial institutions that enable traffickers to launder their proceeds, governments that fail to enact policies to prevent or prosecute trafficking, and customers whose demand for the products of trafficked labor drive the entire enterprise.

Estimates of human trafficking are inherently difficult given its clandestine nature and varying definitions of human trafficking across different jurisdictions. The International Organization for Migration’s (IOM) Counter Trafficking Data Collaborative tracks over 206,000 actual cases of human trafficking based on its own operational case data as well as data from other leading counter-trafficking organizations (Global Migration Data Portal 2024). The International Labor Organization (ILO, IOM, and Walk Free Foundation have published an estimate of global modern slavery based on imputing data from tens of thousands of household surveys in dozens of countries (International Labor Organization, Walk Free Foundation, and International Organization for Migration 2022, 110–113). In 2021, they estimated that on any given day, 49.6 million people were in some form of modern slavery, with 27.6 million in forced labor and 22 million in forced marriage (International Labor Organization, Walk Free Foundation, and International Organization for Migration 2022, 2). As estimates of a clandestine activity, such figures must be regarded with caution, but even if one assumes that they are an overestimate, it is still likely that worldwide, at any given moment, there are millions of people being trafficked.

In response to human trafficking, states have produced various intergovernmental anti-trafficking agreements since the early twentieth century. This chapter outlines some of these agreements and the norms that they represent. From its origins in the Western notion of “white slavery” in the early twentieth century, the concept of human trafficking became increasingly generic and culturally thin with the promulgation of new international legal instruments after World War II. The 2000 Palermo Protocol to the UN Convention Against Transnational Organized Crime (UNTOC) established the first internationally accepted definition of human trafficking and the “Three P’s” framework, which aimed at preventing trafficking, protecting victims, and prosecuting traffickers. These were elaborated upon in the 2010 UN Global Plan of Action to Combat Trafficking in Persons, which laid out practical steps for governments to implement the Three P’s. While the Palermo Protocol and the Global Plan of Action represent important points of international consensus, their emphasis on criminal prosecution and their sidestepping of the moral dimensions and root causes of trafficking also create significant normative gaps. Chapter 8 then considers how the Catholic Church has attempted to fill some of these gaps by directly addressing the moral ideas that make trafficking possible.

The Emergence of Thin Anti-Trafficking Norms

Modern anti-trafficking agreements are rooted in several twentieth-century conventions, including: (1) the 1904 International Agreement for the Suppression of White Slave Traffic; (2) the 1910 International Convention for the Suppression of the White Slave Traffic; (3) the 1921 International Convention for the Suppression of the Traffic in Women and Children, (4) the 1926 Slavery Convention, and (5) the 1933 International Convention for the Suppression of the Traffic in Women of Full Age.

The norms embodied in these early conventions were relatively “thick” because they reflected a Western-centric, gendered, and racialized view of human trafficking rather than a universal and generic view. The term “white slavery” reflected a growing awareness that contemporary patterns of human exploitation did not conform to the Western stereotype of slavery as chattel slavery in which non-white peoples were owned as property (Bales 2005, 46). For example, the 1926 Slavery Convention defined slavery as “the status or condition of a person over whom any or all of the powers attaching to the right of ownership are exercised” (“Slavery Convention” 1926, Art. 1). In the preamble, it mentions the signatories of the 1889–1890 General Act of the Brussels Conference, who “declared that they were equally animated by the firm intention of putting an end to the traffic in African slaves [emphasis added]” (“Slavery Convention” 1926, Art. 2). In contrast, the defining trait of “white slavery” was not legal ownership of a person but rather the sexual exploitation of women or girls. It conjured the image of an idealized victim—a young and innocent white woman or girl forced or deceived into prostitution in a foreign country.¹ For example, the 1904 International Agreement for the Suppression of White Slave Traffic addressed “the procuration of women or girls with a view to their debauchery in a foreign country,” as well as for facilitating their return to their countries of origin (“International Agreement for the Suppression of White Slave Traffic” 1904). The conventions ignored the plights of colonial subjects and non-whites. They also ignored trafficking within national boundaries, trafficking for non-sexual labor and exploitation, as well as anyone engaged in commercial sex work because of economic circumstances rather than outright coercion or deception. These early conventions did not attempt to represent a “view from nowhere” but instead a view from Western societies. Notwithstanding their cultural particularism, the various “white slavery” conventions introduced several features that have been inherited by modern anti-trafficking instruments. These included defining “white slavery” as involving “violence,” “threats,” “abuse of authority,” “compulsion,” or “fraud” and declaring that minors could not consent to prostitution (thereby distinguishing between the trafficking of minors and the trafficking of adults) (Allain 2017, 9–11).

The first multilateral anti-trafficking treaty of the post-World War II era was the Convention for the Suppression of the Traffic in Persons and of the Exploitation of the Prostitution of Others (hereafter the “1949 Convention”), which was adopted by the UN General Assembly in 1949 and entered into force on July 25, 1951, superseding prior anti-trafficking conventions. States parties agreed to punish

any person, who, to gratify the passions of another: (1) Procures, entices or leads away, for purposes of prostitution, another person, even with the consent of that person; (2) Exploits the prostitution of another person, even with the consent of that person

as well as anyone found to be operating a brothel (“Convention for the Suppression of the Traffic in Persons and of the Exploitation of the Prostitution of Others” 1949, Art. 1–2). Parties also agreed to coordinate in repatriating trafficked persons and extraditing offenders.

The 1949 Convention dispensed with the term “white slavery” but continued to describe trafficking in starkly moral terms: “Whereas prostitution and the accompanying evil of the traffic in persons for the purpose of prostitution are incompatible with the dignity and worth of the human person and endanger the welfare of the individual, the family and the community… [emphasis added]” (“Convention for the Suppression of the Traffic in Persons and of the Exploitation of the Prostitution of Others” 1949, Preamble). Even if the language was less explicitly racialist and appealed to the thinner, more universal principle of “the dignity and worth of the human person,” it reinforced the image of “ideal victims” as innocent women or girls deceived or coerced into prostitution. Fifteen articles dealt with criminalizing and prosecuting trafficking while only three addressed preventing trafficking or protecting survivors. These called on states parties to provide for the “rehabilitation and social adjustment” of trafficked persons, adopt unspecified immigration measures to prevent prostitution, increase supervision of ports and other transportation hubs, and supervise employment agencies to prevent women and children from being trafficked (“Convention for the Suppression of the Traffic in Persons and of the Exploitation of the Prostitution of Others” 1949, Art. 16–17, 20).

In addition to international conventions focused on sex trafficking, there are several other conventions that addressed trafficking in persons under the auspices of slavery and forced labor: the 1930 ILO Forced Labor Convention with its 2014 Protocol; the 1956 United Nations Supplementary Convention on the Abolition of Slavery, the Slave Trade, and Institutions and Practices Similar to Slavery (hereafter the “1956 UN Supplementary Convention”); the 1957 ILO Abolition of Forced Labor Convention, and the 1999 Worst Forms of Child Labor Convention.

The 1930 Forced Labor Convention committed parties to “undertake to suppress the use of forced or compulsory labor in all its forms within the shortest possible period” (International Labor Organization 1930, Art. 1). Forced/compulsory labor was defined as “all work or service which is exacted from any person under the menace of any penalty and for which the said person has not offered himself voluntarily” (International Labor Organization 1930, Art. 2). In 2014, the ILO adopted a Protocol for the 1930 Forced Labor Convention in an effort to specify steps for parties to take in stopping forced/compulsory labor. These included sanctions on those who perpetrate forced/compulsory labor; preventive measures, such as legislation and enforcement against forced/compulsory labor, education of vulnerable populations, and addressing “root causes and factors”, as well as assistance and “remedies, such as compensation” to victims of forced/compulsory labor (International Labor Organization 2014, Art. 1–3).

The 1956 UN Supplementary Convention added to the 1926 Slavery Convention by prohibiting debt bondage, serfdom, the sale of women by their families or their husbands’ families, the transfer of children by parents or guardians to a party for purposes of exploitation, and mutilation or branding of slaves or servants (United Nations 1956, Art. 1, 3, 5). The Supplementary Convention also committed parties to criminalize the transportation of slaves from one country to another. The 1957 Abolition of Forced Labor Convention focused on state-mandated forced/compulsory labor and committed parties to abolish it as a means of political coercion, education, or punishment; mobilizing labor for economic development; labor discipline; punishment for participation in strikes, or as a means of racial, social, national, or religious discrimination (International Labor Organization 1957, Art. 1).

Another important ILO agreement was the 1999 Worst Forms of Child Labor Convention, which committed parties to prohibit and eliminate all forms of slavery and practices similar to slavery against children; the use, procurement, or offering of a child for prostitution, pornography, or illicit activities such as drug trafficking; and work that “is likely to harm the health, safety or morals of children” (International Labor Organization 1999, Art. 3). The Convention also required states parties to provide for the rehabilitation and social integration of children removed from the above activities (International Labor Organization 1999, Art. 7).

To address child labor and trafficking, the 1989 UN Convention on the Rights of the Child contains several provisions recognizing children’s rights to protection against economic exploitation and sexual abuse (United Nations 1989, Art. 9, 19, 34, 39). In 2000, the UN General Assembly adopted the Optional Protocol to the Convention on the Rights of the Child on the Sale of Children, Child Prostitution and Child Pornography. The Optional Protocol committed states parties to criminalize the sale of children (defined as those under the age of 18), child prostitution, and the production, transfer, or possession of child pornography, as well as the “offering, delivering or accepting, by whatever means, of a child” for sexual exploitation, organ harvesting for profit, or forced labor (United Nations 2000a, Art. 1–3). It also called upon states to safeguard the rights of child victims, provide services to facilitate “full social reintegration and their full physical and psychological recovery,” and establish mechanisms for child victims to receive compensation from those legally responsible for violating their rights. (United Nations 2000a, Art. 8–9).

The 1990 International Convention on the Protection of the Rights of All Migrant Workers and Members of Their Families (hereafter the “Migrant Workers Convention”) guaranteed the rights of migrant workers, their spouses and dependents. These included, inter alia, prohibiting migrant workers and their families from being held in slavery or servitude or performing forced/compulsory labor, prohibiting the confiscation or destruction of migrants’ identity documents, and requiring that law enforcement treat migrant workers and their families with dignity (United Nations 1990, Art. 11, 21).

While this is not an exhaustive list of multilateral agreements that address slavery, forced labor, and child exploitation, it illustrates how at the intergovernmental level, there are longstanding norms against them. At the same time, these agreements constituted a patchwork of commitments, with states signing on to some but not others, creating disparities in how to approach them. For example, as of August 2024, the ILO Forced Labor Convention had 181 ratifications, while its 2014 Protocol only had 60. The Worst Forms of Child Labor Convention had 187 ratifications. The Migrant Workers Convention had only 58 ratifications. In this context, there was a perceived need for a new instrument to directly address the common thread of trapping people in situations that exploited their labor.

The Palermo Protocol (2000)

The 2000 UN Convention on Transnational Organized Crime and its accompanying Palermo Protocol to Prevent, Suppress, and Punish Trafficking in Persons Especially Women and Children, which entered into force in 2003, aimed to redress the absence of a “universal instrument that addresses all aspects of trafficking in persons” (United Nations 2000b, Preamble). In doing so, it further decoupled anti-trafficking norms from particular cultures, making them “thinner.”

The Palermo Protocol redefined trafficking in person as:

the recruitment, transportation, transfer, harboring or receipt of persons, by means of the threat or use of force or other forms of coercion, of abduction, of fraud, of deception, of the abuse of power or of a position of vulnerability or of the giving or receiving of payments or benefits to achieve the consent of a person having control over another person, for the purpose of exploitation. Exploitation shall include, at a minimum, the exploitation of the prostitution of others or other forms of sexual exploitation, forced labor or services, slavery or practices similar to slavery, servitude or the removal of organs….

(United Nations 2000b, Art. 3, par. a)

No longer was human trafficking defined solely by prostitution, but rather by a set of generic criteria, namely: (1) the act (recruitment / transportation / transfer / harboring / receipt of persons); (2) the means by which the act was committed (threat / force / coercion / deception/abuse of power), and (3) the purpose of the act (exploitation). This greatly expanded the range of potential victims of trafficking, including unpaid and underpaid migrant workers, child soldiers, drug couriers, organ trafficking victims, and people exploited inside their home countries. Although the Protocol applies to transnational trafficking, the UNTOC requires that each state party establish laws against human trafficking irrespective of its transnational nature or the involvement of an organized criminal group (United Nations 2000c, Art. 34, par.2; Gallagher 2010, 179).

The Palermo Protocol laid out an approach that became known as the “Three P’s”: prosecution of traffickers, protection of victims, and prevention of trafficking. A fourth “P,” for “partnerships” among different anti-trafficking actors, was later adopted by anti-trafficking activists. As a component of the UNTOC, however, the Protocol maintained previous agreements’ heavy emphasis on prosecution over protection and prevention (Goździak and Vogel 2020, 111). Even then, it was often vague about how states should handle human trafficking within their domestic legal systems. For example, although the Protocol requires states parties to criminalize human trafficking, it does not prescribe minimum penalties (United Nations 2000b, Art. 5). Thus, for instance, Botswana prescribes imprisonment for 15 to 30 years and a fine of 500,000 pula (approximately $37,350) for trafficking offenses (U.S. Department of State 2024b). In contrast, Japan lacks a comprehensive anti-trafficking statute and instead prosecutes human trafficking using a patchwork of anti-prostitution, child welfare, immigration, and employment laws. Inducing someone into “prostitution” (whether an adult or child) incurs a maximum penalty of three years’ imprisonment or a fine of ¥100,000 (~$700) if fraudulent or coercive means were used, and up to three years’ imprisonment and a fine of ¥100,000 if force or threats were used (U.S. Department of State 2024c). The Protocol also did not require states to refrain from charging trafficked persons with prostitution or other crimes. This created a potential conflict between the imperatives to prosecute traffickers and to protect trafficked persons.

For preventing trafficking and protecting victims, the Protocol articulated broad principles rather than specific measures. It called on states parties to “endeavor to undertake measures such as research, information and mass media campaigns and social and economic initiatives to prevent and combat trafficking in persons” (United Nations 2000b, Art. 9, par. 2), to “discourage the demand that fosters all forms of exploitation of persons” (United Nations 2000b, Art. 9, par. 5), and to “consider implementing measures” to provide for victims’ physical, psychological, and social recovery (United Nations 2000b, Art. 6, par. 3). In a departure from the 1949 Convention, which emphasized the repatriation of trafficked persons, the Palermo Protocol required states parties to “consider adopting legislative or other appropriate measures” to allow victims to remain in their territory temporarily or permanently (United Nations 2000b, Art. 7).

Such provisions allowed states much flexibility to determine how they would protect or prevent human trafficking. At the same time, this made it easier for states to sign and ratify the Protocol, facilitating a global consensus on the meaning of human trafficking; as of September 2024, the Protocol had 182 states parties out of the 193 UN member states. Yet, even despite the nonbinding nature of these provisions, several states expressed formal reservations. Qatar and Saudi Arabia—both important destinations for migrant labor—expressed reservations to considering the provision of employment, educational, and training opportunities to formerly trafficked persons. China declared that the Protocol would not apply to Hong Kong, another important destination for migrant labor and a trafficking hotspot. Australia and Singapore declared that the Protocol would not impose any additional obligations on them to admit or retain foreigners. By far the most frequent reservation, though, regarded the requirement of states parties to settle disputes via arbitration or, failing that, a ruling by the International Court of Justice.² Given many states’ consistent refusal to accept ICJ jurisdiction, this was unsurprising, but it undermined the Protocol’s enforceability.

The Protocol also dispensed with the 1949 Convention’s language acknowledging the dignity and worth of the human person. It contains no moral condemnation of human trafficking or explanation for why it needs to be combated. Nor does it address the social conditions that contribute to demand. For instance, there is no effort to link sex trafficking to, say, the demand for pornography, or to consider how demand for cheap goods and services can fuel demand for slave labor. Treating human trafficking as mainly a criminal matter also emphasizes a law enforcement response from the state while ignoring how the state can be complicit in trafficking through lax labor protections, unregulated employment agencies, policies encouraging the exploitation of foreign workers, or draconian immigration laws that make trafficking profitable.

The Palermo Protocol, then, was a much “thinner” document than prior international anti-trafficking instruments. It improved upon those instruments by broadening the definition of human trafficking, requiring states parties to prosecute human trafficking, and establishing a useful framework in the form of the “Three P’s.” However, it remained limited by its ambiguous language, especially regarding protection and prevention, as well as its curious agnosticism on the moral principles underlying anti-trafficking. The result was a technocratic and culturally generic document that aimed to stop human trafficking without questioning the structures and practices that gave rise to it in the first place. Admittedly, such criticism might be asking too much of what was a protocol to a convention against transnational organized crime. But it underscores that although the Palermo Protocol is the primary international legal instrument for combating human trafficking, it does not provide a comprehensive approach.

The Global Plan of Action to Combat Trafficking in Persons (2010)

By providing a universally accepted legal definition of human trafficking, the Palermo Protocol was a major step in mobilizing international efforts to combat it. Yet, while the UNTOC and the Palermo Protocol had been adopted by the overwhelming majority of UN member states, there was also recognition that human trafficking could not be addressed solely by the criminalization and prosecution of traffickers, and that more needed to be done on the prevention, protection, and partnership fronts.

On July 30, 2010, the UN General Assembly adopted the Global Plan of Action to Combat Trafficking in Persons. The Global Plan built upon the Palermo Protocol by recommending specific measures for states to adopt. Each section of the Global Plan of Action corresponded to one of the “Four P’s.” For instance, it recommended that states reduce demand for goods and services produced with trafficked labor, adopt policies to shield trafficked persons from prosecution and further victimization by government authorities, and enable trafficked persons to seek compensation for their ordeals (United Nations 2010, par. 21, 30, 39). The Global Plan also recommended strengthening the UN Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) to collect and report data on trafficking patterns and share best practices (United Nations 2010, par. 60). It also established a UN Voluntary Trust Fund for Victims of Trafficking in Persons to provide them with support services (United Nations 2010, par. 38).

As a General Assembly resolution, the Global Plan of Action lacks binding mechanisms and primarily represents an expression of global public opinion. For this reason, the United States and the European Union were critical of the Global Plan of Action and adamant that it should not supplant the Palermo Protocol, though they did ultimately endorse it (United Nations General Assembly 2010, 8–9). Notably, the Global Plan of Action urges member states to adopt and fully implement the UNTOC and Palermo Protocol “taking into consideration the central role of those instruments in the fight against trafficking in persons…” (United Nations 2010, par. 3). Like the Palermo Protocol, the Global Plan of Action generally refrained from addressing the moral origins of human trafficking except in a very broad sense. It called on states to

[a]ddress the social, economic, cultural, political and other factors that make people vulnerable to trafficking in persons, such as poverty, unemployment, inequality, humanitarian emergencies, including armed conflicts and natural disasters, sexual violence, gender discrimination, social exclusion and marginalization, as well as a culture of tolerance towards violence against women, youth and children.

(United Nations 2010, par. 12)

Moral condemnation of trafficking was limited to the preamble, which declared that “trafficking in persons, especially women and children, […] constitutes a serious threat to human dignity, human rights and development” (United Nations 2010, Preamble). Like the Palermo Protocol, the Global Plan of Action was a thin normative framework upon which states were to build their own policies, but its vague and generic nature gave states wide latitude to interpret them.

Another multilateral instrument in combating human trafficking was the 2015 UN Sustainable Development Goals. These were notable for setting concrete development objectives to be achieved by 2030, as well as for the involvement of civil society organizations in formulating them. Altogether, there are 17 SDGs with 169 targets. With respect to human trafficking, several of the SDGs and associated objectives are particularly important. These are listed below (Table 7.1):

Table 7.1 UN Sustainable Development Goals and targets related to human trafficking

5.2—Eliminate all forms of violence against all women and girls in public and private spheres, including trafficking and sexual, and other types of exploitation (United Nations 2024a).

5.2.1—Proportion of ever-partnered women and girls aged 15 years and older subjected to physical, sexual or psychological violence by a current or former intimate partner in the previous 12 months, by form of violence and by age (United Nations 2024a)

5.2.2—Proportion of women and girls aged 15 years and older subjected to sexual violence by persons other than an intimate partner in the previous 12 months, by age and place of occurrence (United Nations 2024a)

8.7—Take immediate and effective measures to eradicate forced labor, end modern slavery and human trafficking, and secure the prohibition and elimination of the worst forms of child labor, including recruitment and use of child soldiers, and by 2025 end child labor in all its forms (United Nations 2024b)

8.7.1—Proportion and number of children aged 5–17 years engaged in child labor, by sex and age (United Nations 2024b)

10.7—Facilitate orderly, safe, regular, and responsible migration and mobility of people, including through the implementation of planned and well-managed migration policies (United Nations 2024c)

10.7.1—Recruitment cost borne by employee as a proportion of monthly income earned in country of destination (United Nations 2024c)

10.7.2—Number of countries with migration policies that facilitate orderly, safe, regular, and responsible migration and mobility of people (United Nations 2024c)

10.7.3—Number of people who died or disappeared in the process of migration toward an international destination (United Nations 2024c)

10.7.4—Proportion of the population who are refugees, by country of origin (United Nations 2024c)

16.2—End abuse, exploitation, trafficking, and all forms of violence against and torture of children (United Nations 2024d)

16.2.1—Proportion of children aged 1–17 years who experienced any physical punishment and/or psychological aggression by caregivers in the past month (United Nations 2024d)

16.2.2—Number of victims of human trafficking per 100,000 population, by sex, age, and form of exploitation (United Nations 2024d)

16.2.3—Proportion of young women and men aged 18–29 years who experienced sexual violence by age 18 (United Nations 2024d)

16.4—By 2030, significantly reduce illicit financial and arms flows, strengthen the recovery and return of stolen assets, and combat all forms of organized crime (United Nations 2024d)

16.4.1—Total value of inward and outward illicit financial flows (in current United States dollars) (United Nations 2024d)

16.4.2—Proportion of seized, found, or surrendered arms whose illicit origin or context has been traced or established by a competent authority in line with international instruments (United Nations 2024d)

17.9—Enhance international support for implementing effective and targeted capacity-building in developing countries to support national plans to implement all the SDGs (United Nations 2024e)

17.9.1—Dollar value of financial and technical assistance (including through North-South, South-South, and triangular cooperation) committed to developing countries (United Nations 2024e)

By establishing measurable targets, the SDGs aim to move beyond rhetorical declarations and demonstrate progress in combating human trafficking. Yet, the SDGs are also bedeviled by obstacles to collecting high-quality data on sexual violence, human trafficking, illicit financial flows, and migration. This is exacerbated by disparities in different countries’ capacities for data collection and recordkeeping, as well as the absence of a universally accepted methodology to estimate undetected trafficked persons (Saner, Yiu, and Rush 2018; Nemeth and Rizo 2019). Without reliable data, it will be very difficult to measure progress toward these goals.

Beyond the problem of measurement, the SDGs related to human trafficking also reflect a patchwork of thin norms. For instance, there are no targets regarding the provision of services to trafficked persons, the development of educational curricula to prevent trafficking, reduction of demand for trafficked goods, or the development or enforcement of anti-trafficking laws. All of these objectives were mentioned in the Global Plan of Action to Combat Trafficking in Persons.

The United States’ Trafficking in Persons Report

An important source of transnational norms against human trafficking is the United States, which publishes an annual Trafficking in Persons Report through the Department of State’s Office to Monitor and Combat Trafficking in Persons. The report analyzes foreign governments’ compliance with a set of “minimum standards” for eliminating human trafficking as detailed in the 2000 Trafficking Victims Protection Act (TVPA). These standards focus on the prohibition of various forms of human trafficking and the prescribing of penalties commensurate with serious crimes, as well as evidence of “serious and sustained efforts to eliminate severe forms of trafficking in persons.”³ The latter include a wide range of criteria that correspond to the Three P’s framework but are also considerably more specific than the standards described in the Palermo Protocol (Trafficking Victims Protection Act of 2000, §108, as amended).

One of the most visible elements of the report is the assignation of national governments to one of three “tiers” denoting their level of compliance with the TVPA standards. Tier 1 countries fully meet the minimum standards. Tier 2 countries do not fully meet the standards but are making “significant efforts” toward compliance. A subset of Tier 2 countries is placed on the Tier 2 Watch List if the estimated number of trafficked persons is “very significant or is significantly increasing and the country is not taking proportional concrete actions,” and if there is insufficient evidence of increasing efforts to combat trafficking over the previous year. Finally, Tier 3 countries neither meet the TVPA minimum standards nor demonstrate significant efforts to do so (U.S. Department of State 2024a). In some cases, the threat of assignment to Tier 2 or higher and the associated reputational and economic costs can be a significant source of pressure on states to boost their anti-trafficking efforts, particularly through legislation and penalization.

Limitations of Thin Anti-Trafficking Norms

In a passionately argued essay, Roza Pati (2014, 21), a noted expert on human trafficking, former Albanian member of parliament, and member of the Pontifical Council of Justice and Peace, writes that the criminalization of human trafficking is insufficient because it fails to address trafficking’s deep societal roots. She ascribes trafficking in part to global poverty, overwhelming material demand, globalization, the concentration of capital and its movement to places far from the site of production, cultural predilections, and modernity’s absence of a sense of human solidarity (Pati 2014, 21). To end modern slavery, she argues, it is necessary to go beyond criminalization to addressing the societal conditions that generate it.

Such an approach demands a critical evaluation of what societies value and what it costs to obtain or preserve it. This is emphatically a moral enterprise but also a controversial one susceptible to accusations of political opportunism. This gives the Catholic Church a potential advantage in shaping transnational moral norms. Because its mission is fundamentally religious, its approach to human trafficking begins with moral considerations rather than political ones. While this can lead to accusations of impracticality, the Church’s religious beliefs also provide the basis for a more comprehensive and consistent anti-trafficking framework. Such a framework is not static but rather subject to reflection in the context of historical circumstances and developing theological understanding. The next chapter explores how this framework has developed over time and how it shapes the Church’s efforts to shape transnational anti-trafficking norms.

Notes

It is worth noting, though, that the appropriateness of the term “white slavery” was questioned even during the drafting conference for the 1904 Agreement (Allain 2017, 7–8).

For accession status and objections, see: https://treaties.un.org/doc/Publication/MTDSG/Volume%20II/Chapter%20XVIII/XVIII-12-a.en.pdf.

The minimum standards are:

The government of the country should prohibit severe forms of trafficking in persons and punish acts of such trafficking.

For the knowing commission of any act of sex trafficking involving force, fraud, coercion, or in which the victim of sex trafficking is a child incapable of giving meaningful consent, or of trafficking which includes rape or kidnapping or which causes a death, the government of the country should prescribe punishment commensurate with that for grave crimes, such as forcible sexual assault.

For the knowing commission of any act of a severe form of trafficking in persons, the government of the country should prescribe punishment that is sufficiently stringent to deter and that adequately reflects the heinous nature of the offense.

The government of the country should make serious and sustained efforts to eliminate severe forms of trafficking in persons.

(Trafficking Victims Protection Act of 2000, §108, as amended).

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8 How the Church Thickens Transnational Anti-Trafficking Norms

DOI: 10.4324/9780429457364-8

The first impression of “Let the Oppressed Go Free,” Timothy Schmalz’s imposing bronze sculpture in Schio, Italy, is one of a surging mass of humanity. Crammed onto a platform 22.5 feet long and only four feet wide are 100 life-sized figures depicting various survivors of human trafficking of different ages and cultural backgrounds as they climb up through a trapdoor. Their expressions are as varied as their appearances—anguish, fear, exhaustion, stoicism, determination, hope. A closer look at the figures yields disturbing hints about the ordeals they have endured. A woman in a short revealing dress, platform heels, and a large dollar sign tattooed on her chest stands behind a thin, grizzled bare-chested man, his ribs showing prominently through his skin. A boy in tattered clothes stretches out his hand, palm upturned. A young girl in scanty lingerie holds a doll as she gazes upward with a forlorn expression. A woman in a robe grips a feather duster. A bride, her face veiled, roses in her hand, sits pressed between a turbaned laborer and a young child beggar holding his bowl. An exhausted man lies with his head resting on the back of another woman, his shirt lifted up to reveal a surgical scar. Children at the front of the crowd rush ahead, including a sorrowful-looking young boy wearing ammunition pouches and holding an assault rifle. A woman emerging from the trapdoor, her lower half still hidden, stretches out her arm, her face in an expression of exultation. As Schmalz explains, their emergence from a trapdoor alludes to the hidden nature of human trafficking (Schmalz 2021).

At the very back of the sculpture, holding open the trapdoor, stands a woman in the distinctive habit and veil of the Canossian Daughters of Charity—Sister Josephine Bakhita, the patron saint of trafficked persons. Born around 1870 in the Darfur region of Sudan, Bakhita was kidnapped by slave traders at the age of nine and sold to various masters, enduring beatings and at one point an excruciating forcible scarification (Troutt Powell 2012, 191). In 1882, she was purchased by the Italian consul in Khartoum and traveled with him and his family to Italy when he was recalled home in 1884. Though slavery was illegal in Italy, it was not uncommon for domestic servants from Africa to be treated as slaves. The consul subsequently gave Bakhita to the Michieli family, who owned a hotel in Sudan, and Bakhita worked as a nanny to their daughter. When the family traveled to Sudan, they left Bakhita in the care of a devoutly Catholic friend who, in turn, arranged for her to stay with the Canossian Daughters of Venice. It was there that Bakhita began religious instruction toward baptism and discovered that she was legally a free person (Troutt Powell 2012, 191–192; Bonazza 2023, 234–235). When Bakhita’s mistress returned to Italy to take her back to Sudan, Bakhita refused to leave the convent. A highly publicized court case ensued, in which the Church successfully challenged the right of Bakhita’s mistress to own her. In 1890, Bakhita was baptized into the Catholic Church, taking the name Giuseppina Margherita. In 1896, following a three-year novitiate, she took her final vows as a sister of the Canossian Daughters of Charity (Troutt Powell 2012, 192). As a nun, Sister Bakhita lived at the Canossian convent in Schio and spoke frequently of her experiences as a slave to a wide audience. After her death in 1947, her supporters began to compile documentation to advance her cause for sainthood. In 1978, Pope John Paul II declared Josephine Bakhita “Venerable,” the first step toward canonization. In 1992, he declared her “Blessed” and in 2000, he canonized her a saint.

Since then, Saint Josephine Bakhita has been invoked as the patron of trafficked persons, as well as of Sudan. On several occasions, Pope John Paul II and Pope Benedict XVI mentioned Bakhita, though primarily in the context of calling for an end to the Sudanese civil war or in highlighting her personal virtues of forgiveness, faith, and hope in God (Pope John Paul II 1992, 2000; Pope Benedict XVI 2007, §3–§5). However, Pope Francis greatly elevated Bakhita’s role in the Catholic Church’s fight against human trafficking when in 2015 he declared her feast day, February 8, as the International Day of Prayer and Awareness against Human Trafficking, capping an initiative led by the International Union of Superiors General and the Union of Superiors General, which respectively represented the leaders of women’s and men’s consecrated religious communities. Catholic doctrine holds that the saints in heaven intercede for humanity through their prayers to God (Catechism of the Catholic Church 1997, §956). By highlighting Josephine Bakhita as the patron saint of those caught up in human trafficking, the Church created a compelling symbol around which to focus anti-trafficking advocacy. It also emphasized that the fight against human trafficking was divinely sanctioned and directly benefited by prayer, including Bakhita’s own prayers from Heaven.

On January 1, 2015, a month before he instituted the International Day of Prayer and Awareness against Human Trafficking, Pope Francis delivered an address reflecting upon the plight of modern slaves. Although he mentioned poverty, lack of education or work opportunities, corruption, and violence as causes of slavery, Francis argued that the root of slavery was the idea that human beings were objects to be used: “Whenever sin corrupts the human heart and distances us from our Creator and our neighbors, the latter are no longer regarded as beings of equal dignity, as brothers and sisters sharing a common humanity, but as objects” (Pope Francis 2015b, §4). According to Francis, the role of the Church in combating slavery is to show

to all the path of conversion, which enables us to change the way we see our neighbors, to recognize in every other person a brother or sister in the human family, and to acknowledge his or her intrinsic dignity in truth and freedom.

(Pope Francis 2015b, §6)

While he also called for international cooperation among states and civil society to develop institutional responses to trafficking, he was more concerned with the notion of human dignity. He invoked Saint Josephine Bakhita as an example of someone who became a “free daughter of God” through her faith and lived a life of service to others, especially the marginalized. He concluded by calling for “acts of fraternity” toward those in slavery and to reject indifference:

We know that God will ask each of us: What did you do for your brother? The globalization of indifference, which today burdens the lives of so many of our brothers and sisters, requires all of us to forge a new worldwide solidarity and fraternity capable of giving them new hope….

(Pope Francis 2015b, §6)

The example of Saint Josephine Bakhita illustrates one way in which the Catholic Church departs from transnational norms against human trafficking even as it aligns itself with the international community in combating it. For the Church, human trafficking is first and foremost a moral problem that derives from how people understand who they are and how they relate to others. Who is a slave? What does it mean to free a slave? What does it mean to think of a trafficked person as a brother or sister? The Church’s answers proceed from religious understandings of who people are with respect to God and what it means to have human dignity. While this often generates convergence with international anti-trafficking norms, it also means that the Church’s interests in combating human trafficking are only part of a much larger effort to transform societies.

This chapter discusses how the Catholic Church has sought to thicken transnational norms against human trafficking. By defining identities and relationships through various theological teachings, the Church establishes a basis for how human beings ought to be treated. The first section explores how the Church shifted from condoning slavery for much of its history to condemning it with increasing forcefulness after World War II. With the Second Vatican Council, the Church embraced human rights and unequivocally rejected slavery as a grave violation of human dignity. The concepts of solidarity—acting to promote equal justice in recognition of everyone’s shared dignity—and fraternity further developed the moral basis for a fundamental reorientation of societal values of which eliminating human trafficking was a part.

Through various public statements and teachings by the popes, the Church has sought to explain why human trafficking is a moral wrong and, crucially, what its moral origins are. The second section examines the teachings of Popes John Paul II, Benedict XVI, and Francis on human trafficking. While such teachings tended to emphasize sexual exploitation and the cultural factors that enable it, under Pope Francis the Church has developed a more comprehensive set of explanations connecting different forms of human trafficking to broader cultural dynamics. Such explanations have given rise to a holistic approach to human trafficking that extends beyond the “Four P’s” framework (prosecution, protection, prevention, partnerships) to include the reintegration of trafficking survivors into communities, the protection of trafficking survivors’ dignity, and a critical evaluation of societal factors that drive the demand for trafficked persons or generate obstacles to their safety. The Church’s approach has been aided by Francis’s ecclesiological orientation, which has discarded concerns about how welcoming migrants (especially non-Christians) might undermine Catholic communities in host countries. Instead, Francis has emphasized the fundamental unity of all people irrespective of religious background and the moral imperative to welcome strangers.

The third section examines how the Church actively works to shape institutions to advance its vision of anti-trafficking, both at the multilateral intergovernmental level (notably in helping to shape the UN Global Compact for Safe, Orderly, and Regular Migration) and by cultivating specifically Catholic anti-trafficking organizations, such as the Santa Marta Group and the Talitha Kum network. Such institutions have worked to apply the Church’s anti-trafficking teachings, focusing especially on the deeper moral and societal ideas that make trafficking possible. The conclusion discusses how the Church’s emphasis on human dignity, morality, and root causes complements the emerging multilateral consensus on how to address human trafficking and facilitates the development of new partnerships with governments. Yet, because the Church takes specific moral positions on issues that it identifies as fueling trafficking (e.g. consumerism, migration, or commercial sex), this convergence is only partial.

Defining Identities and Relationships: From the Curse of Ham to Human Dignity and Fraternity

In thinking about human trafficking, the Church focuses first on defining identities and relationships. Specifically, who are the people ensnared in human trafficking? What is their relationship to God and the rest of humanity? From there, the Church has developed teachings about how people are to treat one another and how social forces both result from and impinge upon those actions. Since the Second Vatican Council, the Church has emphasized human trafficking and slavery as violations of human dignity. However, it is important to acknowledge that the Church’s teachings in this area reflect historical conditions even as they claim rootedness in purportedly immutable truths. Indeed, for much of its history, the Church devoted little energy to abolishing slavery or the slave trade and often lent its moral authority to justifying them.

During the era of European exploration and colonization, papal bulls provided religious sanction for the conquest of newly “discovered” territories and the dispossession and enslavement of their inhabitants. For example, Dum Diversas (1452) and Romanus Pontifex (1455), both promulgated by Pope Nicholas V, respectively gave King Don Alfonso V and Prince Henry the Navigator of Portugal “full and free permission…to invade, search out, capture, conquer and subjugate all Saracens and pagans whatsoever and other enemies of Christ wherever they exist […] and to bring their persons into perpetual slavery” (Pope Nicholas V 1917, 25). Slavery was widespread among Catholic communities in the American colonies, fueled by a mixture of colonial racial ideology and religious justification. The American colony of Maryland, founded by English Catholics in 1632, established the first race-based legalization of slavery in the British colonies, and slaveholding among Maryland’s white Catholics became “a way of life” (Pasquier 2018, 176–77). Prominent slaveholders included the Jesuit community, which by 1838 owned 272 slaves before they sold them to a Louisiana planter (Pasquier 2018, 176–177).

It was not until 1839 that the Vatican formally condemned the slave trade in Pope Gregory XVI’s papal bull, In Supremo Apostalatus Fastigio. Gregory issued the bull largely at the urging of Great Britain, which had abolished slavery in its colonies and mounted a diplomatic campaign to curtail the transatlantic slave trade (Noonan Jr. 2005, 107–108). While the bull condemned the slave trade, it did not condemn the practice of slavery, arguing instead that the apostles had taught slaves “to obey their carnal masters as Christ, and to do the will of God from the heart” (Pope Gregory XVI 1839). However, it praised the manumission of slaves “who might deserve it” and decried the slave trade in “Indians, negroes, or other men of this sort” (Pope Gregory XVI 1839). The effect of In Supremo on the slave trade was felt less because of its moral force than because of British naval power. Indeed, Catholic bishops in the United States took pains to separate Gregory’s condemnation of the international slave trade from the institution of slavery itself (Noonan Jr. 2005, 107–109). The Church’s tolerance and even approval of slavery was partly rooted in the widespread belief that Black Africans were descendants of Noah’s son Ham and thus divinely cursed to be enslaved in retribution for Ham’s mocking of Noah’s nakedness, as described in Genesis 9:20–27 (Adiele 2017, 174–178). As late as 1870, at the convocation of the First Vatican Council, Pope Pius IX decreed prayers “for the most wretched Ethiopians in Central Africa, that Almighty God may at length remove the curse of Cham [Ham] from their hearts, and grant them the blessing to be found only in Jesus Christ, our God and Lord” (“Prayer to Implore the Conversion of the Descendants of Cham in Central Africa” 1878).

Throughout the remainder of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the Catholic Church made no concerted attempt to abolish slavery. As it had with the transatlantic slave trade, the Church took its cues from the norm of abolition set by other states rather than engaging in norm entrepreneurship. Remarkably, it did so with little apparent papal reflection or justification. Following Brazil’s decision to abolish slavery in 1888 (nearly a quarter-century after the United States had done so), Pope Leo XIII congratulated the Brazilian bishops in the encyclical In Plurimis. He declared that “the condition of slavery […] is deeply to be deplored; for the system is one which is wholly opposed to that which was originally ordained by God and by nature” (Pope Leo XIII 1888). This was a dramatic departure from In Supremo’s assertion that the apostles preached that slaves ought to obey their masters.

Two years later, Leo promulgated Catholicae Ecclesiae, which proclaimed an annual collection for African missions primarily for eliminating slavery. The letter claimed that the Catholic Church “from the beginning sought to completely eliminate slavery,” that previous popes had “applied every effort to eliminate the institution of slavery wherever it existed” and that “[t]hey also took care lest the seeds of slavery return to those places from which this evil institution had been cut away” (Pope Leo XIII 1890). But, although Catholicae Ecclesiae mentioned “incontestable historical documents which attest” to the Church’s “zeal…for liberating the slaves,” it did not cite even one (Pope Leo XIII 1890). Leo simply wrote as if the Church’s abolitionist stance were already self-evident. As Fr. John Francis Maxwell (1975, 117–119) convincingly argues, Leo’s claims were unfounded. While Leo’s proclamations were significant for officially condemning slavery from the highest level of the Church hierarchy, it was not yet rooted in any redefinition of who slaves were or how they related to the Church.

Human Dignity as a Framework for Understanding Slavery

Of central importance for redefining the Church’s relationship with slavery (and by extension, human trafficking) was the evolving concept of human dignity. The Catholic theological tradition of human dignity is rooted in the biblical idea that mankind is created in the image of God (“imago Dei”) (Genesis 1:26–27).¹ Saint Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) argued that man was unique in the capability for rational thought and thus for understanding God. Man’s ultimate purpose, he claimed, was to be united with God in the “beatific vision” (Aquinas 1955–1957, Book III, Chs. 25, 37). To pursue this goal, Aquinas argued that man required freedom in order to pursue the contemplation of God: freedom from the passions (which requires the moral virtues and prudence) and freedom from external disorders (the responsibility for which lay with the government and civil life) (Aquinas 1955–1957, Book III, Ch. 37). Aquinas was not interested in human rights or egalitarianism but rather the freedom to attain the beatific vision (Cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church 1997, §1701–1704). His understanding of man as created in the imago Dei did not lead him to reject slavery, which he justified as a punishment for the slave’s sins (Brady 2021, 6–7). Nevertheless, the idea that man enjoyed a certain dignity as a rational being laid the groundwork for further development.

Human Dignity and Human Rights

The idea of human dignity as something that entailed fundamental rights came relatively late to the Church. The anti-clericalism of the French Revolution made the popes deeply suspicious of secular human rights and liberalism, as illustrated by papal proclamations such as Mirari Vos (1832) and the Syllabus of Errors (1864), which vigorously condemned principles such as freedom of the press and religious liberty (Pope Gregory XVI 1832; Pope Pius IX 1864). But, dehumanizing conditions brought about by industrialization and urbanization led the Church to consider how human dignity might give rise to certain rights (if not the same ones advanced by liberals).

In 1891, six months after he promulgated inflated claims about the Church’s anti-slavery credentials in Catholicae Ecclesiae, Pope Leo XIII issued Rerum Novarum, a landmark encyclical that connected human dignity to the idea that man has rights that precede the state. Leo argued that because man was made in the imago Dei and destined for union with God, man had a right to pursue that union free from impediment.

No man may with impunity outrage that human dignity which God Himself treats with great reverence, nor stand in the way of that higher life which is the preparation of the eternal life of heaven. […] To consent to any treatment which is calculated to defeat the end and purpose of his being is beyond his right, he cannot give up his soul to servitude, for it is not man’s own rights which are here in question, but the rights of God, the most sacred and inviolable of rights.

(Pope Leo XIII 1891, §40)

On this basis—not of human rights but rather humanity’s imperative to achieve God’s purpose for them—Leo argued for labor protections such as allowing Sunday rest, a living wage, and the right to unionize, as well as the state’s obligation to safeguard individual rights for wealthy and working-class alike (Pope Leo XIII 1891, §33, §37, §40–§49).

The experiences of totalitarianism, the Second World War, and the Holocaust stimulated further thinking in the Church about the relationship between human dignity and human rights. In a 1942 address, Pope Pius XII argued that a peaceful, ordered society required respect for the God-given dignity of the human person which, in turn, required respect for fundamental personal rights, including the right to develop one’s corporal, intellectual, and moral life and to choose freely one’s state in life (Pope Pius XII 1942). But, it was not until Pope John XXIII’s 1963 encyclical Pacem in Terris, issued during the Second Vatican Council, that the Church formally linked human dignity to human rights.

Pacem in Terris proceeds from the recognition that because man is naturally “endowed with intelligence and free will,” he also has certain rights and duties that “are universal and inviolable, and therefore altogether inalienable” (Pope John XXIII 1963, §9). This clearly draws inspiration from the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, but John attributes these rights to man’s status in relationship to God: “Men have been ransomed by the blood of Jesus Christ. Grace has made them sons and friends of God, and heirs to eternal glory” (Pope John XXIII 1963, §10). From this definition of who human beings are, John argued that they were entitled to a broad range of rights, including the right to live, the right to bodily integrity, and to meet basic needs such as food, clothing, shelter, and medical care (Pope John XXIII 1963, §11). Pacem in Terris also endorsed freedom of speech, publication (“within the limits of the moral order and the common good”), and religion (Pope John XXIII 1963, §12, §14). It conceptualized these rights as reciprocal rather than absolute. Natural rights gave rise to corresponding duties, while respecting the dignity of all required balancing individual rights with the common good (Hollenbach 2013, 9–10). For this reason, Pacem in Terris held that society needed authority to ensure order and prosperity, but also that such authority could not impose itself through force, intimidation, or reward, as doing so “would certainly be offensive to the dignity of free and rational human beings” (Pope John XXIII 1963, §46–§47).

This link between human dignity and human rights was further strengthened in Gaudium et Spes (1965), the Pastoral Constitution of the Catholic Church, which affirmed the “sublime dignity of human persons, who stand above all things and whose rights and duties are universal and inviolable” (Gaudium et Spes 1965, §26). Gaudium et Spes also emphasized how dignity imposed obligations to respect it:

[E]verybody should look upon his or her neighbor (without any exception) as another self, bearing in mind especially their neighbor’s life and the means needed for a dignified way of life, lest they follow the example of the rich man who ignored Lazarus, who was poor.

Today, there is an inescapable duty to make ourselves the neighbor of every individual, without exception, and to take positive steps to help a neighbor whom we encounter, whether that neighbor be an elderly person abandoned by everyone, a foreign worker who suffers the injustice of being despised, a refugee, an illegitimate child wrongly suffering for a sin of which the child is innocent, or a starving human being who awakens our conscience by calling to mind the words of Christ: “As you did it to one of the least of these my brothers or sisters, you did it to me” (Matthew 25:40).

(Gaudium et Spes 1965, §27)

In these passages, the Second Vatican Council affirmed that human beings’ intrinsic dignity imposed a religious duty to respect all, without exception.

The Church’s affirmation of human rights as deriving from human dignity gave rise to a new interpretation of slavery as an offense against human dignity, which Gaudium et Spes lists along with subhuman living conditions, prostitution, degrading working conditions, arbitrary imprisonment, and deportation. Such offenses, it declared, “poison civilization,” “debase the perpetrators more than the victims and militate against the honor of the creator” (Gaudium et Spes 1965, §27). While this condemnation of slavery appeared to be a minor gesture, buried within a litany of other moral offenses and given no additional elaboration, it was important because it affirmed slaves’ entitlement to dignity and declared a religious obligation to end it. Although it was long overdue, the Church’s condemnation of slavery in one of its fundamental documents gave anti-trafficking advocates a justification for pushing human trafficking higher on the Church’s agenda.

Solidarity

By declaring slavery to be an offense against human dignity, Gaudium et Spes also framed the elimination of slavery as one element of a much larger vision of society. The broad ethical implications of human dignity are described by the concept of solidarity, which is a focal point of Pope Paul VI’s 1967 encyclical, Populorum Progressio. He described solidarity as the fact of belonging to a “community of man,” which imposes an ethical obligation on individuals and nations—particularly the wealthy—to assist those in need, whether through supporting projects to help the needy, paying higher taxes to facilitate development, or paying higher prices for imports so that a foreign producer may make a fairer profit. More fundamentally, the duty imposed by solidarity included not only “fighting wretched conditions” but also to building a community of equality free from discrimination and “servitude to other men or to natural forces which they cannot yet control satisfactorily” and “where the needy Lazarus can sit down with the rich man at the same banquet table” (Pope Paul VI 1967, §47).

Pope John Paul II expanded on the concept of solidarity in his 1987 encyclical Sollicitudo Rei Socialis (1987). He described it as “a firm and persevering determination to commit oneself to the common good; that is to say to the good of all and of each individual, because we are really responsible for all” (Pope John Paul II 1987, §38). This derives from the recognition that peoples and nations exist in a state of interdependence. Here, solidarity is not a fact of interdependence but rather a virtue to be practiced. John Paul writes:

Solidarity helps us to see the “other”-whether a person, people or nation-not just as some kind of instrument, with a work capacity and physical strength to be exploited at low cost and then discarded when no longer useful, but as our “neighbor,” a “helper” (cf. Gen 2:18–20), to be made a sharer, on a par with ourselves, in the banquet of life to which all are equally invited by God.

(Pope John Paul II 1987, §39)

At a basic level, then, solidarity can be thought of as recognizing in others their equal share in human dignity and treating them as equals. But, John Paul wrote that solidarity can be Christianized by recognizing the imago Dei in all human beings. Hence, one’s neighbor is

not only a human being with his or her own rights and a fundamental equality with everyone else, but…the living image of God the Father, redeemed by the blood of Jesus Christ and placed under the permanent action of the Holy Spirit.

(Pope John Paul II 1987, §40)

This imposes an ethical obligation more rigorous than that demanded by equality; it demands love of neighbor, “even if an enemy, with the same love with which the Lord loves him or her,” even to the point of sacrificing one’s own life for them (Pope John Paul II 1987, §40).

The principle of solidarity underscores how for the Church, slavery (and, by extension, human trafficking) could not be viewed in isolation from other violations of human dignity. To take solidarity and human dignity seriously is to accept that dehumanization of any sort—whether through exploitation, physical maltreatment, exclusion, or some other form—can never be justified. One could not champion the abolishment of slavery and yet demonize one’s political opponents as enemies to be destroyed or reject efforts to alleviate economic inequality. A focus on human trafficking as a violation of human dignity necessarily widens the view beyond criminalization and prosecution to include root causes—to the individual and societal ideas and practices that uphold or violate human dignity.

Fraternity

While human dignity imposes an obligation to respect the rights of all and solidarity focuses on achieving justice and equality within a community, Pope Benedict XVI and Pope Francis have developed the concept of fraternity to describe a sense of universal connectedness that, in turn, motivates the dismantling of cultural barriers. Benedict (2009a, §19), describes fraternity as something that cannot be derived through reason alone but instead “originates in a transcendent vocation from God the Father, who loved us first, teaching us through the Son what fraternal charity is.” He argues that what distinguishes fraternity is the idea of “gratuitousness.” The love that God holds for humanity is given freely as a gift without any obligation of reciprocity. In like manner, human relations cannot be governed solely by principles of “commutative justice” manifested in the market and the law (Zamagni 2021).

The idea of a generous love for all born of God’s love for humanity finds further development in Pope Francis’s 2020 encyclical Fratelli Tutti. In it, Francis elaborates upon “a fraternal openness that allows us to acknowledge, appreciate and love each person, regardless of physical proximity, regardless of where he or she was born or lives” (Pope Francis 2020, §1). Fraternity is not a function of biological family, nor is it brotherhood insofar as brotherhood creates distinctions between those who are included and excluded (Zamagni 2021). Francis underscores this by reflecting upon the parable of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10:25–37. The parable, he explains, encapsulates the universal interior struggle over whether to include or exclude a person who is suffering. He observes that when confronted by the man beaten by robbers and left on the side of the road, the remaining characters in the parable are no longer defined by their race, religion, or state in life, but only by whether they stopped to help or instead passed by (Pope Francis 2020, §70). Francis notes that the passers-by were Judeans like the victim and also religious—a priest and a Levite, demonstrating that

belief in God and worship of God are not enough to ensure that we are actually living in a way pleasing to God. […] Paradoxically, those who claim to be unbelievers can sometimes put God’s will into practice better than believers.

(Pope Francis 2020, §74)

He also reminds readers that the Samaritans were considered “impure, detestable, dangerous,” making the actions of the Good Samaritan even more remarkable (Pope Francis 2020, §82).

Francis concludes the exegesis by openly wondering “why, in light of this, it took so long for the Church unequivocally to condemn slavery and various forms of violence” and noting that “[s]till, there are those who appear to feel encouraged or at least permitted by their faith to support varieties of narrow and violent nationalism, xenophobia and contempt, and even the mistreatment of those who are different” (Pope Francis 2020, §86). Against this, Francis recommends that

catechesis and preaching speak more directly and clearly about the social meaning of existence, the fraternal dimension of spirituality, our conviction of the inalienable dignity of each person, and our reasons for loving and accepting all our brothers and sisters.

(Pope Francis 2020, §86)

Together, the concepts of human dignity, solidarity, and fraternity provide a distinctly Catholic understanding of who people are in relation to one another. Recognizing that all people are created in the imago Dei imposes moral obligations to treat each other with respect and, moreover, to respect their human rights. Solidarity emerges from a recognition that people’s fates are linked and that in sharing common human dignity, they are entitled to treatment as equals. This, in turn, directs attention to justice and to redressing those elements of society that militate against equality. Fraternity goes beyond the reciprocal and obligatory nature of justice and emphasizes a gratuitous love for others that excludes no one, deriving from God’s gift of love to humanity that reaches its apotheosis in Jesus’s self-sacrifice on the Cross.

By viewing human trafficking through the lenses of human dignity, solidarity, and fraternity, the magnitude of the problem and the need for fundamental societal change become apparent. The Palermo Protocol’s focus on prosecuting traffickers is an important step in furthering solidarity by addressing impunity for violating victims’ human dignity. However, a focus on prosecution does not address the deeper culture that drives demand for trafficked labor. Nor does it address the ways in which people and societies dehumanize others in their minds long before trafficking happens. For Catholic social teaching, it will not suffice to attack human trafficking directly; there must also be a fundamental rethinking of how people understand who they are in relation to the other. This is apparent in the popes’ explanations of why human trafficking exists and how to address it.

Explaining Human Trafficking: From Pope John Paul II to Pope Francis

While Vatican II established human dignity as a basis for the Church’s rejection of slavery, human trafficking was not specifically addressed by the Church’s leadership until the pontificates of John Paul II (1978–2005) and Benedict XVI (2005–2013). Both popes affirmed human trafficking as violations of human dignity. In explaining the causes of human trafficking and how the Church ought to respond to it, John Paul and Benedict focused attention on what they considered to be the moral roots of trafficking, particularly sexual immorality. They also evinced a broader concern with how the fight against trafficking was linked to definitions of the Catholic community.

Pope John Paul II

In 2002, Pope John Paul II issued a letter to Archbishop Jean-Louis Tauran, Secretary for Relations with States, for a conference on human trafficking organized by members of the diplomatic corps accredited to the Holy See. In it, he associated the growth of human trafficking with globalization, calling it “a serious threat to the security of individual nations and a question of international justice which cannot be deferred” (Pope John Paul II 2002). This was the first major papal statement to address human trafficking directly.

John Paul declared human trafficking to be an intrinsic violation of human dignity and rights, meaning that it could never be morally justified under any circumstances. Unlike the Palermo Protocol, which sidestepped questions about the demand for trafficked labor, the Pope pointed directly to cultural factors. However, reflecting prevailing understandings of human trafficking, John Paul’s letter focused exclusively on sex trafficking. He called the sexual exploitation of women and children “particularly repugnant” and “an intrinsic violation of human dignity and rights” (Pope John Paul II 2002). He explicitly rejected the idea that commercial sex work could constitute legitimate work, describing it as “evidence of a growing tendency to detach freedom from the moral law and to reduce the rich mystery of human sexuality to a mere commodity” (Pope John Paul II 2002). He also called for “an examination of the lifestyles and models of behavior, particularly with regard to the image of women, which generate what has become a veritable industry of sexual exploitation in the developed countries” (Pope John Paul II 2002). In migrant-sending countries, the Pope emphasized the “need to develop more effective mechanisms for the prevention of trafficking in persons and the reintegration of its victims” (Pope John Paul II 2002).

Erga Migrantes Caritas Christi

In 2004, the Pontifical Council for Migrants and Travelers issued Erga Migrantes Caritas Christi (hereafter “Erga Migrantes”), which laid out Church norms for the pastoral care of migrants. While it did not directly address human trafficking or establish institutions, it did lay out a religiously justified framework to aid and integrate migrants into society. This framework would later be applied to survivors of human trafficking. Erga Migrantes ascribed migration—including “irregular migration” through trafficking—to “social and economic imbalances” and “the dangers of an uncontrolled globalization” (Pontifical Council for the Pastoral Care of Migrants and Itinerant People 2004, §29). It pointed to cultural pluralism within the Church and how diverse cultures manifest different facets of the same faith as guiding values for integrating migrants. This was a call to venture beyond a legalistic tolerance to embracing the “positive aspects” of cultural “others” as a step toward proclaiming the Gospel (Pontifical Council for the Pastoral Care of Migrants and Itinerant People 2004, §36).

While Erga Migrantes exhorted Christians to assist migrants and support legislation allowing them “their due place in society while respecting their identity as foreigners,” it also urged Christians to foster a “culture of welcome,” which comprised short-term assistance such as migrants’ hospitality centers and emergency shelters, as well as “acts of welcome in its full sense” aimed at integrating migrants into society (Pontifical Council for the Pastoral Care of Migrants and Itinerant People 2004, §29, §43). This also entailed a cultural shift in the Church in the host country, including by becoming aware of the various problems that shape migration and “the need to oppose baseless suspicions and offensive prejudices against foreigners” (Pontifical Council for the Pastoral Care of Migrants and Itinerant People 2004, §41). Erga Migrantes justified this approach with reference to the parable of the sheep and goats in Matthew 25:40–45 by noting that “good done out of love of God to one’s neighbor, especially the most needy, is done to Him” (Pontifical Council for the Pastoral Care of Migrants and Itinerant People 2004, §41).

Perhaps unusually for a document about migration, Erga Migrantes devoted considerable space to discussing how to welcome and integrate migrants into Church communities while also maintaining the integrity of Catholic teaching. Thus, for instance, while encouraging ecumenical prayer and dialog with migrant communities, it also cautioned against religious relativism and syncretism (Pontifical Council for the Pastoral Care of Migrants and Itinerant People 2004, §48). Catholics were to engage in dialog with “the conviction that the Church is the ordinary means of salvation and that she alone possesses the fullness of the means of salvation” (Pontifical Council for the Pastoral Care of Migrants and Itinerant People 2004, §59). Erga Migrantes also discourages making Catholic churches and other sacred spaces available to non-Christians (though it encourages the use of social spaces in churches to promote migrants’ integration), reminds Catholic schools that they must not change their religious orientation as a result of accepting migrant children, discourages intermarriage between Catholics and non-Christian migrants, and emphasizes the importance of reciprocal treatment (Pontifical Council for the Pastoral Care of Migrants and Itinerant People 2004, §61–§64). Such concerns underscore how Erga Migrantes is an expression of thick norms. It understands migration not primarily as a matter of universal human rights, but rather within the framework of Catholic doctrine. For the Vatican, the imperative to welcome and integrate migrants was fully in keeping with Catholic teachings and identities, but only to the extent that such integration did not undermine them.

Pope Benedict XVI

Pope Benedict XVI reiterated the Church’s need to care for migrants but, following the framework of Erga Migrantes, emphasized that such care must be embedded within a Gospel framework. For example, in his 2010 World Day of Migrants and Refugees statement, Benedict cited Jesus’s teachings in Matthew’s Gospel that “I was a stranger and you welcomed me” and the Great Commandments to love God with all one’s heart, soul, and mind, and to love one’s neighbor as oneself. “This,” he continued,

leads us to consider that any of our concrete interventions must first be nurtured by faith in the action of grace and divine Providence. In this way also hospitality and solidarity to strangers, especially if they are children, become a proclamation of the Gospel of solidarity.

(Pope Benedict XVI 2009b)

Benedict described the Church’s role regarding migration as comprising four primary functions: (1) bearing witness to the “immense poverty and suffering” that accompanies migration; (2) creating programs to address emergencies; (3) highlighting the positive aspects of migration by facilitating migrants and refugees’ full integration into host societies, and (4) attending to the “religious dimension, fundamental for every person’s life” (Pope Benedict XVI 2012). The latter, Benedict emphasized, is the Church’s “most important and specific task,” involving ecumenical dialog and care of new communities, as well as establishing new pastoral structures for Catholic populations (Pope Benedict XVI 2012).

In his 2012 World Day of Migrants and Refugees message, Benedict highlighted the issues of “secularization, the emergence of new sectarian movements, widespread insensitivity to the Christian faith and a marked tendency to fragmentation” as hindering the formation of “one family of brothers and sisters in societies that are becoming ever more multiethnic and intercultural, where also people of various religions are urged to take part in dialog” (Pope Benedict XVI 2011). He emphasized the Church’s responsibility to support the faith of Christian migrants, especially when they emigrate to societies where Christians are a minority or where Christianity is “no longer a personal conviction or community religion” but instead “reduced to a cultural fact” (Pope Benedict XVI 2011).

Human trafficking received relatively little attention in Benedict’s statements, though his 2006 World Day of Migrants and Refugees statement has been frequently cited as one of his main explanations of the topic. This was made in the context of remarks about the situation of women migrant workers:

In this context it is necessary to mention trafficking in human beings—especially women—which flourishes where opportunities to improve their standard of living or even to survive are limited. It becomes easy for the trafficker to offer his own “services” to the victims, who often do not even vaguely suspect what awaits them. In some cases there are women and girls who are destined to be exploited almost like slaves in their work, and not infrequently in the sex industry, too.

Though I cannot here closely examine the analysis of the consequences of this aspect of migration, I make my own the condemnation voiced by John Paul II against “the widespread hedonistic and commercial culture which encourages the systematic exploitation of sexuality” (Letter of Pope John Paul II to Women, 29 June 1995, n. 5). This outlines a whole program of redemption and liberation from which Christians cannot withdraw.

(Pope Benedict XVI 2005)

Like John Paul II, Benedict’s statement on human trafficking emphasized the sexual exploitation of women and girls and explained that the demand for it was fueled by a “hedonistic and commercial culture.” There was, by contrast, little to no discussion of trafficking for non-sexual purposes. Instead, Benedict addressed human trafficking as part of a wider phenomenon of migration. In his 2013 statement, Benedict called for condemnation and prosecution of human trafficking and exploitation and suggested that potential victims of human trafficking could be partially protected by “an orderly migration policy which does not end up in a hermetic sealing of borders,” as well as “more severe sanctions against irregular migrants and the adoption of measures meant to discourage new entries, [which] could at least limit for many migrants the danger of falling prey to such forms of human trafficking” (Pope Benedict XVI 2012). Beyond legislation, though, he wrote about the need to form consciences and promote cooperation between Church and other institutions to promote the integral development of the human person.

Benedict’s views on migration and human trafficking illustrated a thickened approach that elaborates upon the norms laid out in the Palermo Protocol. His explanations regarding migration and human trafficking said little about human rights, law enforcement, or the causes of human trafficking beyond poverty and a culture of hedonism and commercialism. Rather, in keeping with his papacy’s emphasis on re-evangelizing Western societies and combating secularism, as well as the principles laid out in Erga Migrantes, Benedict’s views on migration focused on Christian migrants and how to maintain their fidelity to the Gospel and the Church. This emphasized the moral imperative to treat migrants hospitably and, moreover, to ensure their full integration into their new communities.

Pope Francis

Compared with his predecessors, Pope Francis has devoted considerably more attention to human trafficking. As a rough indicator of Francis’s relative concern with human trafficking, a search of the Holy See’s website for any documents with references to human trafficking yielded 99 results that mentioned only Pope John Paul II, 476 results that mentioned only Pope Benedict XVI, and 636 results that mentioned only Pope Francis.² His pontificate has been especially notable for the development of institutions within the Church for migrants and trafficking survivors, as well as for a greater willingness to affirm and actively shape thin anti-trafficking norms at the intergovernmental level.

In explaining why human trafficking occurs, Francis’s pontificate both converges with and diverges from the explanations proffered by international agreements. The Pastoral Orientations on Human Trafficking, issued in 2019 by the Migrants and Refugees Section of the Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development, parallel international secular agreements like the Palermo Protocol or the Global Plan of Action in several respects. For example, they employ the Palermo Protocol’s definition of human trafficking and explicitly distinguish between human trafficking and smuggling, though they argue that the line between the two is blurring (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2019, §9–§15). The Pastoral Orientations also point to changing economic conditions, natural disasters, wars, and other such disruptive events as important drivers of human trafficking, and note that awareness of human trafficking is often lacking, making it harder for people to avoid being exploited.

Yet, far beyond the rhetoric of the Palermo Protocol or the Global Plan of Action, the Pastoral Orientations focus on the social, economic, and cultural foundations that fuel human trafficking. They argue that human trafficking is symptomatic of a broader social malaise rooted in consumerism, egocentricity, utilitarianism, and an obsession with profit maximization (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2019, §17). This reflects Francis’s explanation of human trafficking as originating from of a “throwaway culture” in which people and materials are exploited, dehumanized, commodified, and subsequently discarded when they are no longer “useful” (“Audience with the participants in the International Day of Prayer and Awareness against Human Trafficking” 2018; Pope Francis 2015a, par. 22). There are clear parallels with John Paul II and Benedict XVI’s decrying how hedonism and commercialism fuel demand for trafficked labor. The “throwaway culture” is visible at numerous points in the trafficking process, from traffickers’ initial coercion or deception of victims, to the abuse of victims, to indifference or rejection by host governments eager to expel migrants, to stigmatization by family and friends. The great demand for trafficked labor across multiple sectors points to broadly shared responsibility for human trafficking, extending beyond traffickers themselves to employers and consumers who benefit from the fruits of trafficked labor. To end it, “all people will need to simplify their needs, control their habits, rein in their appetites” (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2019, §17).

As an antidote to the “throwaway culture,” Francis calls for a “culture of encounter” that recognizes all humans as made in the imago Dei and is actualized in meeting others (Pope Francis 2013). It values deep connections, especially with those who harbor different ideas, values, and perspectives, and rejects the idea that anyone is expendable (Pope Francis 2020, par. 215). With respect to human trafficking, a culture of encounter rejects commodifying human beings or reducing them to threats or objects of charity. Consistent with the principle of fraternity, Francis calls for a society where outsiders are welcomed and integrated into the community such that they can become full members and contributors. Welcoming and integrating the stranger requires sacrifice and a willingness to see beyond cultural differences to the brother or sister standing before oneself.

Although the Church endorses prosecution and punishment for traffickers, it also emphasizes “the conversion of hearts, cutting off demand in order to dry out the market” (Pope Francis 2018a). This includes awareness campaigns to address the demand for trafficking, moral education on responsible sexuality, faithful marriage, and ethical respect for others (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2019, §21, §24). In line with a focus on human trafficking as a systemic issue, recent Church teachings on trafficking explicitly reject punishment of trafficking survivors, including those pressed into prostitution, pornography, or other forms of sex work, “as if the degrading things they were forced to do were in fact their own fault” (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2019, §41). Rather than condemn victims of sex trafficking, the Church suggests criminalizing customers who sexually exploit them (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2019, §20). Survivors should be provided with support and healing from “trauma, stigma and social isolation” (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2019, §41). Given the Church’s frequent condemnations of extramarital sex and the stigmatization of sex workers as sinners, this official acknowledgment is important, though it does not go so far as to advocate measures to protect sex workers through regulation. Indeed, the Catechism of the Catholic Church, the most recent edition of which was published in 1997, still declares that “it is always gravely sinful to engage in prostitution,” though “the imputability of the offense can be attenuated by destitution, blackmail, or social pressure” (emphasis added) (Catechism of the Catholic Church 1997, §2355). Attenuating sinfulness is not the same thing as eliminating it, and the Catechism as written makes no exception for trafficking. Because of this, Pope Francis’s remarks can be seen as one important corrective to how the Church teaches about those who work in the commercial sex industry.

The Church has highlighted the need for programs to reintegrate survivors who have been released from human trafficking. It calls for host countries to grant trafficking survivors a residence permit, “specialized psychological assistance and alternative livelihoods before their eventual repatriation” (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2019, §44). On the other hand, it calls on sending countries to provide survivors with the means to return home safely (though never compulsorily), protection against retaliation from traffickers, as well as job training and access to employment (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2019, §45). For traffickers themselves, the Church advocates prosecution but also holds out hope that “[t]hrough witnessing to the merciful love of God, the faithful might also contribute to the conversion and rehabilitation of perpetrators of [human trafficking]” (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2019, §43). This reflects the principle that human dignity is universal and that the generous love described by fraternity knows no bounds.

The Pastoral Orientations also briefly mention the Four P’s framework in the context of building international cooperation. In his 2018 Message for the World Day of Migrants and Refugees, however, Francis called for a different framework of action, which he organized into welcoming, protecting, promoting, and integrating (Pope Francis 2018b). This can be seen as an elaboration of the framework in Erga Migrantes that called for both welcoming and integrating.

Welcoming, according to the Pastoral Orientations, means broadening migrants’ and refugees’ channels for safe and legal entry, such as by simplifying humanitarian visa application processes, providing dignified initial accommodation for arriving migrants and refugees, and using alternatives to detention for unauthorized arrivals.

Protecting broadly follows the UN’s aims to ensure migrants’ safety from pre-departure through arrival in the destination country, but emphasizes the protection of migrants’ and refugees’ rights and dignity irrespective of their legal status. The Pastoral Orientations proposed guaranteeing migrants’ and refugees’ rights to physically retain their identity documents at all times (thereby outlawing the practice of employers keeping migrant workers’ passports), to open a bank account, move about freely, and access means of communication. It also called on states to guarantee recognition of migrants’ and refugees’ nationalities, to end immigration-related detention for children, and to guarantee their regular access to primary and secondary education (Pope Francis 2018b).

Promoting means creating a hospitable environment within which migrants and refugees can thrive. This means, among other things, guaranteeing freedom of religious belief and practice, access to employment, language instruction and citizenship, labor protections, protection of family life (including facilitation of family reunifications), as well as access to humanitarian aid (Pope Francis 2018b).

Lastly, integrating refers to the long-term process of making migrants and refugees into full members of host societies. This does not mean simple assimilation into the host society, but rather a process of intercultural interaction such that people come to know each other better and welcome the enrichment that they bring to society. Here, Pope Francis called for the granting of citizenship without financial or linguistic requirements, special legislation to grant citizenship to long-term resident migrants, and increasing the opportunities for intercultural exchange and community building (Pope Francis 2018b).

The Church’s normative approach to human trafficking thickens the international anti-trafficking regime by emphasizing the need to view human trafficking within a comprehensive societal framework, one that goes beyond punishing traffickers and providing services to survivors, and that involves not only traffickers, survivors, and law enforcement but also businesses, consumers, and communities in both sending and receiving countries. Unlike the Palermo Protocol and the Global Plan of Action, the Church’s explanations consider in greater depth the cultural factors and social mores that can give rise to human trafficking. By connecting human trafficking to Gospel teachings about welcoming the stranger and treating all human beings as brothers and sisters, the Church established a moral basis for welcoming and directly aiding trafficking survivors without prejudice toward their religion or national identity.

Institutionalizing the Church’s Approach to Human Trafficking

The Intra-Ecclesial Level

The Church’s thickening of anti-trafficking norms also involved the creation of new institutions through which to advance those norms, particularly during Pope Francis’s pontificate. Many of these are subsumed within the Church’s organizational structure, including at the Vatican, within religious congregations of consecrated life, and the national and diocesan levels. There are also various independent grassroots organizations that may have a Catholic charism but are otherwise not officially connected with the Church. The activities that these institutions engage in include: (1) raising awareness of human trafficking within local communities; (2) advocating for policies to reduce or eliminate human trafficking; (3) providing services to trafficking survivors, such as shelter, counseling, work skills training, and legal assistance; (4) sharing information with selected parties, such as law enforcement, human rights organizations, and other Church organizations. There is significant overlap with the “Four P’s”—protection, prevention, prosecution, and partnerships—and with the “alternative verbs” suggested by Pope Francis—welcoming, protecting, promoting, and integrating.

Within the Church, Francis spearheaded the establishment of a new ministry-level organization, the Dicastery on Promoting Integral Human Development, which has played a key role in coordinating approaches to human trafficking. Established in 2016, the new dicastery merged four pontifical councils that dealt with the social teaching of the Church—the Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace, the Pontifical Council for the Pastoral Care of Migrants and Itinerant Peoples, the Pontifical Council for the Pastoral Assistance to Health Workers, and the Pontifical Council Cor Unum (responsible for the Church’s work with charitable organizations and ecumenical outreach).

Within the new Dicastery, a new Migrants and Refugees Section was established. Pope Francis appointed as co-Undersecretaries of the section Fr. Michael Czerny—a Jesuit who had served as adviser to Cardinal Turkson at the Pontifical Counsel for Justice and Peace—and Fr. Fabio Baggio—a Scalabrinian who directed the International Scalabrini Migration Center in Rome as well as the Scalabrini Migration Center in Quezon City in the Philippines. In 2019, Francis created Czerny a Cardinal and in 2022, appointed him as Prefect of the Dicastery for Integral Human Development. Francis also appointed Baggio as Undersecretary of the Dicastery while retaining him as Undersecretary of the Migrants and Refugees Section, underscoring the centrality of migration to the Dicastery’s mission.

Although the Migrants and Refugees Section handles the Vatican’s work regarding human trafficking and other migration-related matters, it is far from the only Catholic organization that does so. Religious congregations, in particular, have been at the leading edge of the Catholic Church’s efforts to combat trafficking in persons.

The most prominent of these anti-trafficking groups is Talitha Kum, the International Network of Consecrated Life against Trafficking in Persons, established by the UISG in 2009. “Talitha Kum” (Aramaic for “maiden, arise”) refers to an episode in Mark 5:21–43 when Jesus raises the young daughter of a synagogue leader back to life after her death. The global network has roots in the Philippines. In 2007, the late Sister Estrella Castalone, a member of the Salesian Sisters of Don Bosco and Co-Executive Secretary of the Association of Major Religious Superiors of the Philippines (AMRSP), established the Asia-Pacific Women Religious Against Trafficking in Humans (APWRATH. After concluding her term at the AMRSP, Sister Estrella was invited to work for the UISG in Rome, where she developed a series of anti-trafficking training modules. These modules became the genesis of Talitha Kum’s activities (Interview with Religious Sister 2, February 2018). From 2010 to 2014, Sister Estrella served as Talitha Kum’s first coordinator.

Talitha Kum is envisioned as a “network of networks,” led by religious sisters mainly at the national level to coordinate anti-trafficking efforts among various religious congregations. Its anti-trafficking activities include policy advocacy, training religious personnel in identifying and responding to suspected trafficking, direct intervention to protect trafficked persons, and prayer. In 2022, Talitha Kum (2023, 48–49) reported supporting nearly 34,500 trafficking survivors and reaching over 440,000 people through its prevention programs and awareness-raising campaigns. As of 2024, there were over 50 national Talitha Kum networks worldwide on six continents.

A Talitha Kum training manual describes women religious as occupying a unique role in anti-trafficking by virtue of their rootedness in local communities and ability to “provide people with a charismatic vision of a lifestyle based on solidarity and care for others” (Talitha Kum Training Manual for Women Religious Active in the Prevention of Human Trafficking and Assisting Its Victims 2016, 38). Because trafficking is a disintegrating experience in which victims are separated from their inner selves and emotions, women religious can be important as a steady and orienting presence who live satisfying lives that clearly demarcate the sacred and the profane (Talitha Kum Training Manual for Women Religious Active in the Prevention of Human Trafficking and Assisting Its Victims 2016, 38). It is not only the techniques of counter-trafficking that make women religious effective, but the relationship that they have with their faith lives, which allows them to help victims develop a new set of values, build a new existence, and regain their dignity (Talitha Kum Training Manual for Women Religious Active in the Prevention of Human Trafficking and Assisting Its Victims 2016, 39). Beyond work with individual trafficked persons, Talitha Kum envisions women religious as modeling for the community what a rich and full life can look like—one that values relationships and not only material elements—and educating communities about human trafficking (Talitha Kum Training Manual for Women Religious Active in the Prevention of Human Trafficking and Assisting Its Victims 2016, 39).

In concrete terms, members of the Talitha Kum network have sheltered trafficked persons, provided mental health and legal counseling services to trafficking survivors, helped trafficking survivors learn new skills to find dignified employment, trained community members in trafficking prevention, and engaged in social media campaigns to raise awareness of trafficking. The flexibility of Talitha Kum’s networked structure allows individual religious congregations to carry out their anti-trafficking ministry in ways adapted to their local situations.

In the United Kingdom, a group of police chiefs and Catholic bishops organized under the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of England and Wales met in Rome in 2014 to discuss ways to combat human trafficking. In Pope Francis’s presence, they established the Santa Marta Group, which quickly became a prominent platform for counter-trafficking collaboration among law enforcement, clergy, and international organizations. In 2016, British Home Secretary Amber Rudd used a meeting of the Santa Marta Group to announce that the British government would allocate £14 million in aid for anti-slavery and anti-child trafficking programs, testifying to the Group’s visibility and the importance of its ties to the Catholic Church (Lamb 2016). The Group’s activities have included hosting international conferences on human trafficking and modern slavery with British police officials and policymakers to coordinate anti-trafficking approaches, lobbying the G20 to adopt a “No Tainted Money” principle to seize profits from human traffickers for reparations and compensation to victims (Santa Marta Group 2023), developing a smartphone app for users to report suspected slavery at hand car washes (Gamble 2019), and training Nigerian youth in Edo State in agricultural skills to help build the local economy and reduce their vulnerability to traffickers (Johnston 2019).

The Intergovernmental Level: The Global Compact for Safe, Orderly, and Regular Migration

The Church’s efforts to institutionalize its approach to anti-trafficking on an intergovernmental basis have focused on multilateral instruments. In this respect, the Church’s participation in negotiations over the 2018 Global Compact for Safe, Orderly, and Regular Migration (GCM) was especially significant in aligning its own approach to migration with that of the wider international community.

Amid a number of high-profile migration crises in the Mediterranean and Southeast Asia, in September 2016 the UN General Assembly unanimously adopted the New York Declaration for Refugees and Migrants. The Declaration acknowledged the necessity of multilateral cooperation to manage migrant and refugee flows and committed member states to produce a comprehensive framework to guide such cooperation. This took the form of the GCM and the Global Compact on Refugees (GCR), nonbinding frameworks adopted by the General Assembly in December 2018. Of the two compacts, the GCM was more significant since, unlike the GCR, it was the first comprehensive multilateral framework on non-refugee migration.

At the GCM’s core are 23 objectives. These range from intergovernmental technical cooperation and information-sharing, to recommendations for domestic policy changes (e.g. detaining migrants only as a last resort; ensuring migrants’ access to legal representation; criminalizing violations of human and labor rights), to longer-term societal transformations aimed at facilitating migrants’ integration into host societies (e.g. creating more inclusive labor markets, eliminating discrimination, and ceasing support for media outlets that systematically promote intolerance toward migrants) (2018). 152 UN member states signed the GCM; five opposed it and 12 abstained.³ As one migration expert notes, the GCM’s greatest achievement was securing international agreement on these 23 objectives (Newland 2018, 658). Despite its nonbinding nature, states recognized its importance for shaping migration-related norms. For instance, the United States—then under the stridently anti-immigration administration of President Donald Trump—pulled out of negotiations over the Global Compacts, claiming inter alia that the GCM could be used as evidence of a global consensus to make the case for customary law to govern international migration (United States Mission to the United Nations 2018).

During the preparatory phase for the Global Compacts, the Migrants and Refugees Section of the Dicastery for Integral Human Development issued twenty “action points” that the Church recommended for inclusion in both documents. These were organized according to the four verbs that Pope Francis had introduced: welcoming, protecting, promoting, and integrating migrants and refugees.

Among the notable recommendations within the “welcoming” category, the Action Points called for full respect for the principle of non-refoulement—according to which refugees cannot be sent back to their country of origin if there is a real and foreseeable risk that they would face death, torture, or other grave harm—as well as for states to ban arbitrary and collective expulsions and to expand legal pathways for safe and voluntary migration and resettlement.

Under “protecting,” the Action Points called for both sending and receiving countries to protect migrants from exploitation, forced labor, or trafficking. The Action Points noted that “[t]he Church insists on the importance of taking a holistic and integrated approach, with a focus on the centrality of the human person” (emphasis original) (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2017, §II). Although the Church acknowledged the right of states to control their borders, it maintained that migrants and refugees must be treated in accordance with international human rights and refugee law. The Church also insisted that the “inherent right to life” as enshrined in the ICCPR should guide the response to all migrants, refugees, and asylum seekers regardless of status (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2017, §II).

Under “promoting,” the Action Points called upon host states to facilitate the recognition and development of migrants and refugees’ skills and education, to recognize the right of asylum seekers, refugees, and their family members to work, and to facilitate family reunification regardless of the family’s financial capability (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2017, §III).

Finally, under “integration,” the Action Points emphasized a two-way interaction between immigrants—who have an obligation to “respect the values, traditions and law the community which takes them in,”—and host societies, which are “called to acknowledge the beneficial contribution which each immigrant can make to the whole community” (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2017, §IV). The Church called for provisions that would encourage states to, for instance, grant citizenship at birth, provide timely access to citizenship for all refugees, de-link citizenship from economic status or property ownership, eliminate language requirements for citizenship applicants over 50 years old, facilitate legal migration of family members of foreign residents, and allow for the regularization of status for long-term residents of the host country. The Church also called on states to promote positive narratives on migrants and refugees and for countries of origin to facilitate the reintegration of returnees when they are forced to flee host countries due to violence or environmental crisis.

With respect to human trafficking, the Church recommended that the GCM address both states with significant labor migrant outflows and states with significant labor migrant inflows. For the former, the Church called for (1) the establishment of national pre-departure information systems and training for migrants; (2) national regulation and certification of employment recruiters; (3) establishment of a ministry of diaspora affairs; (4) national policies to protect and assist diaspora and migrant communities overseas, including through consular protection and legal services (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2017, §II(4)). For states with significant labor migrant inflows, the Church recommended national policies against exploitation, forced labor, or trafficking (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2017, §II(5)), including: (1) prohibiting employers’ withholding of passports and other forms of identification from employees; (2) allowing foreign residents to report human rights abuses and violence without fear of reprisal; (3) allowing migrants to open private, personal bank accounts that allow direct deposits by employers; and (4) establishing minimum wage laws requiring regular payments at least monthly (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2017, §II(5)). Of these recommendations, the GCM included almost all of them except for establishing minimum wage laws (United Nations 2018, §19(d,e), §22(c, h, i, j), §23(e, j), §29(d, e),§30, §36(i)).

During a presentation to the Vatican diplomatic corps in October 2018, Archbishop Bernardito Auza, then the Apostolic Nuncio to the United Nations, said that the Holy See regarded most of the GCM’s provisions “highly positively” or “generally positively,” with reservations on only a few elements. The Holy See regarded as “highly positive” (1) the recognition of migration as natural, positive, and pro-development when it is voluntary, safe, orderly, regular, and well-managed; (2) the GCM’s focus on individuals; (3) the principles of common understanding, unity of purpose, and especially shared responsibility that underpin the GCM; (4) language that links family reunification to the child’s best interests; (5) reaffirming both the right to migrate and not to migrate, ensuring that migration should never be forced; (6) treating migration as a process in which both the migrant and host communities have a responsibility to respect each other’s cultures; and (7) including faith-based organizations as stakeholders (Auza 2018).

In the category of elements that the Holy See regarded as “generally positive,” Auza pointed to three areas where the Holy See’s preferences were only partly met. First, it had lobbied for language to respect all migrants’ fundamental human rights irrespective of their legal status as well as a list of basic services to which migrants should be entitled. Auza noted that while the GCM affirmed that migrants should have access to basic services irrespective of their status, there was strong opposition to an explicit list. Second, the Holy See had unsuccessfully sought to include language banning child detention. Instead, the GCM advocated “working to end the practice of child detention in the context of international migration,” which was significantly weaker, though it at least established a normative preference for eliminating child detention as a long-term objective (United Nations 2018, §29(h)). Third, the Holy See had sought to include an explicit reference to the principle of non-refoulement. The Holy See wanted non-refoulement to apply to all migrants and refugees, but other delegations insisted that it should only apply in the context of international refugee law and protection. Ultimately, the parties compromised by omitting direct mention of non-refoulement and instead including language to guarantee due process and prohibit collective expulsion and the return of migrants if they faced a credible risk of death, torture, or other cruel and degrading treatment or irreparable harm, in accordance with international human rights law (Auza 2018).

Finally, Auza mentioned that the Holy See only had one main objection to the GCM regarding references it made to other documents produced by experts in the OHCHR, the WHO, and the Global Migration Group. These documents promoted sexual and reproductive health services (particularly including access to emergency contraception, which it regards as abortifacient),⁴ as well as language promoting LGBTI rights. Although the Holy See failed to have those references removed, Auza noted approvingly that the final version of the GCM moved them to less prominent positions in the text and did not specifically mention reproductive health services or sexual and reproductive health and rights (Auza 2018).

There is a striking absence of explicitly religious references in the Action Points. Instead, the Church frames the Action Points in terms of promoting the interests of “migrants, host societies, and the international community at large” (Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development 2017, §II). The Church’s injection of language on the right to life is perhaps the most visible evidence that its recommendations are rooted in a much thicker religious basis, but the Action Points linked even this language to the ICCPR rather than the Church’s own teachings. Given that the Action Points were written for the United Nations rather than a specifically Catholic or even religious audience, the downplaying of the moral and religious principles behind the Church’s positions on migration is not surprising. In trying to reach the broadest possible audience, the Holy See focused on specific policies that would advance the dignity of migrants and refugees. Hence, one can read the Action Points as a pragmatic approach to the Global Compact while still being rooted in thicker teachings on the dignity of the human person.

In general, though, the Holy See found common cause with the advocates of the GCM. Even in those areas where the Church was unable to see its views codified in the GCM, the process of negotiation gave it a global platform from which to shape the discourse surrounding migration. While it cannot be said with certainty that the Church’s participation was decisive in shaping the language of the GCM, it is nonetheless significant that the result was greater convergence between the Church and the vast majority of the world’s governments. This created new opportunities for partnership between the Church and governments on migration and anti-trafficking policy, and allowed the Church to employ international consensus as another basis for the authority of its anti-trafficking efforts.

Conclusion: When Norm Thickening Leads to Convergence

In her passage from slave to sister to saint, Josephine Bakhita’s story illustrates the power of identity for those ensnared by human trafficking. Before it is a crime against international law or a violation of human rights, human trafficking dehumanizes individuals and disintegrates their identities, their relationships, and their communities. This is where the Church’s approach to human trafficking and modern slavery begins: not with the law, but by defining who people are to one another and to God. When Pope Francis called out, “Cain, where is your brother?” at the graveyard of ships in Lampedusa, he was addressing human relations at their most fundamental level.⁵ While Francis has made human trafficking a particular focal point for the Church, his thickening of anti-trafficking norms draws from a deep well of Catholic teachings regarding human dignity, solidarity, and fraternity. Changes in how the Catholic Church understood the nature of human dignity and its relationship with human rights after World War II paved the way for a new moral framework in which slavery was an unequivocal evil. While the Church was lamentably late to condemn slavery in its official teachings, it has since taken a much more active role in combating its modern descendant. The Church teaches that because people are made in the image of God, they have inherent dignity and are entitled to be treated accordingly. Because people are equal in their dignity, this demands the practice of the virtue of solidarity, working and acting for the common good and to promote equal justice. Because of God’s superabundant love for humanity, humanity is called to love in a radically inclusive way, seeing brothers and sisters even in the stranger and the enemy.

Unlike multilateral anti-trafficking agreements, the Church’s explanations of human trafficking have focused heavily on culture and the ideas that make human trafficking possible. The Church has explained human trafficking as the product of a culture that dehumanizes people by treating them as instruments to be exploited and discarded. Against what Pope Francis has called a “throwaway culture,” he has advocated a “culture of encounter” in which it is possible to redefine one’s relationship with a stranger and to move from dehumanization to re-humanization. This requires far more than criminalizing and prosecuting human trafficking. Taken seriously, it demands nothing less than a cultural shift that places the dignity of the human person above the benefit of others. As a result, the Church is able to link trafficking more easily to other violations of human dignity. It also means that the scope of its anti-trafficking interests and activities extends well beyond what is covered at the level of international agreements. The rift between the Church and the UN over reproductive rights in the Global Plan of Action to Combat Human Trafficking illustrates the limitations of relying on international law to achieve the Church’s goals. Nevertheless, the growing convergence between the Church’s teachings against human trafficking and international anti-trafficking norms creates more room for partnership between the Church and national governments.

At the intra-ecclesial level, the Church’s efforts to institutionalize its anti-trafficking teachings have yielded more immediately visible results. This is partly due to the networked and decentralized nature of Church-linked organizations, including religious congregations, which allows them to better understand and adapt to local conditions. Additionally, Church-linked organizations can more directly draw upon religious explanations and incorporate them into their anti-trafficking activities. The next chapter turns to the Philippines and explores how the Church has attempted to apply its anti-trafficking principles to a local context.

List of Interviews

Religious Sister 2      February 2018

Notes

On the development of the imago Dei as a concept, see Hanvey 2013.

Obtained by using Google to search on the www.vatican.va website for “human trafficking” and “John Paul II” while excluding both “Benedict XVI” and “Pope Francis”; then “human trafficking” and “Benedict XVI” while excluding “Pope Francis”; then “human trafficking” and “Pope Francis” while excluding “John Paul II” and “Benedict XVI.” All searches were conducted on August 7, 2024.

The countries that opposed the GCM were the Czech Republic, Hungary, Israel, Poland, and the United States. The 12 abstentions were Algeria, Australia, Austria, Bulgaria, Chile, Italy, Latvia, Libya, Liechtenstein, Romania, Singapore, and Switzerland.

Auza specifically mentioned the Minimum Initial Service Package for sexual and reproductive health, which includes among its objectives the prevention of unintended pregnancies through the provision of a range of contraceptives, including emergency contraception. https://www.unfpa.org/sites/default/files/resource-pdf/MISP-Reference-English.pdf.

Regarding the Lampedusa speech, see Chapter 1.

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Zamagni, Stefano. 2021. “Fraternity as a Principle of Social Order. Remarks on the Encyclical Letter Fratelli Tutti”. March 9, 2021. https://www.pass.va/en/publications/studia-selecta/studia_selecta_06_pass/zamagni.html

9 Thickening Anti-Trafficking Norms in the Philippines

DOI: 10.4324/9780429457364-9

The Philippines occupies the front line of the global fight against human trafficking. Widespread poverty, a large population of overseas migrant workers, a thriving commercial sex industry, and high levels of corruption have fueled various forms of human trafficking. Numerous domestic and international governmental and non-governmental actors are engaged in combating human trafficking in the Philippines, including through legislation, advocacy, training, and service provision. Within this larger ecosystem, the Catholic Church plays an important role in shaping norms against trafficking. It does so by “thickening” anti-trafficking norms to integrate them within a specifically Filipino Catholic moral framework: defining key identities and relationships, explaining human trafficking in the context of Catholic teaching, and establishing institutions and practices to fight human trafficking. While the Church draws upon Vatican-level teachings and transnational anti-trafficking frameworks such as the “4 P’s,” its approaches are heavily shaped by Filipino identities and experiences.

This chapter begins with an overview of human trafficking in the Philippines. Major vectors for trafficking include the commercial sex industry, online sexual abuse and exploitation of children (OSAEC/OSEC), and labor trafficking in overseas Filipino workers (OFWs). While data on human trafficking in the Philippines is scarce, there is widespread agreement among policymakers and civil society organizations that it is a major problem with serious repercussions not only for victims but also Philippine society more generally. This recognition has led the Philippines to adopt various international anti-trafficking agreements and domestic legislation that reflects and builds upon transnational anti-trafficking norms. The second part of the chapter reviews these institutions, their advantages, and some of the gaps that they leave.

The third part of the chapter examines how the Catholic Church in the Philippines has “thickened” transnational anti-trafficking norms by defining identities and relationships, explaining how Catholic teachings relate to human trafficking, and enacting those teachings through the establishment of institutions and practices. This section draws upon interviews with Catholic clergy, members of religious communities, and NGO personnel in the Philippines in 2017 and 2018, as well as public statements issued by the Catholic hierarchy and training documents for Catholic personnel. How Church-linked actors define identities and relationships is critical to how they understand human trafficking and what the proper response should be. Anti-trafficking discourse in official CBCP documents, for instance, focuses heavily on trafficked persons’ victimhood and lack of agency. This view aims to emphasize trafficked persons’ lack of moral culpability, but it is also tied to the Church’s rejection of certain forms of labor—particularly sex work—as demeaning to human dignity and to be abolished rather than regulated. At the same time, Church discourse tends to lionize the significant population of Filipinos who take overseas jobs to provide for their families in the Philippines, potentially rendering them vulnerable to trafficking.

The Church also seeks to explain to Filipinos how Catholic teachings regarding human dignity and sexual morality relate to human trafficking. Consistent with teaching at the Vatican level, the Church in the Philippines has ascribed trafficking to societal factors, including a consumerist culture, rampant poverty and socioeconomic inequality, and a culture of sexual hedonism. Such explanations imply a response to trafficking that focuses on cultural change and not only legal measures. At the same time, gendered approaches to understanding and respond to human trafficking have come into more frequent use among Catholic anti-trafficking advocates, colliding with longstanding suspicions in the Church of “gender ideology.”

At the level of institutionalization, the variety and autonomy of Catholic organizations have led to a broad range of institutions and practices to address trafficking, including through direct service provision, advocacy, and prayer. Notably, Catholic organizations have cooperated to varying degrees with the government and other non-Catholic organizations that aim to combat trafficking. The Church’s thickened approach to transnational anti-trafficking norms has enabled it to carve out its own role in the Philippines’ anti-trafficking ecosystem, one which largely complements the activities of other anti-trafficking actors while extending the familiar “4 P’s” framework of prosecution, protection, prevention, and partnerships.

The last section of this chapter explores how the Church’s thickening of transnational anti-trafficking norms may have influenced its surprising response to the case of thousands of foreign workers (largely from China) in illegal or semi-legal Philippine offshore gaming operations (POGOs) located in the Philippines. Although it was well known that many of the workers were likely to have been trafficking victims, Catholic bishops generally did not evince concern for the workers, even when they faced mass deportation by the Philippine government. Instead, several bishops used the opportunity to sharply condemn China and draw links between the presence of Chinese-owned POGOs and escalating tensions between China and the Philippines over disputed territorial claims in the South China Sea. I consider how the Catholic Church’s role as not only a religious organization but a guardian of the Filipino nation can thicken transnational moral norms in ways that both converge with and diverge from Vatican-level teachings.

Human Trafficking in the Philippines: An Overview

Human trafficking in the Philippines manifests heavily (though by no means exclusively) in the commercial sex trade and in the migration of Filipinos overseas for work. Forced domestic work, forced begging, as well as forced labor in agriculture, construction, fishing, and maritime industries are also prevalent (U.S. Department of State 2024b). Additionally, trafficking in organs is a growing phenomenon in poor communities (Yea 2010). Statistics on human trafficking in the Philippines are limited given its clandestine nature and the fact that information is collected from cases investigated by law enforcement. A 2018 national survey of approximately 2,500 Filipino households commissioned by USAID and conducted by NORC at the University of Chicago estimated a national trafficking prevalence rate of 3.28 percent, or approximately 3.5 million Filipinos (USAID and NORC at the University of Chicago 2018, 16).¹

The Philippines’ commercial sex trade is a major driver of trafficking, catering heavily to male tourists, especially from the United States, Australia, New Zealand, the United Kingdom, and Japan, as well as to local men. It is in significant part a legacy of the Philippines’ history as a site for US military bases—namely Clark Air Force Base and Subic Bay Naval Station, both located in the province of Pampanga—until their closure in the early 1990s. During the Vietnam War, the Philippines was used as a staging and “rest-and-relaxation” site for American service personnel on their way to or from Vietnam. As a result, red-light districts with bars, clubs, restaurants, hotels, and other services marketed to American service personnel thrived in Angeles City (near Clark Air Force Base) and Olongapo City (near Subic Bay). Despite the closure of the military bases, the sex trade has persisted in both cities (Jeffreys 1999, 191; Ekoluoma 2017, 31–32) as well as in other tourist hubs such as Boracay, Puerto Galera, and Sabang, fueled by declining costs of communication and air travel, the weakening Philippine peso, and the growth of internet technology that allowed the sex tourism industry to advertise to a global market. Peddlers of sex tourism typically rely upon crude stereotypes in their marketing, depicting the Philippines as full of beautiful, exotic, submissive women “untainted” by Western notions of femininity (Ekoluoma 2017, 136–137). Online forums provide spaces where sex tourists can share information and find affirmation for their activities, helping to normalize them (Chow-White 2006, 891–896).

In some cases, women and girls are lured into the commercial sex trade under false pretenses—for instance, signing up to work as a waitress or receptionist in a distant city but discovering later that such work is actually a cover for commercial sex work. In other cases, they may knowingly enter the commercial sex trade but are unable to leave for a variety of reasons such as addiction, debt bondage, stigmatization, or the perceived lack of opportunities for viable employment. In still other cases, women who enter the commercial sex trade consider it preferable to other “legitimate” occupations, such as domestic work, citing more flexible hours, higher pay, and the fact that some of the risks associated with sex work (e.g. sexual harassment) are still present in other occupations (Parmanand 2022, 136–137). There is also a significant minority of men and boys who work in the sex trade (Hernandez and Imperial 2009; Sanchez 2021). Commercial sex workers in the Philippines face numerous risks, including violence at the hands of customers, employers, traffickers, and police; sexually transmitted infections, homelessness, and drug and alcohol addiction.

Separate from but related to the commercial sex industry is the international marriage broker industry, in which foreign men pay a fee to a “marriage broker” to be introduced to Filipino women interested in marrying a foreigner. In many cases, women who participate in such schemes see them as a potential escape from poverty, though in such marriages, they are frequently vulnerable to abuse and exploitation due to their dependence on the husband in an unfamiliar country, as well as immigration laws that make legal residency conditional upon the wife’s continued marriage to her spouse, creating strong incentives to remain in abusive marriages (Belleau 2003, 595–596, 601–603).

The Philippines is also a major hub for OSAEC, particularly by broadcasting child sexual abuse on the internet in exchange for money wired by third-party audiences, usually located overseas in the United States, United Kingdom, Australia, and Canada (U.S. Department of State 2024b). Although there are no estimates of how widespread OSAEC is, the US Department of State’s annual Trafficking in Persons Report claims that “the Philippines is one of the largest known sources of OSEC” (U.S. Department of State 2024b). Anecdotal reports also suggest that the COVID-19 pandemic, which in the Philippines led to particularly draconian lockdown measures, drove a surge in OSAEC (“COVID-19 Brief on Online Sexual Exploitation of Children” 2021). Notably, OSAEC in the Philippines frequently takes the form of traffickers exploiting children from their own families (Online Sexual Exploitation of Children in the Philippines: Analysis and Recommendations for Governments, Industry, and Civil Society 2020, 51).

Aside from sex trafficking, another important locus of human trafficking is labor migration. Because of high unemployment and underemployment in the Philippines, large numbers of Filipinos seek employment abroad as OFWs. Typically, they leave behind families and remit their earnings to support them. In 2019, before the outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic, there were an estimated 2.2 million OFWs (Philippine Statistics Authority 2020). In 2022, following a pandemic-related decline, there were approximately 1.96 million OFWs, 57.8 percent of whom were women (Philippine Statistics Authority 2023). In 2023, OFW remittances were estimated at $33.49 billion, equivalent to 7.6 percent of the Philippines’ GDP (Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas 2024; World Bank 2024).

OFWs face significant risks of exploitation. Travel overseas, the costs associated with obtaining necessary documentation, and in some cases, the costs of paying to enter a country illegally can ensnare workers and their families in debt. Recruiters can mislead workers about the nature of their employment overseas, trapping them in exploitative jobs. In the destination country, workers often lack legal protection against abuses and face additional hurdles posed by language and cultural barriers. It is not uncommon for employers to take possession of and withhold workers’ passports (Jabar and Jesperson 2024, 46–47). In the Gulf Arab states, where approximately half of all OFWs work (Philippine Statistics Authority 2023), employers who sponsor foreign workers may deny them permission to leave the country or change jobs, potentially creating slavery-like conditions. Such problems are magnified in certain industries—such as domestic work or the fishing and maritime industries—where workers’ freedom of movement depends upon their employers. In 2017 alone, the Philippines’ Overseas Workers Welfare Administration reported that 1,549 OFWs had claimed maltreatment by employers, including 65 reports of rape and 243 reports of sexual abuse (“196 Pinoys died in Kuwait since 2016 —OWWA data” 2018). Given the difficulty that many OFWs face in reporting abuses, as well as the risk of reprisal by employers, such figures almost certainly represent only a fraction of actual cases.

“Thin” Anti-Trafficking Norms in the Philippines

The Philippines has developed a robust legal framework for combating human trafficking, often reflecting norms articulated in international agreements. The Philippines is a party to the UNTOC and ratified the Palermo Protocol in 2001. It is also a party to the UN Migrant Workers Convention, the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, and the UN Convention for the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women. It also adopted the Global Plan of Action to Combat Trafficking in Persons and the Global Compact on Migrants.² Additionally, the Philippines is a party to the ASEAN Convention against Trafficking in Persons, which it ratified in 2017. The desire to comply with international norms has been an important driver of the Philippines’ anti-trafficking efforts. Here, it is worth highlighting the United States’ annual Trafficking in Persons Report, which in 2001 categorized the Philippines as a Tier 2 country, meaning that it did not meet minimum standards for combating human trafficking. This move helped to spur efforts to implement anti-trafficking legislation. Since 2016, the Trafficking in Persons Report has classified the Philippines as a Tier 1 country, indicating that it meets the minimum standards under the United States’ Trafficking Victims Protection Act.

The Philippines’ primary legal instrument to address human trafficking is the Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act, promulgated in 2003 as Republic Act (RA) 9208 and amended in 2012 by RA 10364—the Expanded Anti-Trafficking in Persons Law. The law adopts the Palermo Protocol definition of trafficking but also covers sex tourism, child exploitation, international marriage brokers, and involuntary servitude (Expanded Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act of 2012, §4). All of these offenses are punishable by prison sentences of 20 years and fines ranging from 1 million pesos to 2 million pesos (about 3.5 to 7 times the average annual Filipino family income). For “qualified trafficking,” which applies to cases when the offender is in a position of authority over the victim (such as a parent or guardian) or a public official or employee, or when the victim suffers death, mutilation, or insanity, or contracts HIV/AIDS, offenders face a mandatory life sentence and fines ranging from 2 million pesos to 5 million pesos (Expanded Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act of 2012, §12). The law also punishes “attempted trafficking,” which includes soliciting or gaining custody of a child through adoption, recruitment of a birth mother, or other means for the purpose of selling the child (Expanded Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act of 2012, §5). It also punishes the promotion of trafficking, including inter alia knowingly allowing a building to be used for trafficking purposes, advertising material that promotes trafficking, facilitating the acquisition of clearances and documents to leave the country for the purposes of trafficking, and benefiting financially from forced labor, involuntary servitude, or slavery (Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act of 2003 2003, §5).

Under the original law, individuals who purchased or engaged the services of trafficked persons for prostitution faced weak penalties—six months of community services and a fine of 50,000 pesos for a first offense, followed by a one-year prison sentence and a fine of 100,000 pesos for each subsequent offense (Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act of 2003, §11). The amended law significantly strengthened the penalties—6–12 years’ imprisonment and a fine between 50,000 and 100,000 pesos without the possibility of probation. If the offense involves sexual intercourse or lascivious conduct with a minor, the penalty is raised to 17–40 years’ imprisonment. If the offense involves the use of force or intimidation on a victim deprived of reason, an unconscious victim, or a victim under 12 years old, the amended law mandates 40 years’ imprisonment without parole (Expanded Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act of 2012, §13).

The amended Anti-Trafficking Law was significantly more favorable to trafficked persons than the original version. It granted immunity from prosecution or other penalties to those found to have been trafficked for prostitution, as well as for unlawful acts committed at the trafficker’s behest or as a direct result of their having been trafficked (Expanded Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act of 2012, §17). It also made inadmissible any evidence of victims’ past sexual behavior or reputation as a basis for establishing consent to engage in sexual behavior (Expanded Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act of 2012, §19). And it expressly prohibited government officials, judges, prosecutors, and law enforcement officers from urging complainants to abandon their trafficking complaints (Expanded Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act of 2012, §20).

Lastly, the 2003 Anti-Trafficking Law established the IACAT, a coordinating body comprising key ministerial-level personnel, law enforcement directors, and NGO representatives in an organization devoted to anti-trafficking.³ Tasked with implementing the 2003 law and developing anti-trafficking programs, since the 2012 amendment IACAT has been supported by its own secretariat headed by an executive director.

The Anti-Trafficking Law, particularly in its amended form, is an impressive piece of legislation. It criminalizes trafficking and activities that are undertaken to facilitate trafficking and mandates stringent penalties. By providing immunity from prosecution to trafficked persons and prohibiting officials from attempting to dissuade them from pursuing complaints, the law increases the likelihood that traffickers will be prosecuted and reduces the risk of trafficking survivors being re-victimized by the legal system. And by establishing IACAT, the Anti-Trafficking Law created a multi-agency mechanism for monitoring and coordinating implementation.

Nevertheless, significant challenges to implementation remain. High levels of corruption and limited capacity hinder enforcement. Structural factors such as poverty and high unemployment and underemployment persist. Additionally, public awareness about human trafficking remains limited. The 2018 USAID/NORC survey found that in a nationwide sample of Filipinos, only 13.2 percent said that they had discussed the dangers of human trafficking with their families, even though 20 percent claimed to follow the national discussion of human trafficking “extremely closely” and 44 percent “somewhat closely” (USAID and NORC at the University of Chicago 2018, 30–32). In this context, the Catholic Church’s ubiquity and moral authority offers resources in the Philippines’ battle against human trafficking, but with its own approach.

Catholic Thickening of Anti-Trafficking Norms in the Philippines

The Church’s large societal presence in the Philippines, its ability to connect with local communities around the country, and its focus on matters of faith, morals, and human dignity have given it an important role in the Philippines’ efforts to combat human trafficking. Within the “4 P’s” framework, the Church focuses less on prosecution and more on prevention, protection, and partnerships. Its activities in these areas are guided by understandings of trafficked persons’ identities (and thus how the Church should relate to them) and explanations of the nature of trafficking and how key Catholic teachings apply. These understandings and explanations have given rise to various practices, some of which have been institutionalized within the Church. While there is broad convergence in the Philippines between the Catholic Church and transnational norms against human trafficking, the Church has colored those norms with its religious teachings and understandings of the Philippines’ specific experience of human trafficking and migration.

Defining Identities and Relationships: Trafficking as a Threat to the Vulnerable

The Church’s response to human trafficking begins with an understanding of who the major actors are. Who are trafficked people? Who are the traffickers? Who is the Church with respect to these actors and how ought it to position itself toward them? Because the CBCP is not just an element of the Church but speaks on behalf of the Philippines’ Catholic bishops, these characterizations carry significant weight in setting the Church’s agenda.

Who Are Trafficked Persons?

Trafficked persons as depicted in CBCP statements are overwhelmingly defined by their vulnerability. A 2012 statement by the CBCP’s National Secretariat for Social Action described human trafficking as “modern day slavery, which exploits people, particularly the weak and the poor, alluring them into false promises and making them prey on [sic] evil activities—forced and bonded labor, forced/commercial prostitution and sexual exploitation, and human rights violation” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2012). In a 2014 pastoral letter, then-CBCP President Archbishop Socrates Villegas explained human trafficking as:

the illegal trade in persons, in human organs, in human values, as though these were commercial commodities. Through the use of force, deception, violence, and taking advantage of the vulnerability of victims, men and women are exploited physically, sexually, psychologically, morally, spiritually for the material gain of the traffickers.

(Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2014)

In June 2018, on the occasion of the World Day of Migrants, Bishop Ruperto Santos, who chaired the CBCP’s Episcopal Commission for the Pastoral Care of Migrants and Itinerant Peoples (CBCP-ECMI), described trafficked persons as

those in situations which they have no control of; that they are helpless to avoid and that leave them with very little option but to face and accept. This pressing condition leaves them defenseless, powerless and helpless. And so against their will they can become easily influenced and forced. They succumb. They yield. They fall prey to human traffickers. […] A trafficked person is a victim. And there is no willing victim. He or she must be protected. To protect our people is to make them well-informed about working abroad. They should be made aware of their rights.

(Santos 2018)

The characterization of trafficked persons as victims is significant for several reasons. First, it emphasizes trafficked persons’ blamelessness for their predicaments. Santos’s declaration that there are no willing victims underscores the purpose of this framing. Second, it places responsibility for trafficked persons on others’ shoulders, particularly the Church and the government. Villegas’s 2014 pastoral letter declares that

It is, therefore, our Christian duty to do everything we can to prevent anyone in our midst from being trafficked, and to make sure that those who have fallen into the traffickers’ trap are set free and able to come home and resume their normal lives with their families, friends, and community. As serious a duty as it is of individual Christians, even more serious is it the duty of the State and society.

(Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2014)

At the same time, the focus on “ideal” victims who are trafficked entirely unawares can gloss over the complex motives that can lead people into being trafficked. In particular, the idea that people might reluctantly but willingly place themselves in a risky situation because they see it as the best available option does not easily fit this paradigm. The bishops’ emphasis on “ideal” victims risks stigmatizing those who are trafficked under more complicated circumstances.

It is notable that Talitha Kum International—the global network of religious sisters against human trafficking—takes pains in its training materials to reject a monolithic or victim-focused understanding of trafficked persons:

In the trafficking trap we can find naïve and clever persons, ignorant and skilled…no one is safe. It is useless to simplify when among the victims can be found:

Skilled workers sent to isolated industrial sites by employment agencies;

Women with sound and balanced affective relationships (with a beloved husband, grown up children) that decide to emigrate to find a job as a nanny or maid and help the relatives at home;

Girls whose only fault is in having believed the fake promises of work agencies or of marriage;

Minors moved by curiosity and willing to test their competence; and hundreds of thousands of different stories, each one with their own elements of uniqueness. (Talitha Kum Training Manual for Women Religious Active in the Prevention of Human Trafficking and Assisting Its Victims 2016, 25)

This difference in understanding between the bishops and Talitha Kum also hints at their different roles and perspectives. Whereas the CBCP is primarily an administrative and coordinating body for bishops across multiple dioceses with responsibility for a wide range of pastoral issues, Talitha Kum is specifically focused on human trafficking and directly involved in rescuing and rehabilitating trafficking survivors. Different perspectives within the Church generate different understandings of who trafficked people are and thus different responses.

Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs)

How the Church regards trafficked persons is also closely tied with how it regards OFWs. On the one hand, OFWs play a critical role in supporting the Philippine economy. At the micro-level, their remittances provide crucial support for their families and communities (Advincula-Lopez 2005). On the other hand, the harsh conditions and risks of exploitation that OFWs often face, the consequences of long separations from spouses, children, and other loved ones, and the societal implications of such separations being repeated across the population represent major costs (Bernardo et al. 2018; Harper and Martin 2013).

Catholic leaders have framed OFWs as “national heroes” (“bagong bayani”), echoing a common theme in Filipino national discourse, and frequently describe their situations in religious terms. For example, in a 2018 interview, ECMI chair Bishop Ruperto Santos compared OFWs to Jesus journeying in the desert for 40 days and nights (“Bataan bishop likens life of OFW to season of Lent” 2018). As cultural anthropologist Julius Bautista (2015, 433–434) explains, the Church fuels the production of “export-quality martyrs” in part by publicly valorizing the suffering of OFWs as a form of martyrdom, such as when bishops describe OFWs as “missionaries” who spread the Catholic faith by their numbers and worldwide presence. At the same time, Catholic leaders have also acknowledged the steep costs paid by OFWs, as well as the difficult socioeconomic conditions in the Philippines that make going overseas a necessity for many. In 2023, CBCP President Bishop Pablo David characterized OFWs as “reluctant” or “accidental” missionaries and warned against romanticizing them, attributing the strength of their faith to the “alienation” that they sometimes experience while overseas (Salvosa 2023).

Human Traffickers

In contrast to the Church’s characterizations of trafficked persons, there is relatively little about the motives that drive traffickers or the people who exploit trafficked persons beyond blanket condemnations. As a result, statements about traffickers are often put forth in general terms. The 2014 CBCP Pastoral Letter on Human Trafficking describes traffickers as “always moving, on the go in order to search for prey or to get away from government authorities” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2014). At the same time, it holds out hope that traffickers might be converted from their ways:

[C]harity and compassion demand that Christians exert every effort to free human traffickers from the motives and attractions of their illicit trade and to draw them back to genuinely good and beneficial pursuits. To drown evil in an abundance of good, and convert the wrongdoer into a source of good is the ultimate triumph we should aim for in this fight.

(Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2014)

Separately, in a 2020 statement, Bishop Ruperto Santos, then the Vice-Chairman of the ECMI, described human traffickers and sexual offenders as more dangerous than COVID-19 and

heartless, motivated by insatiable greed and addiction to their craving of flesh trades. These are the human traffickers and sexual offenders, the worst and venomous virus on earth, taking every opportunity to raven our youth and even young children who are bored at home and have nothing to do but navigate the internet.

(Santos 2020)

Such a characterization suggests that heavy-handed prosecution is the safest and most viable option to deal with traffickers, and indeed, Santos (2020) added that “We must exhaust all legal means to investigate, prosecute and punish [human traffickers].”

Talitha Kum’s training manual cautions against black-and-white characterizations, noting that there is a diverse array of traffickers. For example, there may be people in the logistical chain who may be unwittingly involved in trafficking and genuinely believe that they are engaged in legitimate business. As for exploiters, while there are some “pathological criminal and wicked personalities,” “[t]he majority of them are not vicious or wicked persons, but just people in distress, economically or sentimentally, looking for a wrong way to get out of the situation” (Talitha Kum Training Manual for Women Religious Active in the Prevention of Human Trafficking and Assisting Its Victims 2016, 26). This characterization suggests that addressing structural factors in human trafficking can aid not just potential trafficking victims but also potential traffickers.

Faced with the “scourge” of human trafficking, Catholic leaders have sought to define the Church’s role. While CBCP statements have emphasized trafficked persons’ victimhood, they have also emphasized the need for Christians not to be complacent. In the 2014 CBCP Pastoral Letter on Human Trafficking, Archbishop Socrates Villegas implicitly evokes the concept of solidarity and vividly connects it to the imago Dei when he writes:

we must never for a moment forget that we are each our brother’s keepers, and that a part of ourselves is trafficked every time a brother or sister of ours is. But not only should we see ourselves in the face of every victim, we must above all see our Lord in every victim’s face. And because we cannot allow to see our Lord trafficked, neither can we allow the least of our brethren to be so exploited. For our Lord has said, “whatever you did to the least of my brethren, you did unto me”.

(Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2014)

Because the trafficked person is made in the image of Christ, there is a religious imperative to protect that person and thus protect the dignity of God.

Explaining Human Trafficking in the Philippines

In the Philippines, the Church offers a wide range of explanations for human trafficking. While trafficking ultimately boils down to an action taken by one person against another, the Church’s explanations also highlight sociocultural factors that make trafficking seem more acceptable.

A starting point for how the Church’s leadership in the Philippines understands the nature of human trafficking is the Catechism for Filipino Catholics. Published by the CBCP in 1997, it remains the Church’s primary sourcebook for religious education in the Philippines. Although the Catechism does not specifically mention human trafficking, it does discuss prostitution and pornography as “social sins” that violate human dignity and the sacredness of God-given sexuality. The Catechism of the Catholic Church published by the Vatican emphasizes prostitution and pornography as offenses to human dignity and chastity (Catechism of the Catholic Church 1997, §2354–2355). While the Catechism for Filipino Catholics also describes them as “dehumanizing, self-centered and immoral use[s] of our God-given sexuality,” it also emphasizes their status as “extreme cases of exploitation and injustice, foisted on the poor by the affluent. Rather than primarily a problem in sexual morality, both are too often simply the consequences of dire poverty and destitution” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1997, §1115). Change, however, cannot be achieved solely by reforming political or economic structures. Instead, what is required is “genuine spiritual conversion” through “changing the desires of our hearts; reforming our social relationships; and reforming our attitudes and the social structures we create to reinforce our attitudes” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1997, §1170–§1172).

In like manner, the CBCP (1998a) argues that the growth of pornography is due to the individual moral actions of “mainly the male adults and young people, [who] patronize it for the gratification it offers,” “a liberal attitude using as an excuse freedom of artistic expression lends support in justifying the making of porno materials”, and “sheer greed, especially on the part of the producers and disseminators.” Child pornography and child prostitution are especially (though not exclusively) attributed to “foreign tourists seeking satisfaction for their perversions” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 1998b). In his Pastoral Letter on Human Trafficking, Archbishop Socrates Villegas attributed human trafficking to “the worship of creatures and the idolatry of money” and claimed that “[s]o long as there are huge profits to be made from human trafficking, this transnational crime will continue to defy national and international laws, and religious and moral strictures and norms” (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines 2014).

One important cultural element that the CBCP has largely omitted in its explanations of human trafficking is gender norms. Although official teachings of the Church emphasize the dignity and equality of women and have condemned gender discrimination (Pope John Paul II 1988, §16; 1995, §§3–4; Pope Francis 2020, §23), they have also consistently evinced suspicion of “gender ideology” and alarm over the decoupling of biological sex from cultural gender (e.g. Congregation for Catholic Education 2019, §2, §§11–14). During remarks at a Vatican conference, Pope Francis (2024) declared that

today the worst danger is gender ideology, which cancels out differences. I asked for studies to made on this ugly ideology of our time, which erases differences and makes everything the same; to erase difference is to erase humanity. Man and women, on the other hand, stand in fruitful “tension.”

One theologian, a religious sister who self-identifies as feminist, observed that for most bishops in the Philippines, human trafficking is primarily a matter of human rights but that they do not typically consider gender’s role in stimulating demand for human trafficking. The theologian explained that human trafficking against women was a function of norms that give men a “sense of entitlement or a sense of proprietorship” over women (Interview with Religious Sister 1, February 2018). But, she continued, with a few notable exceptions, the bishops generally lack gender consciousness and the vocabulary to discuss patriarchal structures. “The usual spirituality imposed on women,” said the theologian, “is being second-class citizens, always surrendering and always sacrificing. Everybody must be first before them” (Interview with Religious Sister 1, February 2018). As a counterweight to these patriarchal structures, the theologian explained how she and her fellow religious sisters had been developing workshop modules to promote a “liberating spirituality.” This, she argued, was a major contribution of religious communities.

In certain organizations, it is just a matter of saving [trafficked persons] or providing later on a kind of assistance. But what is important with us is consciousness. A change in consciousness in women [that]…shows the dynamics of gender oppression, because where does human trafficking come from? We trace it to patriarchy.

(Interview with Religious Sister 1, February 2018)

In sum, explanations of human trafficking vary within the Church in the Philippines. On the one hand, there is condemnation of trafficking and emphasis on the outrage that it inflicts upon human dignity and the imago Dei. On the other hand, there is also a recognition that trafficking is not simply an act of moral depravity but also a function of social structures—whether cultural or economic—that can make it difficult for people to avoid being drawn into it. These suggest different loci for the Church’s anti-trafficking responses—in particular, efforts to address the “root causes” of trafficking by tackling socioeconomic inequality and poverty, supporting populations at risk of trafficking, reintegrating trafficking survivors, and reshaping how Filipino Catholic audiences understand the nature of trafficking.

Institutionalizing Catholic Anti-Trafficking Approaches in the Philippines

In the Philippines, the Church has built a dense web of connections both intra-ecclesially among Catholic organizations, as well as extra-ecclesially with government entities, NGOs, and other churches. These focus on a variety of functions, including information-sharing, policy coordination, and direct service provision to trafficked persons. Such institutions help to convert Church teachings into regular practice, adapting them to local circumstances.

At the national level, the CBCP has built anti-trafficking structures that link it with individual dioceses which, in turn, run their own programs for parishes under their jurisdiction. Talitha Kum Philippines, which grew out of the Association of Major Religious Superiors of the Philippines (AMRSP; as of 2021, renamed the Conference of Major Superiors in the Philippines), trains consecrated religious communities in anti-trafficking, builds community networks, and provides services directly to trafficked persons. Other Church-affiliated organizations, such as the Mary Queen of Heaven Missionaries (MQHM), focus on local advocacy and largely operate independently of other Catholic structures. The variety and autonomy of Catholic organizations allow for flexibility in how the Church responds to human trafficking in the Philippines but also underscores the importance of communication and coordination. This section briefly describes several such organizations to illustrate this variety, though it is by no means comprehensive.

The CBCP Cluster Against Human Trafficking (CCAHT)

Within the CBCP, a number of organizations that work on issues related to human trafficking have been formally linked through the CCAHT—including (since 2017) the Episcopal Commissions on Migrants and Itinerant Peoples, Social Action, and Youth, the Office on Women, and (since 2021) the Episcopal Commissions on Health Care, Family and Life, and Indigenous Peoples, and the Committee on Public Affairs (“CBCP Expands Cluster Against Human Trafficking” 2021). ECMI is the lead organization in CCAHT, overseen by a chair and a vice-chair (both of whom are bishops) and assisted by an executive secretary (a priest) and several laypersons who staff the secretariat. Prior to the formation of the CCAHT, individual episcopal commissions were developing anti-trafficking activities without coordination. The establishment of CCAHT facilitated pooling of knowledge, division of labor, and the development of coordinated strategic planning. ECMI, for instance, focuses on labor trafficking, while the Office on Women focuses on trafficking in women and the Episcopal Commission on Youth handles trafficking in children (Interview with Lay Staff 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5, June 2018).

As a national coordinating structure for the CBCP, CCAHT works primarily with dioceses throughout the Philippines, particularly through the establishment of Diocesan Clusters Against Human Trafficking (DCAHT), which bring together key personnel from across the diocese to pool information and coordinate policy on anti-trafficking. While in some cases, dioceses have already developed anti-trafficking initiatives and partnerships with government, they have typically not been conducted in coordination with other Church organizations or with the CBCP (Interview with Lay Staff 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5, June 2018). CCAHT conducts training workshops for diocesan personnel to help them develop their own diocesan clusters according to national-level guidelines. For example, a two-day CCAHT workshop in Cebu for the Central and Eastern Visayas regions in April 2018 drew 40 participants from seven dioceses, including eight priests, a sister, and lay staff and volunteers. Topics included theological understandings about trafficking, the “4 P’s” framework, the importance of developing partnerships among diocesan commissions and ministries, practical implications of rescuing trafficked persons, and building concrete plans for future collaboration in participants’ home dioceses (Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines-Episcopal Commission on the Pastoral Care of Migrants and Itinerant People 2018). The workshop also included a Eucharistic celebration. While DCAHTs are autonomous from the CBCP, CCAHT sees its coordinating and standardizing function as helping to strengthen the authority behind diocesan anti-trafficking activities (Interview with Lay Staff 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5, June 2018).

Talitha Kum Philippines

An important voice in shaping the Church’s approach to human trafficking in the Philippines is the Talitha Kum network discussed in Chapter 8. What became Talitha Kum Philippines was originally founded as Asia-Pacific Women Religious Against Trafficking in Humans in 2007. In 2009, it was renamed Talitha Kum Philippines and became part of the newly established Talitha Kum network, which today includes the regional Talitha Kum Southeast Asia network with national organizations in Indonesia, Thailand, Myanmar, Timor-Leste, Cambodia, and Vietnam. The regional network, in turn, is connected to the wider international Talitha Kum network headed by the International Union Superiors General.

The autonomy of consecrated religious communities makes the networked structure of Talitha Kum critical to its advocacy and rescue work. At one end, the embeddedness of religious personnel in local communities facilitates the collection of trafficking-related intelligence on the ground and direct communication with those at risk of being trafficked. At the other end, Talitha Kum’s transnationally networked structure facilitates coordination and the rapid dissemination of norms, practices, and information across borders. A sister who works with Talitha Kum Philippines described an example of the network in action. An Indonesian priest who belonged to the Talitha Kum network and had been trained to identify and intervene in suspected trafficking was on a boat traveling to Jakarta from a remote region. While on the boat, he met five girls traveling alone and grew suspicious. He struck up a conversation with them and discovered that they did not know anyone in Jakarta and had only been told to meet someone there upon arrival. At that point, the priest called Talitha Kum members in Jakarta who had contacts in law enforcement and were able to arrange for several sisters and a police officer to meet the girls at the pier. Further investigation revealed that the girls had narrowly avoided being trafficked. The Talitha Kum network quickly found a temporary shelter for the girls in one of the religious communities in Jakarta. They were also able to locate and contact the girls’ parents through a religious congregation near their home region. “In two days,” said the sister, “it was over because of networking” (Interview with Religious Sister 2, February 2018).

The sister explained that Talitha Kum’s advantages also lay with its emphasis on integrating spirituality into its anti-trafficking ministry. In the Philippines, she said, trafficked persons tend to be very poor and motivated less by money than by “fear of the Lord and family values.” Hence, Talitha Kum’s emphasis on Gospel values resonates with them.

The United Nations talk about the dignity and human rights, right? We also talk about dignity and human rights as Catholics, but more so we talk about the sacredness of the person—that as persons, we need to respect the person since the person is the image of God and is sacred. So, anything about their selves in terms of their dignity and their human rights is to be respected much more because she or he is sacred.

(Interview with Religious Sister 2, February 2018)

From a broad focus on human dignity, Talitha Kum’s anti-trafficking advocacy has focused on addressing structural injustices that make human trafficking possible. In 2019, the Talitha Kum International Assembly identified three “priority areas of structural injustice” to eliminate trafficking:

“The difference in power between men and women in all sectors: economic, social, familial, political, cultural and religious”;

“Unjust and inadequate immigration law and policy coupled with forced migration and displacement”;

“The dominant model of neo-liberal development and unfettered capitalism [which] creates situations of vulnerability that are exploited by recruiters, traffickers, employers, and buyers.” (“Final Declaration - Talitha Kum Assembly” 2019)

For each priority, Talitha Kum International produced a “Study, Prayer, and Action Pack” for churches to use in community discussions. These included explanations of the priorities, links to resources—including from IGOs and INGOs—scriptural references, relevant citations from papal encyclicals and other documents from Catholic social teaching, and discussion questions.

What was particularly notable about the first priority area is that it specifically addressed the Church’s own institutions as a locus for reform:

We call on the Church, as the Body of Christ and an example to society, to witness to the value and dignity of women and girls by promoting their proper role in all sectors. May this commitment be reflected within the Church by involving women in decision-making processes, especially on topics that impact them. We call on Episcopal Conferences, Religious Brothers and Sisters, and Diocesan Clergy and laity to collaborate with women as equals in order to transform the culture of domination and to support the networks of Talitha Kum in their diocese and local communities.

(“Final Declaration—Talitha Kum Assembly” 2019)

The “Study, Prayer, and Action Pack” describes how women are consistently underrepresented across a wide range of social sectors, paid less than male counterparts, and disproportionately responsible for unpaid care and domestic work. It states that “[m]igration is a gendered process where women and men are treated differently. Women face entrenched limits to their opportunities, autonomy, freedoms and safety, rendering them vulnerable to systemic violations of their human rights” (“Talitha Kum’s Study, Prayer and Action Pack: Women and Human Trafficking” 2021, 3). It includes a list of relevant UN SDGs focused on eliminating violence and abuse of women and children, reducing inequality, ending child labor, and promoting safe and orderly migration. It also includes a list of scriptural references regarding women’s role in the Church, including Luke 24:1–11, titled “The apostles refuse to believe the women,” referring to the apostles’ refusal to believe the women who saw the angels announcing Jesus’s resurrection (“Talitha Kum’s Study, Prayer and Action Pack: Women and Human Trafficking” 2021, 4). A prayer included in the packet asks God to “open our ears to the cries of women who have been victims of violence; who have been denied dignity, education, food, healthcare, economic opportunity and even life itself, simply because they are female,” and also “that all people may recognize women as equal partners in every aspect of life, and value their contributions in society and in the Church” (emphasis added) (“Talitha Kum’s Study, Prayer and Action Pack: Women and Human Trafficking” 2021, 6). It asks, “May your Spirit empower us to be instruments of justice for women in our homes, our places of work, our schools and universities, in government, in the arts, and in leadership roles in the Church” (emphasis added) (“Talitha Kum’s Study, Prayer and Action Pack: Women and Human Trafficking” 2021, 6). For Talitha Kum, a gender-sensitive approach to human trafficking in the Church could not take root unless the Church reflected such sensitivity in its own institutional structures.

Mary Queen of Heaven Missionaries (MQHM)

A different organizational model and ministry is represented by the MQHM, a community of sisters based in Cebu dedicated to caring for women and girls in the commercial sex trade as well as female sex trafficking survivors. MQHM began in 1996 with Corazon Salazar, a lay Catholic woman who owned a clothing store in the Manila district of Parañaque. On her daily commute, she witnessed young women and girls involved in the sex trade along Mabini Avenue, a notorious red-light district. Moved with compassion, Salazar and a group of six friends decided to establish a community devoted to rescuing women and girls from sexual exploitation, initially funding themselves with the proceeds from the sale of Salazar’s business. With the assistance of Msgr. Frederick Kriekenbeek, a parish priest in Talisay, Cebu, the community began to establish a presence in Cebu (Mary Queen of Heaven Missionaries 2024).

In 2000, Cardinal Ricardo Vidal, the Archbishop of Cebu, recognized MQHM as a private Catholic Association of the Faithful. In 2003, Cardinal Vidal elevated MQHM to the level of a Public Association of the Faithful, granting it canonical status and connecting it more tightly to the Archdiocese (“Mary Queen of Heaven Missionaries 2021/2022 Annual Report” 2023, 8–9). As part of that relationship, MQHM is required to adhere to the Church’s rules and norms governing the spiritual formation of religious congregations. However, MQHM remains self-sufficient, funding itself through donations, special collections taken up in parishes, foundation grants, and the operation of a baking and catering business; it does not receive any funds from the government or the Archdiocese of Cebu (Interview with Religious Sister 3, August 2022). The Archdiocese gives MQHM a great deal of autonomy so long as it operates according to canonical rules, including by submitting an annual report.

As explained in an interview with a member of MQHM, the community’s ministry consists primarily of (1) the rescue of women from the sex industry, and (2) poverty reduction through MQHM’s Regina Coeli Program, which provides school supplies and scholarships to children in rural areas to facilitate their education and thus reduce their vulnerability to trafficking. MQHM’s rescue ministry involves pairs of MQHM sisters dressed in street clothes who visit bars and other areas frequented by sex workers. Over time, they build a rapport with sex workers, offering rosaries, prayers, and a listening ear, but never forcing sex workers to leave with them. In some cases, the sisters use donated funds to pay the “bar fine”—the fee that clients pay the establishment to allow sex workers to leave with them—so that they can talk more freely with them (Interview with Religious Sister 3, August 2022). Sex workers who seek help from MQHM are housed at the Home of Love, the community’s formation house in Cebu, which can accommodate up to 50 guests. While in the care of MQHM, they are provided with spiritual formation, psychological counseling, art and music therapy, OB/GYN services, and vocational training. In addition to Home of Love, MQHM operates a second shelter in Cebu—My Bonita House—for abused children who have been referred to MQHM through the Department of Social Welfare (Interview with Religious Sister 3, August 2022).

MQHM is an example of a genuinely grassroots Catholic anti-trafficking organization that emerged from the initiative of private individuals, with the hierarchy only becoming involved once it embarked upon public ministry. Its focus is primarily regional rather than national. In that respect, it has more in common with diocesan initiatives than with national organizations like Talitha Kum Philippines, which emerged out of another national organization—the AMRSP. Yet, in a serendipitous series of events, it was able to expand its ministry to the United States. In 2006, a group of MQHM sisters traveled to the United States for fundraising. During a meeting with the Archdiocese of Los Angeles, the vicar for women religious was impressed with MQHM’s ministry. As a result, the Archdiocese sponsored several MQHM sisters for immigration visas, enabling them to establish a shelter for sexually trafficked women in West Covina—Home of Love USA—capable of accommodating four to five guests at a time. In 2012, MQHM was granted canonical recognition by the Archdiocese of Los Angeles. This unusual development reflects the autonomy of Church organizations and how that can allow for flexible approaches to anti-trafficking ministry.

The Philippine Interfaith Movement Against Human Trafficking (PIMAHT)

A significant partner in the Catholic Church’s anti-trafficking advocacy in the Philippines is the Philippine Interfaith Movement Against Human Trafficking (PIMAHT). Established in 2013 by the CBCP, the National Council of Churches of the Philippines (NCCP), and the Philippine Council of Evangelical Churches, it is aimed at uniting faith communities in joint action to combat trafficking. Current members also include Talitha Kum Philippines, International Justice Mission (IJM) Philippines, and the Philippine Children’s Ministries Network.

Much of PIMAHT’s work focuses on building partnerships at the national level among its member organizations. For example, PIMAHT facilitated the pooling and dissemination of research on OSAEC by the Philippine Children’s Ministries Network, which serves as the Commission on Children for the Philippine Council of Evangelical Churches (Interview with Lay Staff 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5, June 2018). PIMAHT’s convening power is illustrated by a November 2022 event called “Unite Against Online Sexual Exploitation of Children,” hosted at the Iglesia Filipina Independiente’s National Cathedral in Manila, MC’d by a pastor from the NCCP and a lay staffer from the CBCP’s Episcopal Commission on Youth. The event was co-organized by PIMAHT, the NCCP, the United Against OSEC in the Philippines coalition (comprising several Christian and child-focused NGOs), and two national child-focused NGOs: the Children’s Rehabilitation Center and the Sainlahi Alliance for Children’s Concerns. Featured speakers included the assistant chief of the Philippine National Police’s Anti-Trafficking in Persons Division, a bishop from the NCCP, a survivor of OSEC, and a staff member from the office of Senator Risa Hontiveros, who was sponsoring legislation to strengthen prohibitions on OSEC (Philippine Interfaith Movement Against Human Trafficking 2022).

The Catholic Church’s collaboration with PIMAHT also facilitates cooperation in direct service provision to trafficked persons. For example, IJM, a global Christian anti-trafficking NGO with offices in the Philippines and a PIMAHT member, frequently works with churches to facilitate rescue operations. As one IJM staffer explained, churches are invaluable because of their ability to coordinate across networks and connect trafficked persons with resources. The staffer observed that often, the government did not have facilities to safely and comfortably shelter trafficking survivors. Through contacts in PIMAHT, including Talitha Kum, IJM is able to work with religious communities to quickly arrange appropriate shelter for survivors (Interview with NGO Staff 1, June 2018). At the same time, IJM’s partnerships with both the Philippine government and PIMAHT enable it to serve as a conduit for information between the government and religious sectors.

The organizations above each illustrate different approaches to institutionalizing anti-trafficking norms and practices in the Philippines. CCAHT utilizes the CBCP’s existing administrative structures to coordinate diocesan approaches to anti-trafficking by training and assistance in forming diocesan-level organizational structures. Talitha Kum taps into national and transnational networks of consecrated religious communities to diffuse anti-trafficking practices and share information for direct service provision to trafficked persons. MQHM is a grassroots organization that has gained canonical status from its local archdiocese to conduct anti-trafficking advocacy and direct service provision to trafficked persons, but is less connected to wider anti-trafficking networks in the Philippines or abroad. PIMAHT is a national interfaith network of churches and faith-based organizations that seeks to pool resources and coordinate anti-trafficking action across multiple communities.

With such a large number of organizations operating in relative autonomy from one another, it is not surprising that there are sometimes clashes that can hinder cooperation and coordination. In particular, different ecclesiological orientations can become a source of friction. For example, “Father Mark” (not his real name), a priest with a regional anti-trafficking organization, expressed frustration that the local diocese was overly focused on sacramental theology in its ministry—emphasizing the need for Catholics to attend Mass, go to confession, and receive the Eucharist. As a result, he said, the Church’s social teachings, including human rights issues and matters of human dignity, were barely addressed (Interview with Priest 1, June 2018). “Father Mark” explained that his own ministry was deeply focused on the lived experiences of people in impoverished communities. He spoke of being inspired by basic ecclesial communities and liberation theology. In contrast, he characterized the institutional Church as overly traditional, too close to the centers of political power, and insufficiently connected to the communities where trafficking was most prevalent (Interview with Priest 1, June 2018).

A similar criticism came from “Jeanne” (not her real name), a Catholic layperson who led an anti-trafficking NGO that frequently collaborates with the Catholic Church. In an interview, she described her love for liberation theology, which grew out of her experience living under the Marcos martial law regime. Liberation theology, she said, was especially relevant to human trafficking because of its emphasis on human equality through being made in the image of God: “It gives you the power to claim your dignity and freedom” (Interview with NGO Staff 2, June 2018). “Jeanne” emphasized that the Catholic Church was a “sleeping giant” with a vital role to play in preventing trafficking, particularly by addressing root causes. At the same time, she expressed frustration over what she perceived to be the Church’s excessive focus on capacity-building and training, quipping that

sometimes I feel that the [conference] hotel is the one who benefits from all this. […] The things they are talking about I already knew ten years ago! […] Action. You need action. Go to the community. Take action. Lobby for resources. Bring it to the people.

(Interview with NGO Staff 2, June 2018)

As the Catholic hierarchy becomes more involved in shaping the Church’s approach to anti-trafficking through initiatives like CCAHT, the relationship between dioceses and other Catholic anti-trafficking organizations operating within them will need to be negotiated. The organizational relationship among different Catholic institutions is generally loose, allowing for autonomy, flexibility, and diversity in how different parts of the Church respond to human trafficking, but also resulting in a lack of coordination, even within dioceses. Initiatives like CCAHT aim toward greater standardization of anti-trafficking work, better coordination, and improved efficiency. However, as illustrated by the criticisms of Catholic anti-trafficking advocates above, there is a risk that such capacity-building efforts can overshadow the urgent need to confront human trafficking in the here and now.

Trafficked Workers in Philippine Offshore Gaming Operations: Local Identities vs. Transnational Morality?

An important aspect of how the Catholic Church has thickened anti-trafficking norms in the Philippines is the dichotomy between Filipinos and foreigners. In the Philippines, the Catholic Church’s anti-trafficking advocacy has primarily been focused on Filipinos. Given that the Philippines is a migrant-sending country and that trafficking in the Philippines is overwhelmingly perpetrated against Filipinos, this is understandable. This is reflected in the Church’s acknowledgment that trafficking often takes the form of foreigners exploiting Filipinos—whether in the form of foreign sex tourists in the Philippines, foreign consumers of OSEAC materials produced in the Philippines, or foreign abusers of Filipino migrant workers. Here, it is possible to detect parallels with Church criticisms of “contraceptive imperialism” (discussed in Chapter 6), which depicts foreign actors as imposing pernicious norms and practices on the Philippines. At the same time, the image of foreigners as powerful exploiters and Filipinos as vulnerable creates the possibility of tension between, on the one hand, a transcendent view of human trafficking that emphasizes common humanity, and on the other, a view colored by national identities. This is starkly illustrated by the ongoing case of foreign trafficked workers in POGOs—facilities located in the Philippines to provide online gambling services to customers located overseas, particularly in China.

In 2016, President Rodrigo Duterte liberalized the Philippines’ online gambling market, ending the dominance of the local monopoly, PhilWeb, which catered primarily to the domestic market. This created a ripe opportunity for Chinese investors seeking to tap into demand for online gambling while circumventing Beijing’s restrictions on gambling (which limited legal gambling to the enclave of Macau). Filipinos (whether in the Philippines or abroad) were prohibited from gambling through the POGOs, as were foreigners residing in the Philippines (Reyes 2020). Nevertheless, POGOs were often housed in enormous complexes and provided significant revenues to the local economy. In 2019, POGOs were estimated to contribute P551 billion (approximately USD 10 billion, equivalent to nearly a third of OFWs’ annual remittances) to the economy each year through licensing and royalty incomes as well as rent and taxes (Rivas 2019; Banlaoi 2020, 105).

At the same time, the influx of POGOs generated concerns that they were fronts for criminal activity. In June 2024, there were 46 licensed POGOs in the Philippines, but according to the chief of the Philippine Amusement and Gaming Corp, the state gambling regulator, there were also around 250 to 300 unlicensed offshore gaming firms (Morales 2024). POGOs were implicated in human trafficking, prostitution, money laundering, and online scams. In addition to Filipino workers, POGOs also employed thousands of foreign workers, a majority of whom came from China. Numerous reports emerged of workers kept in slave-like conditions at the POGO facilities and forced to carry out scams, sometimes under threat of physical abuse (Jesperson et al. 2023, 16–18; “Authorities rescue over 100 allegedly abused POGO workers” 2022). During public hearings on POGOs convened by the House of Representatives in July 2024, several foreign nationals rescued from slavery in POGOs provided testimony about how they were trafficked and held in virtual imprisonment. The Presidential Anti-Organized Crime Commission also presented several videos seized from illegal POGOs depicting the torture of employees suspected of collaborating with law enforcement (Villaruel 2024).

Concerns about POGOs were also fueled by deteriorating relations between the Philippines and China, particularly over contested sovereign claims in the South China Sea (officially known in the Philippines since 2012 as the “West Philippine Sea”). Escalating confrontations between Chinese and Philippine vessels have come perilously close to armed hostilities. This has stoked nationalist anger in the Philippines against China and helped to strengthen the Philippines’ defense ties with Japan and the United States (Grossman 2023). Such anger has also helped to fuel suspicions that at least some of the thousands of Chinese POGO workers might be engaged in espionage for China.

In mid-2024, Philippine authorities raided Baofu, a massive POGO complex in the town of Bamban in Tarlac, following reports of human trafficking and torture at the property. The raid resulted in the detention of 678 workers—including 383 Filipinos, 218 Chinese, and 55 Vietnamese, as well as workers from Malaysia, Rwanda, Indonesia, Taiwan, and Kyrgyzstan (Magsambol and Manabat 2024). Additionally, authorities found evidence of surveillance and hacking of Philippine government websites, as well as paraphernalia for running cyberscams (Peralta-Malonzo 2024). Documents discovered during the raid pointed to Bamban Mayor Alice Leal Guo as a central player in Baofu’s operations, prompting investigations into POGOs by the House of Representatives and the Senate. The Senate’s investigation into Guo became a national sensation when in late June, the National Bureau of Investigation announced that contrary to Guo’s claims of having been born in the Philippines, her fingerprints matched those of a Chinese national who had entered the Philippines from China in 2003 at the age of 12, while her criminal clearance certificate showed the same birth information but a photo of a different woman, suggesting that Alice Guo was a stolen identity (“NBI confirms Mayor Alice Guo, Guo Hua Ping ‘one and the same person’ - Hontiveros” 2024). In the midst of the investigation, Guo fled the Philippines in mid-July. On August 12, the Philippine Office of the Ombudsman dismissed Guo from office (Laqui 2024). At the beginning of September 2024, Guo was arrested in Indonesia and subsequently brought back to the Philippines. As of early October 2024, the Senate inquiry into her relationship with China was still ongoing.

The Baofu scandal and the revelation that a Filipino mayor might have been a Chinese agent in disguise intensified popular opposition to the POGOs, including from the Church. One notable response was a pastoral letter by former CBCP President Archbishop Socrates Villegas, titled, “Lord Save Us! We Are Perishing!” after Matthew 8:25. The letter, which was read at all Masses in Villegas’s archdiocese of Lingayen-Dagupan on June 15 and 16, 2024 in lieu of the usual homily, described China as an atheistic and anti-religious totalitarian threat (Villegas 2024). Villegas described the threat from China as not only political but moral in nature, emphasizing the impact of Chinese fishing on Filipino fisherfolk’s livelihoods, the threat to the Philippines’ independence, and the responsibility to protect nature from destruction. In an apparent reference to the Guo case, Villegas (2024) warned that because of Philippine officials’ incompetence, it had become possible for “foreigners with malicious intent” to obtain documents enabling them to gain residency, disguise themselves as native Filipino citizens, and become eligible for public office. He closed by calling for the outlawing of POGOs, declaring it “a moral imperative” given their status as sites of human trafficking, torture, and money laundering. Subsequently, Villegas called for a 50-day rosary prayer campaign to defend the Philippines from an atheistic China (Esmaquel 2024). As part of the campaign, on July 16 he and Bishop Napoleon Sipalay Jr. of the Diocese of Alaminos led a “fluvial procession” off the Philippines’ western coast, sailing into the South China Sea and praying for peace. “We are not anti-China. We are not racist,” Villegas said in his homily. “We are one in brotherhood and sisterhood in the Philippines, but we also know the sufferings of our brothers and sisters in mainland China—oppression, truth manipulation, human rights abuses” (“Watch: A Catholic archbishop sails West Philippine Sea to pray for China” 2024).

Villegas’s pastoral letter and actions poignantly illustrate the tensions between the Church’s role in the Philippines as a national guardian and its call to be a source of welcome to outsiders. By drawing a direct correlation between the Filipino nation and the Catholic Church, he made China’s “atheistic” threat against the Philippines a threat to the Church as well. Because of this, China’s threat to the Philippines could not be solely geopolitical but instead took on moral significance. Second, Villegas’s warning that the enemy had already infiltrated Filipino society highlighted the tension between fraternity and fear of the outsider. On the one hand, Pope Francis’s call for “fraternity” as discussed in Chapter 8 demands an openness to the stranger and a willingness to dismantle cultural barriers. On the other hand, the Guo scandal illustrates how that openness can also lead to exploitation. From a Filipino perspective, Villegas’s warnings are understandable given the geopolitical context. Moreover, as discussed in Chapter 3, the Church has derived its moral authority in part from its history as a guardian of the Filipino nation. But, from a more cosmopolitan Catholic perspective, Villegas’s call to adopt vigilance against nefarious foreign influences complicates the “culture of encounter” advocated by Pope Francis.

On July 22, 2024, President Marcos announced a complete ban on POGOs during his annual State of the Nation address and gave them until December 31, 2024, to close their operations, earning a standing ovation from congressional lawmakers (“Philippines’ Marcos bans offshore gaming operators” 2024). Two days later, Bureau of Immigration Commissioner Norman Tansingco announced that all foreign POGO workers—estimated to total approximately 20,000—would be required to leave the Philippines within 59 days or face deportation. Additionally, all new and pending visa applications for POGO workers would be denied (Bureau of Immigration 2024a). Three days later, on July 27, the Bureau of Immigration revised its announcement, allowing foreign POGO workers to remain until 59 days after their respective companies closed down operations, whereupon they would be subject to deportation (Bureau of Immigration 2024b). Catholic bishops enthusiastically praised Marcos’s POGO ban. Bishop Ruperto Santos, Vice-Chairman of the CBCP-ECMI, declared in a statement that outlawing POGOs would save lives (Figarola 2024). In remarks to the Church-operated Radio Veritas, Bishop Leopoldo Jaucian of Bangued also praised the POGO ban as well as Marcos’s assertion of Philippine sovereignty in the South China Sea, calling them a “moral boost to our Filipino identity” (Dequia 2024).

Amid the public outrage over Alice Guo’s apparent deception and the possibility that China had used POGOs to spy on the Philippines, the fate of trafficked workers in the POGO complexes—particularly the foreign ones—seemed curiously absent from the Catholic Church’s discourse. As of mid-August 2024, since the raid on the Baofu complex, neither the CBCP nor any other Catholic organization appeared to have issued any public statement commenting on foreign trafficked persons in the POGOs. Considering that some 20,000 foreign workers faced the possibility of mass deportation within months, that many of them were likely victims of trafficking, that abuse of employees in POGOs was widely known, and that trafficked deportees faced the risk of prosecution in their home countries,⁴ this was surprising.

While the Church’s efforts to thicken anti-trafficking norms have facilitated their adaptation to the Philippines’ local context, the POGO case suggests how thickening can also submerge transnational norms within local identities, even to the point of tension with transnational religious teachings. The Church is both transnational and local. Even if transnational religious teachings demanded that the Church evince concern for trafficked workers regardless of their national origin, thicker local understandings of identities and relationships can have a stronger influence on the Church’s positions.

Conclusion: Taking Ownership of Anti-Trafficking Norms

The Catholic Church’s approach to fighting human trafficking in the Philippines demonstrates how norm thickening can fill the gaps in transnational moral norms, connecting them with not only religious teachings but also local lived realities. In doing so, norm thickening helps the Catholic Church in the Philippines make anti-trafficking norms their own.

Norms in the Palermo Protocol and other documents provide a strong basis for anti-trafficking legislation in the Philippines, but such legislation also reflects some of the gaps in such norms, such as a heavy focus on prosecution relative to protection, prevention, and partnerships. Papal teachings on human trafficking emphasize that it is not merely a crime but more fundamentally a violation of human dignity made possible by dehumanizing people as objects to (ab)use. The identities, relationships, and explanations put forward by the global Church have helped to shed light on root causes of trafficking and draw attention to the deeper importance of building solidarity and a “culture of encounter.” Yet, even though there is broad convergence between Catholic teachings and transnational norms against trafficking, and even though the Church in the Philippines accepts Vatican-level Catholic teachings, it has also needed to develop its own understandings of what those teachings mean for a local Philippine context. It has done so through its own process of norm thickening: defining identities and relationships, explaining the significance of human trafficking in the context of Catholic teachings, and building institutions and practices that reflect those understandings of trafficking in the Philippines.

In some cases, the Church’s norm thickening has boosted anti-trafficking efforts, particularly by drawing attention to the relationship between cultural norms and human trafficking, and by emphasizing the need to care for trafficked persons in a holistic and personal manner. Thickening has also led to the development of dense networks for sharing information, pooling resources, and coordinating policies to streamline and enhance anti-trafficking work. The nature of these networks, in turn, is a function of the Philippines’ local environment, which is characterized by the prevalence of human trafficking, the ubiquity of the Catholic Church and faith-based organizations, and high levels of autonomy and diversity among different Church organizations.

As illustrated by the POGO case, though, norm thickening also involves connecting transnational moral norms (whether emanating from the UN or the Vatican) with local identities—including national identities. Fears of Chinese geopolitical and espionage threats, as well as the Church’s identity as a guardian of the Filipino nation, appeared to be more salient than Pope Francis’s exhortations for a “culture of encounter.” While it is easy to criticize the Church’s response, it is more useful to consider how it is also a natural result of norm thickening representing the understandings of a particular people in a particular social context. In this respect, norm thickening always poses the challenge of bringing the global Church closer to the local culture while simultaneously bringing that culture closer to the global Church.

List of Interviews

Lay Staff 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 (focus group discussion) | June 2018
NGO Staff 1 | June 2018
NGO Staff 2 | June 2018
Priest 1 | June 2018
Religious Sister 1 | February 2018
Religious Sister 2 | February 2018
Religious Sister 3 | August 2022 (Massachusetts, USA)

All interviews were conducted in Luzon, Philippines, unless otherwise indicated.

Notes

The national prevalence rate was estimated to fall between 2.59 percent and 3.98 percent at the 95 percent confidence interval.

See Chapter 8 regarding these multilateral anti-trafficking agreements.

IACAT consists of:

Secretary of the Department of Justice (Chairperson).

Secretary of the Department of Social Welfare and Development (Co-Chairperson).

Secretary of the Department of Foreign Affairs.

Secretary of the Department of Labor and Employment.

Secretary of the Department of the Interior and Local Government.

Administrator of the Philippine Overseas Employment Administration.

Commissioner of the Bureau of Immigration.

Chief of the Philippine National Police.

Chairperson of the Philippine Commission on Women.

Chairperson of the Commission on Filipinos Overseas.

Executive Director of the Philippine Center for Transnational Crimes.

Three representatives of the NGO sector, comprising one each from the women’s, OFWs’, and children’s sectors. (Expanded Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act of 2012 2012, §21).

For example, the US State Department reports the arrest of over 44,000 Chinese nationals from scam centers run in Myanmar between August 2023 and January 2024. Because the Chinese government did not screen them for trafficking, it is likely that at least some of those prosecuted and penalized were trafficking victims (U.S. Department of State 2024a).

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10 Catholic Norm Thickening and the Power of Particular Morality

DOI: 10.4324/9780429457364-10

This book began with the observation that transnational moral norms often reflect only what international actors are able to agree upon politically. An important part of what makes transnational moral norms legitimate is how they purport to represent universally accepted principles rather than the perspectives of a particular culture. As a result, transnational moral norms are often “thin,” shorn of connections to specific cultures. Critically, this often means de-emphasizing underlying moral principles. As Jacques Maritain (1951, 77) remarked about the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, “we agree on these rights, providing we are not asked why. With the ‘why,’ the dispute begins.” Without the “why,” however, transnational moral norms risk irrelevance to particular cultures, as well as an inconsistent or even incoherent “patchwork” of agreed-upon moral norms unguided by any deeper principles.

Stephen Hopgood (2009, 232–233) has suggested that the most powerful moral norms are legitimized by moral authority that is both transcendent (i.e. immune to human refutation) and non-contingent (i.e. always binding without exception). This book has attempted to explore the extent to which religion can serve as this source of authority and how it shapes communities’ approaches to transnational moral norms. Because religious authority is rooted in claims of supernatural origin, it can claim to be both transcendent and non-contingent.

Norm thickening is a process that seeks to make thin transnational moral norms intelligible and relevant to specific cultures. Actors thicken norms by (1) defining the identities and relationships of actors relevant to a transnational moral norm, (2) explaining how transnational moral norms relate to thick, culturally specific moral principles, and (3) institutionalizing the connection between thin moral norms and thick moral principles in rules, organizations, and practices. Together, these activities make transnational moral norms more resonant with local audiences. To the extent that the thick, culturally specific moral principles in question are religious in nature, norm thickening is backed by religion’s claims of transcendent and non-contingent authority. The comprehensive nature of religious moral frameworks means that the application of religious principles can help to fill gaps in transnational moral norms left by the need to achieve international political consensus. An important factor in the success or failure of norm thickening is the moral authority of actors seeking to build connections between thick moral principles and transnational moral norms. Moral authority, in turn, is a function of whether audiences believe that a norm thickener is driven by principled beliefs and working for the benefit of the community. The more that audiences believe that, the more likely they are to accord respect to the norm thickener’s perspective.

By focusing on the Catholic Church’s efforts to thicken transnational moral norms that treat access to contraception as a human right, as well as norms that govern efforts to eradicate human trafficking, this study has shown how viewing thin transnational moral norms through religious teachings can indeed make them more relevant to specific cultures where the Church holds moral authority. As a global religious organization headquartered at the Vatican, a sovereign state, and a transnational religious community deeply rooted in specific societies around the world, including in the Philippines, the Catholic Church engages in norm thickening at multiple levels. This has resulted not only in thicker, more locally resonant understandings of transnational moral norms, but also specifically Catholic and Filipino institutional responses to them.

At the level of doctrine, the Pope offers comprehensive moral teachings that can be used to evaluate transnational moral norms—for example, the idea that all human beings possess inherent dignity by virtue of having been created in the imago Dei; the sacredness of unborn human life, or the concept of solidarity as a guiding principle for individuals’ and communities’ interactions with migrants.

At the intergovernmental level, the Holy See uses its access to international forums to shape the articulation of transnational moral norms. For example, its interventions at the 1994 ICPD were critical to de-linking the international definition of reproductive health from access to abortion, while its engagement with the Global Compact for Safe, Orderly and Regular Migration helped to shape the agenda toward a greater emphasis on welcoming, protecting, promoting, and integrating migrants into their host societies. While the Church has not been timid about advancing its own particular moral perspectives in normative debates at the UN, it has also demonstrated a willingness to do so by appealing to broader principles that are not exclusively Catholic. This can help to shape the Church’s international normative environment, but the Church’s efforts to thicken norms at the intergovernmental level are limited by the need to build consensus across diverse societies that do not all share its worldview.

In the Philippines, on the other hand, Catholicism is much more widely accepted and woven into the fabric of politics and society. Because of this, Catholic leaders could go further in interpreting and applying Catholic teachings on contraception or human trafficking, thereby shaping the Philippines’ responses to transnational moral norms. For example, the Church’s teachings provided a more comprehensive approach to human trafficking than was envisioned by the Palermo Protocol, which focused heavily on prosecution and less on the other “Ps” of protection, prevention, and partnership. Because it offered a comprehensive framework for understanding moral actions, the Church could more directly address the cultural roots that give rise to human trafficking. Because of its vast network in the Philippines, the Church was also well-positioned to develop strong mechanisms to aid trafficking survivors and help them escape slavery. The Church’s thickening in this case meant filling in some of the gaps in transnational anti-trafficking norms in often complementary ways.

Making a transnational moral norm more relevant to a particular culture, however, does not automatically imply that thickening will result in greater local acceptance of that norm. In some cases, thickening means developing a culturally resonant moral approach to rejecting a norm. This was certainly the case in the Church’s efforts internationally and in the Philippines to block transnational norms that promoted access to contraception. Norm thickening, then, is less about building congruence between local and transnational norms, and more about orienting a culture toward a transnational moral norm in a way that local communities understand as authentic to their beliefs.

The Power of the Particular

A major lesson from this study is that although transnational moral norms may be couched in the language of universals, people make sense of them through the experience of the particular. This is a key reason why norm thickening can be effective: it connects abstract moral norms to the lived experiences and lifeworlds of local cultures.

Because norm thickening aims at particularizing thin transnational moral norms, how communities understand them will vary from context to context. This is also true within the global organization of the Catholic Church. Even when the Church thickens transnational moral norms by issuing a papal encyclical or shaping international normative agreements, that does not automatically mean that the Church’s thickening at the local level will follow the same trajectory. This is because understandings of what it means to be Catholic are not abstract but filtered through the particular experience of, say, being a Filipino Catholic working in Manila, or a Hispanic Catholic living in Los Angeles. One can almost think of a “double thickening” in which (1) Catholic doctrine reshapes understandings of transnational moral norms, and (2) local cultural identities reshape those Catholic understandings so that they make sense within the local context.

For example, although Catholic opponents of reproductive health norms in the Philippines sometimes pointed to Humanae Vitae’s rejection of the separation of the unitive and procreative dimensions of marital intercourse, they were more likely to argue along the lines of Cardinal Jaime Sin that nefarious foreign forces were attempting to impose their own cultural mores to the Philippines so as to normalize abortion as a form of family planning (Raagas 1994). The rejection of human trafficking as something that denigrates the imago Dei provides a comprehensive moral theological framework, but in the Philippines, what moved Corazon Salazar to found MQHM and shelter sex trafficking survivors was the sight of foreign sex tourists exploiting young women and children in Manila’s red-light districts. As illustrated by MQHM, Talitha Kum, PIMAHT, and other anti-trafficking organizations in the Philippines, institutionalizing and applying Catholic teachings against human trafficking means doing so in concrete and culturally specific ways.

In some cases, thick local understandings of Catholic teaching can even generate sharp divergences from thick understandings at other levels of the Church. Chapter 6 relates how during the reproductive health controversy in the Philippines, Cagayan de Oro Archbishop Antonio Ledesma’s efforts to develop a program between the Philippine government and the Church to jointly promote natural family planning appeared to be in line with Vatican-level teachings. Yet, because of the rancor surrounding reproductive health norms, Ledesma found himself attacked for appearing to weaken the Church’s total opposition to the government’s efforts to promote access to contraception elsewhere and was ultimately forced to dismantle the program.

Another example of how local identities can thicken Catholic teachings on transnational moral norms is the Philippines’ response to trafficked workers in the Philippine Offshore Gaming Operations (POGOs). In their responses to the Alice Guo scandal and the revelation of human trafficking in POGOs, Catholic bishops appeared far more vocal about the purported threat from China to the Philippines and the Church than they were about the thousands of potentially trafficked workers about to be deported en masse to an uncertain fate. Archbishop Socrates Villegas’s pastoral letter openly declaring China a threat and his “fluvial procession” to the South China / West Philippine Sea could not be fully understood without also recognizing the fusion of Catholic and Filipino identities, the escalating geopolitical tensions between the Philippines and China in the South China / West Philippine Sea, and the fact that POGOs were mostly owned and operated by Chinese nationals.

By linking transnational moral norms to local identities and moral principles, there is always a risk of departure from the original meanings of those norms. The relationships among transnational moral norms, local identities, and thick moral principles are dynamic, not static. The Church shifted its position on slavery from acquiescence to condemnation at the Second Vatican Council and gradually developed more comprehensive frameworks to understand human trafficking. Likewise, the Church’s understanding of how it should participate in Philippine politics changed as a result of Pope Benedict XVI’s different vision of the Church’s role in the world. At the local level, while Church leaders can gain moral authority by acting in principled fashion for the benefit of the local community, they also bear the responsibility of helping their communities live according to Jesus’s teachings. This is a responsibility that may sometimes require a willingness to speak and act prophetically—that is, counterculturally—even when it is not politically expedient, generating dynamic tensions between the local and the universal.

Questions and Challenges Ahead

The present study raises a number of questions for further consideration. These include questions about transnational norm dynamics and the role of religion, as well as questions about the Catholic Church.

Transnational Norms and the Role of Religion

An important source of norm thickening’s power is the non-contingent and transcendent authority of religion that derives from belief in its supernatural provenance. Religion’s concern with a full range of human moral behavior also means that it contains at least the building blocks of moral prescriptions for any number of norms. That said, it is hardly clear that a supernaturally based religion is the only way to thicken transnational moral norms. History is replete with examples of national identities and nationalist ideologies serving as powerful sources of moral teachings about transnational norms. Because they are understood as human-made rather than supernatural, such ideas lack the transcendent dimension of religious authority. Further research could examine the process and results of thickening moral norms with reference to religion in the Durkheimian sense—that is, as a system of beliefs organized around sacred objects rather than supernatural entities per se.

If religion can produce thick moral principles that can be harnessed to make transnational moral norms, then what happens when religion is absent or when it must compete with other thick moral principles? This question also highlights a limitation of the present study. The Philippines is overwhelmingly Catholic and the Church has historically been a dominant political player, making the country a “most-likely” case for norm thickening by the Catholic Church. Further research could examine religious efforts to thicken transnational moral norms in contexts where the religious community is a minority and must compete with other thick moral principles.

A Changing Transnational Church

In thickening transnational moral norms, one of the Catholic Church’s key tasks is to define its own identity and how it relates to its members. This is the realm of ecclesiology—how the Church understands itself theologically (Sanks 1992, 24). It is not a purely sociological or historical analysis of the community that is the Church. Instead, it foregrounds the religious beliefs, understandings, images, and symbols in the collective consciousness of community members. Ecclesiological debates have revolved around what sort of community the Church should regard itself to be. For example, should the Church regard itself as a fortress to shield its believers against the corrupting influences of the secular world? Should it see its mission as dismantling unjust social structures? Is the world fundamentally dangerous to the Church or instead something for the Church to engage and even learn from?

While this book has touched upon the role of ecclesiology in norm thickening, ecclesiology is likely to come to the forefront of the Church in the near future. The world’s Catholic population is growing. Between 2020 and 2021, it grew by approximately 1 percent to 1.375 billion, but that growth was overwhelmingly concentrated in Africa (a gain of 8.312 million), and the Americas (a gain of 6.629 million), which includes Brazil, the world’s most populous Catholic country. Asia saw an increase of 1.488 million Catholics while Europe saw a decrease of 224,000 Catholics (Catholic Church Statistics 2023, 2). This reflects a long-term shift in Catholicism’s center of gravity away from Europe and North America and toward Asia, Africa, and Latin America. At the same time, even as the Catholic population grows, there has been a decline in vocations to the priesthood. As of the end of 2021, there were 407,872 priests in the Church, a decline of 2,347 from the previous year. Moreover, there is a wide disparity in the number of Catholics relative to priests. In Europe, there were 1,784 Catholics per priest. By comparison, in Africa, where the Church is growing fastest, there were 5,101 Catholics per priest—the most of all the regions. These demographic trends are but one hint about the need for new ways of being the Catholic Church as manifested in different communities. This need will also create new challenges for the Church to maintain unity amid growing diversity.

At the time this book was completed in early October 2024, Pope Francis, now 87 years old, had recently completed a 12-day Southeast Asian tour to Indonesia, Papua New Guinea, Singapore, and Timor-Leste. The first pope to have been born outside Europe has emphasized the need for the Church to “go forth from our own comfort zone in order to reach all the ‘peripheries’ in need of the light of the Gospel” (Pope Francis 2013, §20). As the Catholic Church contemplates its future, it will undoubtedly need to develop its self-understanding to shape moral norms in a rapidly changing world.

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Index

Pages followed by “n” refer to notes.

Abolition of Forced Labor Convention (1957) 126

abortifacient contraceptives 61–62, 90, 93, 96, 102, 109, 160

abortion 5–6, 8, 64, 116n3; Church doctrine and 50; contraception and 89–90; contraceptive mentality and 51, 81, 114; excommunication and 112; Holy See and 38; ICPD and 8; intergovernmental approaches and 68–71, 73–74, 76–78; John Paul II and 58–59; legitimization of 96–97; norm thickening and 196–197; population control and 88, 91; RH legislation and 3, 71, 84, 102–103, 105–107; thickening norms and 95–96; Zika virus and 61; see also contraception

Action Points (Global Compact for Safe, Orderly and Regular Migration) 157–158, 160

Adams, Edward 3

Africa 39, 59, 124, 136, 140–141, 199–200

Alfonso V 140

Allocution to the Midwives (Pius XII) 54, 98

Amnesty International 14–15

Anglican Communion 53

Aniceto, Paciano 3, 111

Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act (2003) 170–171

apostolic succession 32

Aquino III, Benigno “Noynoy” 81–82, 84, 107–109, 111–112

Aquino, Corazon 31, 41–43, 83, 86, 91, 96–97, 106

Aquino, Jr., Benigno “Ninoy” 41

Arguelles, Ramon 114

Arroyo, Gloria Macapagal 43–44, 84, 86–87, 97, 99, 102, 105

Asia-Pacific Women Religious Against Trafficking in Humans (APWRATH) 155, 180

Association of Major Religious Superiors of Men in the Philippines (AMRSMP) 183

Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) 170

Ateneo de Manila University 94, 107

Augustine of Hippo 51–52

Australia 128

Auza, Bernardito 77, 159–160, 162n4

Bacolod, Diocese of 112–113

Baggio, Fabio 155

Bakhita, Josephine 136–138, 160

Baofu scandal 187–188

Bastes, Arturo 111

Beijing Declaration and Platform for Action 74–76, 82, 84, 95; see also World Conference on Women (Beijing 1995)

Benedict XVI 39, 44, 59–60, 64, 137, 145, 147, 149–152, 198

Benedictines 35

Bengzon, Alfredo 83, 89

Bernas, Joaquin 107–109, 112

Billings Ovulation Method (BOM) 98–101, 109

birth control pill 54–55

bishops 34–35

Borromeo, Saint Charles 36

Botswana 128

Brazil 140

Brion, Arturo 113

Bureau of Immigration 188–189

Cagayan de Oro, archdiocese of 98–101

Carpio, Antonio 113

Carroll, John J. 107–109

Castalone, Estrella 155

Casti Connubii (“On Chaste Wedlock”) (Pius XI) 53–54; Humanae Vitae and 55

Castro, Melvin 111

Catechism for Filipino Catholics 45, 176

Catechism of the Catholic Church 152–153, 176

Catechism on Church and Politics 114

A Catechism on Family and Life for the 2010 Elections (CBCP) 105–106

Catholic Bishops’ Conference of England and Wales 156

Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines (CBCP) 2, 31, 41–45, 47, 81–82, 84, 86–87, 90–92, 94, 96–97, 99–103, 105–106, 108–112, 114, 167, 172–177, 179, 183–184, 188

Catholicae Ecclesiae (Leo XIII) 141–142

children 125–127; detention of 159; human trafficking in Philippines and 169–171, 175, 177, 179, 183–184; SDGs and 182

China 10, 128, 167, 186–189, 198

Claver, Francisco 97

Clement of Alexandria 52

clergy sex abuse scandals 58

Clowes, Brian 3

Cluster Against Human Trafficking (CCAHT) 179, 184–185

Code of Canon Law (1983) 110

commercialism 150–152

Commission on Elections (COMELEC) 113

Communion 82; denial of 110–112

Communione e Liberazione 36

Community of Sant’Egidio 36

concupiscence 52, 64

condom use 57, 59–60, 64

confession see Reconciliation, Sacrament of

Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith 53–54, 59–63, 82, 93–95, 107

conscience 53–54, 59, 61–63, 82, 93–95, 107

Constitution of the Republic of the Philippines (1987) 42–43, 47, 83, 87, 90, 96

contraception 2–6, 8–9, 82–84, 105–107, 162n4; Augustine and 51–52; Benedict XVI and 59–60; Church doctrine and 50–51, 63–64; conscience and 93–95; enforcement and 110–112; explanation and 95–96; Filipino identity and 86–89; Francis and 60–63; Humanae Vitae and 54–58; ICPD and 70–73; institutionalizing Catholic teaching and 96–100; intergovernmental level and 68–70, 74–78; as intrinsic evil 105; John Paul II and 57–59; moral authority and 114–116; moral theology and 53–54; norm thickening and 7, 81–82, 197; papal infallibility and 34; Philippines and 85–86; population issue and 90–93; religious rationales and 89–90; Reproductive Health Bills and 101–105, 107–109; Team Buhay/Team Patay episode and 112–114

contraceptive mentality 70, 77; abortion and 6, 51, 114; CBCP and 91–92; Humanae Vitae and 115; John Paul II and 8, 54, 57–58, 97; RH norms and 81, 89–90

Convention for the Suppression of the Traffic in Persons and of the Exploitation of the Prostitution of Others (1949 Convention) 124–125, 128–129

Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW) 69

Counter Trafficking Data Collaborative (IOM) 122–123

Couples for Christ 36, 46

culture of death 8, 58–59, 64, 70

culture of encounter 152, 161, 188, 190

Curran, Charles E. 56–57

Cyril of Alexandria 32

Czerny, Michael 155

David, Pablo 175

dehumanization 142, 145, 151, 161, 176, 190

Department of Health 99, 101

Deus Caritas Est (Benedict XVI) 39, 44

Dicastery on Promoting Integral Human Development 154–155; Migrants and Refugees Section of 157

Didascalia Apostolorum 52

Dignitatis Humanae (Paul VI) 94

dignity 3, 5, 9, 70; dehumanization and 190; demeaning labor and 167; Francis and 153; fraternity and 146–147; GCM Action Points and 160; Gospel values and 180–181; human rights and 141–144; human trafficking and 10, 137–139, 141–145, 161; human trafficking in Philippines and 172, 176–178, 185; imago Dei and 178, 196; individualist ideology and 70; John Paul II and 147; Palermo Protocol and 15, 129; reproductive rights and 77; solidarity and 144–145; Talitha Kum and 180–182; women’s roles and 74

Diocesan Clusters Against Human Trafficking (DCAHT) 179

Diocese of Bacolod v. COMELEC 113

diplomacy 46; Holy See and 37–38

discernment 62–63

disinformation 103–105, 108–109

Dominicans 40

Dosado, Jesus 110

Dum Diversas (Nicholas V) 140

Duterte, Rodrigo 31, 45, 186

Duterte, Sara 45

ecclesiology 139, 154–155, 161, 199

EDSA Revolutions 40–45, 47, 81, 85, 115

education 84, 102, 107, 109

Enrile, Juan Ponce 42

Episcopal Commission for the Pastoral Care of Migrants and Itinerant Peoples (ECMI) 173, 179

Episcopal Commission on Family and Life (ECFL) 3, 97, 100, 105, 111

Erga Migrantes Caritas Christi (Pontifical Council for Migrants and Travelers) 148–149, 151, 153

Estrada, Joseph 43, 47, 83–86

Eucharist 32, 35

European Union 130

euthanasia 58–59

Evangelium Vitae (John Paul II) 58, 114–115

excommunication 108, 110–112

explanation 19, 21–22; Benedict XVI and 150; conscience and 93–95; contraception and 82, 89–90, 99–101, 110; Francis and 2, 151, 154; human trafficking and 138–139, 147, 161; human trafficking in Philippines and 166, 172–173, 176–178, 190; institutionalization and 23; moral norms and 25–26; norm thickening and 4, 7–9; population control and 90–93; RH norms and 95–96; Talitha Kum and 181

faith 15

Family and Life Apostolate (FLA) 99–100

family planning 42, 69–71, 73, 75–78, 82–84, 106

feminism 74

fertility 54, 82, 98, 101

Figura, Juanito 111

Filipino Freethinkers 111

First Vatican Council 140

folk Catholic practices 46

Food and Drug Administration (Philippines) 109

forced labor 125–127

Forced Labor Convention (1930) 125, 127; 2014 Protocol of 127

Ford, Gerald 88

Francis I 190; Church’s growth and 200; contraception and 60–64; Dicastery on Promoting Integral Human Development 154–155; Fratelli Tutti 145–146; fraternity and 188; gender ideology and 177; human trafficking and 1–2, 4, 6, 151–156; Santa Marta Group and 156; on slavery 137–138; throwaway culture and 161; welcoming, protecting, promoting, integrating and 157

Fratelli Tutti (Francis) 145–146

fraternity 138–139, 145–146, 152–153, 161, 188

Gaudium et Spes (Paul VI) 61, 143–144

gender 6, 68, 74–75, 167, 177–178, 182

General Act of the Brussels Conference (1889–1890) 124

Genilo, Eric 107–109, 114

Glendon, Mary Anne 74

Global Compact for Safe, Orderly, and Regular Migration (GCM) 139, 157–160, 196

Global Compact on Refugees (GCR) 157

Global Plan of Action to Combat Trafficking in Persons (2010) 9, 123, 129–132, 151, 154, 161, 170

globalization 1–2, 133, 138, 147–148

Gregory XVI 140; Mirari Vos 142

Guo, Alice 187–189, 198

hedonism 55, 77, 150, 152, 167

Henry the Navigator 140

HIV/AIDS 39, 57, 59–60, 75

“Hold on to Your Precious Gift” (CBCP) 103–104

Holy See 30, 196; domestic approaches and 8; GCM and 159–160; ICPD Program of Action and 115; intergovernmental approaches and 7, 68, 70–74, 76–78; lay associations and 36; sovereignty and 20, 36–38, 46; see also Vatican

Holy Spirit 32

Hontiveros, Risa 62, 184

Hopgood, Stephen 5, 13–16, 18–19, 84–85, 114, 195

House of Representatives (Philippines) 187

Human Life International 3

human rights 13–16; Aquinas and 141; Benedict XVI and 151; dignity and 141–144; family planning and 69, 84; Gospel values and 180–181; HB 4244 and 107; human trafficking in Philippines and 177; imago Dei and 146; individualist ideology and 70; migration and 149, 158, 160; moral authority and 114; moral thinness and 5; natural rights and 77; sacramental theology and 185; sacred authority and 18; Second Vatican Council and 138; sexuality and 72; thin morality and 13

Human Rights Watch 14

human trafficking 1–2, 4, 9–10; Bakhita and 136–138; Benedict XVI and 149–151; CBCP and 177; dehumanizing culture and 161; dignity and 139–143; Erga Migrantes Caritas Christi and 148–149; Francis and 151–154; fraternity and 145–147; GCM and 157–160; Global Plan of Action and 129–132; International Labor Organization and 125–126; John Paul II and 147–148; legal definition of 122; MQHM and 182–183; norm thickening and 196; Palermo Protocol and 127–129; Philippines and 166–170, 172–176, 178–179, 183–186, 189–190; POGOs and 186–189; solidarity and 144–145; Sustainable Developmental Goals and 130–132; Talitha Kum and 155–156, 180–182; thin norms and 122–125, 130–133, 170–172; transnational moral norms and 5–7

Humanae Vitae (Paul VI) 3, 5, 8, 33, 54–58, 61–64, 82, 89, 106, 115, 197

Inter-Agency Council Against Trafficking (IACAT) 171

International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) 158, 160

identity 19–21; 4 P’s and 172; contraception and 81, 86–89; Erga Migrantes and 148–149; Filipino-Catholic traits and 45–46; human trafficking and 160; human trafficking in Philippines and 190; norm thickening and 198; POGOs and 186–187; procreation and 53; relationships and 138–141, 166–167; RH norms and 82; spouses and 51

imagined community 20

imago Dei 141–142, 144–146, 152, 161, 176, 178, 185, 197

imperialism 87, 106, 186; contraceptive imperialism as 186; cultural forms of 14, 16

In Plurimis (Leo XIII) 140

In Supremo Apostalatus Fastigio (Gregory VI) 140–141

infallibility 33–34, 56–57, 63

institutionalization 19, 22–23, 77–78, 96; anti-trafficking and 139; contraception and 81–82, 97–98, 101; human trafficking and 154, 157, 161; human trafficking in Philippines and 167, 178, 181–182, 184–185, 190; norm thickening and 197; RH norms and 110, 114

integrating 152–154, 157–158

International Agreement for the Suppression of White Slave Traffic (1904) 123–124

International Conference on Population and Development (ICPD) 50, 68–74, 76, 78, 81–83, 95, 106, 196; see also International Conference on Population and Development Program of Action (ICPD Program of Action)

International Conference on Population and Development Program of Action (ICPD Program of Action) 6–8, 70–74, 76, 78, 84, 90, 101, 103, 115, 116n3; definition of reproductive health in 78n1

International Court of Justice 128

International Day of Prayer and Awareness against Human Trafficking 137

International Justice Mission (IJM) 184

International Labor Organization (ILO) 123, 125–127

International Organization for Migration (IOM) 122–123

International Union of Superiors General (UISG) 155

Iran 73, 78

Islamism 70–71, 73

Italy 37, 47n3

Japan 40, 128

Jaucian, Leopoldo 189

Jesuits 40

Jesus Christ 31–33, 35, 52, 61

John Paul I 58

John Paul II 6, 8, 44, 57–59; contraception and 60, 97; contraceptive mentality and 54, 64, 90; Evangelium Vitae 114; human trafficking and 147–150; ICPD and 70; Sainthood of Josephine Bakhita and 137; Sollicitudo Rei Socialis 144; throwaway culture and 152; women’s roles and 74

John XXIII 65n3; Mater et Magistra 93; Pacem in Terris 142–143

Juico, Joseph 111

Kissinger, Henry 88

Kriekenbeek, Friedrich 182

Küng, Hans 56–57

Lagdameo, Angel 3

Lagman, Edcel 62, 111

laity 36, 40, 99–100

Lambeth Conference 53

Lateran Treaty 37

Laurel, Salvador 41

Ledesma, Antonio 99–101, 198

Legaspi, Leonardo 97

Legion of Mary 36

Leo XIII 140–142; Rerum Novarum 142

Leonen, Marvin 113

“Let the Oppressed Go Free” sculpture (Schmalz) 136

liberalism 16, 142

liberation theology 40, 185

Libya 71, 73, 78

Liguori, Alphonse de 53, 94

local culture 12; contraception and 86; global morality and 14, 16, 19; identity and 189–190; lower-case human rights and 13; NGOs and 39; norm thickening and 5, 22–24, 198; religious identity and 46

Lombardi, Federico 61

“Lord Save Us! We Are Perishing” (Villegas) 188

Love Is Life pastoral letter (CBCP) 96–97

lower-case human rights 13–14, 16, 85

Malthusianism 68

Manichaeism 51–52

Marcos Jr., Ferdinand “Bongbong” 31, 45, 188–189

Marcos, Ferdinand 31, 41–43, 47, 82–83, 103, 115

Marcos, Imelda Romualdez 41

Maritain, Jacques 195

Marquez, Emilio 114

marriage 51–52, 74, 76, 89–90, 100, 114; see also contraception

marriage broker industry 169

Martino, Renato 71, 73

Mary Queen of Heaven Missionaries (MQHM) 182–184, 197

mass mobilization 41–43, 45, 85, 126

Mater et Magistra (John XXIII) 93

maternal mortality rate 74–75, 84

Mexico City policy 88

Migrant Workers Convention (1990) 126–127

Migrants and Refugees Section see Dicastery on Promoting Integral Human Development

migration 139, 148–151, 153, 155, 157–160, 196

Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) 8, 50, 68, 75–76, 85

Mirari Vos (Gregory XVI) 142

Missionaries of Charity 36

Mitra, Ramon 43

moral authority 8; Church‘s role in Philippines and 31, 41–42, 45–46; contraception and 64, 81–82; human trafficking and 172; norm thickening and 12, 14–18, 195–196, 198–199; opposition to Marcos and 41; religion and 18–19; RH legislation and 85, 114–116; sources of 46–47; sovereignty and 37

moral capital 17

motherhood 74

Müller, Gerhard Cardinal 62–63

National Council of Churches of the Philippines (NCCP) 41

National Demographic and Health Survey (2008) 98–99

National Movement for Free Elections (NAMFREL) 41–42

natural family planning (NFP) 51, 54, 56, 62–64, 70, 77, 83, 87, 93, 97–101, 107, 115; see also Billings Ovulation Method (BOM); Standard Days Method

natural law 53–56, 60, 64

Navarra, Vicente 113

Navarro-Valls, Joaquin 70, 73

Neocatechumenal Way 36

networks 9–10, 184; human trafficking in Philippines and 190; Talitha Kum and 180–181

New York Declaration for Refugees and Migrants (2016) 157

Nicholas V 140

Nigeria 157

Nixon, Richard 88

non-contingent authority 15–16, 18

non-governmental organizations (NGOs) 40, 46, 82, 85; Catholic Church as 30, 38–39; human trafficking in Philippines and 183–185; RH Bill and 84

non-refoulement 2, 158–159

norm thickening 6–10, 19–21, 26–27, 195–199; anti-trafficking institutions and 154; authority and 15–18; Benedict XVI and 150; Catholic Church and 30; Church’s role in Philippines and 31; confession and 11–12; consequences of 23–25; contraception and 50–51; contraception in Philippines and 81–82, 86, 95–96; Erga Migrantes and 149; explanation and 21–22; failure of 25–26; Holy See’s sovereignty and 36–38; human trafficking and 123, 138, 160–161; ICPD and 70; institutionalization and 22–23; intergovernmental approaches to 68; laity and 36; moral authority and 46, 114–115; natural family planning and 98; Philippines and 39–40, 45, 166–167, 172, 189–190; transnational NGO role and 38–39; transnational norms and 4–5, 12–13; United Nations and 76; see also thin moral norms; transnational moral norms

Odchimar, Nereo 108, 111

online sexual abuse and exploitation of children (OSAEC/OSEC) 166, 169, 184, 186

“On the Participation of Catholics in Political Life” (Doctrinal Note) 104

“On the Service of Charity” (Benedict XVI) 39

Optional Protocol to the Convention on the Rights of the Child on the Sale of Children, Child Prostitution and Child Pornography (2000) 126

organ trafficking 127, 168, 173

original sin 51–52

Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs) 166, 169–170, 174–175, 186

Overseas Workers Welfare Administration (Philippines) 170

P’s framework 15, 123, 127, 132, 154; Four P’s and 129, 139, 153, 179; human trafficking in Philippines and 167, 172, 196

Pacem in Terris (John XXIII) 142–143

Paglia, Vincenzo 62

Palermo Protocol (2000) 2, 6–7, 9, 15, 123, 127–130, 132, 146, 150–151, 154, 170, 189, 196

Palma, José 108

papacy 30, 32–34, 64

Papal Birth Commission 56

Papal States 37

Pastoral Letter on Human Trafficking (CBCP) 175–177

Pastoral Orientations on Human Trafficking (Migrants and Refugees Section of the Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development) 151, 153

patriarchy 73, 178

Paul the Apostle 32, 52

Paul VI 3, 65n3; contraception and 54–58, 60–61, 64; Humanae Vitae 5, 33, 50; Populorum Progressio 144

Pelagianism 51–52

People Power Revolutions see EDSA Revolutions

Peter the Apostle 32–33, 37

Philippine Amusement and Gaming Corp (PAGCOR) 186

Philippine Interfaith Movement Against Human Trafficking (PIMAHT) 183–184, 197

Philippine offshore gaming operations (POGOs) 10, 167, 186–189, 198

Pius IX 33, 140; Syllabus of Errors 142

Pius XI 37; Casti Connubii 53

Pius XII 33, 142; Allocution to Midwives 54

Plan of Action to Combat Trafficking in Persons (UN) 6

Pontifical Academy for Life 62–63

Pontifical Birth Commission 55, 62

Pontifical Council for Migrants and Travelers 148–149

Population Commission (POPCOM) 99–101

population control 82–83, 87–93, 95; catechism and 106; coercion in 69; HB 3773 and 102–104; HB 5043 and 104–105; ICPD and 101; intergovernmental approaches and 68; Marcos, and 103; natural family planning and 100; poverty and 97, 102; RH legislation and 82

Populorum Progressio (Paul VI) 144

pornography 177

poverty 20–21; contraception and 60; human trafficking and 132–133, 151; human trafficking in Philippines and 167, 178; intergovernmental approaches and 77; MDGs and 75; migration and 149; population control and 92–93; RH legislation and 102–103

Presidential Anti-Organized Crime Commission 187

priests 35

principled action 17–19

procreative acts 51–55, 58, 60, 63–64, 90, 106, 197

Pro-Life Philippines 86

promoting (migrants) 153–154, 157–158

prosecution of human traffickers 2, 123; Benedict XVI call for 150; Church endorsement of 152–153; dignity and 145; Global Plan of Action and 129; human trafficking in Philippines and 171, 175, 189, 196; Palermo Protocol and 7, 15, 127, 146

protecting 153–154, 157–158

Qatar 128

Quevedo, Orlando 97

Quezon City 86; Reproductive Health Ordinance 111

Radio Veritas 42

Rafsanjani, Mohammad Hashemi 71

Ramos, Fidel 42–43, 83; population control and 91

rape 61, 65n3

Reagan, Ronald 88

Reconciliation, Sacrament of 11–12, 35

relationship 166–167, 172; definition of 19–21; human trafficking in Philippines and 190

religion 12, 195–196, 198–199; community and 20–21; moral authority and 18–19; norm thickening and 16–17, 22–27; religious leaders and 26

religious freedom 20, 40, 94; moral authority and 115

religious orders 35–36, 40; women religious 156

Reproductive Health Advocacy Network 85

Reproductive Health and Justice: International Women’s Conference for Cairo 69, 94

Reproductive Health and Population Management Council 103

reproductive health legislation (RH legislation) 84–87, 90, 93–95, 110–112, 115–116; HB 3773 104–105; HB 4110 101–103; HB 4244 105–109; Team Buhay/Team Patay episode 112–114

reproductive health norms (RH norms) 50, 88–90, 114–116; Catholic teaching and 77; CBCP and 106; conscience and 93–95; ICPD Program of Action and 70, 73; institutionalization of 96, 101, 110; intergovernmental level and 68–70; local administration and 86; natural family planning and 100; thickening of 81–82, 95; thinness and 68, 84–85

reproductive health policy 8, 83–84, 89, 95, 97; diminishing role of Church in 31; GCM and 160–161; RH Bill and 3–4

reproductive rights 6

Rerum Novarum (Leo XIII) 142

right to life 76, 158, 160; see also sanctity of life

Rio Statement 69

Romanus Pontifex (Nicholas V) 140

Rosales, Gaudencio Cardinal 2, 94

Rudd, Amber 156

sacraments 30, 32, 35, 47n2, 185

Salazar, Corazon 182, 197

Salesians of Don Bosco 35

same-sex marriage 5

San Juan, Vicente 97

sanctity of life 5–6, 21, 38, 50, 59, 70, 73, 87, 90–92, 105–106, 196; see also right to life

Santa Marta Group 6, 139, 156

Santiago, Miriam Defensor 94–95

Santos, Ruperto 173–175, 189

Saudi Arabia 128

Scalabrini, Giovanni Battista 36

Scalabrinians (Missionaries of St. Charles Borromeo) 36

Schmalz, Timothy 136

Second Vatican Council 40, 44, 47, 56–57, 138–139, 143–147, 198

secularism 16, 149, 151

sex industry 59–60, 64, 152–153, 166–172, 175; human trafficking in Philippines and 182–184, 186; see also human trafficking

sexuality 51–52, 63, 74–75; CBCP and 176–177; human rights and 72; human trafficking and 147, 150, 167; intergovernmental approaches and 68, 70–73, 76–77; see also contraception; human trafficking; marriage; procreative acts; sexually transmitted disease; unitive acts

sexually transmitted disease 59–60, 69, 77

Simmel, Georg 14

Sin, Jaime Cardinal 41–44, 197

sinfulness 53–54, 64n1

Singapore 128

Sipalay Jr., Napoleon 188

slavery 122–125, 131, 133, 133n1, 136–144, 156, 160–161, 191, 198

Slavery Convention (1926) 123–125

social capital 46

solidarity 138, 144–146, 161; Benedict XVI and 149; equality and 146; human trafficking in Philippines and 190; imago Dei and 176; Talitha Kum and 156

South China Sea 167, 187–189

sovereignty 8; contraception and 50; Filipino identity and 89; Holy See and 30–31, 36–38, 46; ICPD Program of Action and 72; norm thickening and 196; sanctity of life and 59

Spain 40, 47

Spanish American War 40

spouses 51–52

Standard Days Method (SDM) 98–101

“Standing Up for the Gospel of Life” (CBCP) 105

statehood 36–38; role of Church and 44

Supreme Court (Philippines) 112–113

Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) 8, 50, 68, 75–76, 130–132

Syllabus of Errors (Pius IX) 142

Talitha Kum (International Network of Consecrated Life against Trafficking in Persons) 6, 9, 139, 155–156, 174, 180–184, 197

“Talking Points for Dialog on the Reproductive Health Bill” (Genilo, Carroll, and Bernas) 107–108

Tansingco, Norman 188

Tauran, Jean-Louis 147

Team Buhay/Team Patay episode 112–114, 116n5

Teresa of Calcutta (Mother Teresa) 36

theology 185; contraception and 81; ecclesiology and 199

thin moral norms 5, 8, 13–15, 195–197; contraception and 50; human trafficking and 9, 123–125, 130–132; human trafficking in Philippines and 170; norm thickening and 19; religious authority and 18, 22; RH norms and 68–70, 84; SDM and 100; transnational moral norms and 24; universality and 12, 16; see also norm thickening; transnational moral norms

Thomas Aquinas 62, 141

throwaway culture 151–152, 161

Trafficking in Persons Report 132, 169–170

Trafficking Victims Protection Act (TVPA) (2000) 132, 133n1–133n3, 170

transcendent authority 15–16; supernatural authority and 18–19

transnational moral norms 4, 6–10, 195–199; Catholic Church role and 30–32; community and 36; contraception and 50; eroding moral authority and 45; human trafficking and 2; human trafficking in Philippines and 167; institutionalization and 22–23; local activism and 12–13; local identities and 189–190; norm thickening and 4–5, 19–27; religious orders and 36; RH legislation and 86; RH norms and 84–85; slavery and 138; see also norm thickening; thin moral norms

Trujillo, Alfonso Lopez 100

Trump, Donald 157

United Kingdom 156

United Nations 6–9, 160; 1949 Convention and 124; Arroyo address to 87; Catholic Church and 5; dignity and 180; Holy See and 38; human trafficking in Philippines and 170; lower-case human rights and 13; MDGs and 75–76; protecting migrants and 153; reproductive policy and 77; transnational moral norms and 4; upper-case Human Rights and 14

United Nations Convention Against Transnational Organized Crime (UNTOC) 123, 127, 129–130, 170

United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (1989) 126

United Nations International Conference on Population and Development (1994) 38

United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) 129

United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) 82–83, 85, 88

United Nations Roundtable on Women’s Perspectives on Family Planning, Reproductive Rights and Reproductive Health (1993) 69

United Nations Supplementary Convention (1956) 125–126

United Nations Voluntary Trust Fund for Victims of Trafficking in Persons 130

United Nations World Conferences on Women 69; see also World Conference on Women (Beijing 1995)

United States (US) 40, 47, 64n2, 88, 130, 132, 140, 157, 168–170, 183

United States Agency for International Development (USAID) 82–83, 85–86, 88–89, 172

unitive acts 53–54, 60, 90, 106, 197

Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) 12, 22, 24, 142, 195

upper-case Human Rights 13–14, 16, 84

Varela, Jesus 97

Vatican 6, 9; anti-trafficking organization and 154; local control of NGOs and 39; Migrants and Refugees Section and 155; norm thickening and 196; political role of 47; population control and 90; religious orders and 35; RH norms and 82; sovereignty and 37; transnational moral norms and 167; see also Holy See

Vatican-Italy Concordat of 1984 47n3

victimhood 124–125, 148, 156, 173–174, 176

Victor Emmanuel III 37

Vidal, Ricardo 105, 108, 182

view from nowhere 14–15, 124

Villegas, Socrates 173, 176–177, 188, 198

Walk Free Foundation 123

welcoming (migrants) 152–154, 157–158

women 69, 71–72, 74–77

World Conference on Women (Beijing 1995) 6, 8, 50, 68, 74–75; see also Beijing Declaration and Platform for Action

World Day of Migrants and Refugees 149–150; Francis and 153

World Population Conference (1974, Bucharest) 69, 88

Worst Forms of Child Labor Convention (1990) 126–127

Zika virus 61, 63–64