It has the 3^rd highest proportion of female Members of Parliament in the world; over 70 percent of its health sector workers are women, including 64 percent of doctors; and its Family Code obliges men to share domestic duties and child care responsibilities equally with women.

It's not paradise. Or Sweden. It's a little island whose GDP per capita is half that of the United Kingdom, a place more associated with sickles and hammers than hammering through woman-friendly legislation in parliament.

Cuba remains one of the most misunderstood and misreported countries on the planet. When Carolina Amador Perez of the Federacion de Mujeres Cubanas (Federation of Cuban Women) and Gilda Chacon of the Cuban Trade Union Centre came to Tooks Chambers in London, it was clear that they wanted to set the record straight.

Their talk provided some welcome insight on the way that gender politics has unfolded in a country much-maligned in the Western media. Established in 1960, the Federation of Cuban Women was the first social organization founded in post-Revolutionary Cuba. Since then, it has enjoyed enormous success in educating women (99.8% are literate) incorporating them in to the work force (which is 46% female) and passing a Family Code that guarantees women equal social and economic rights. Today the FMC, ostensibly a non-governmental organization, represents 85 percent of Cuban women over the age of 14.

The statistics surrounding female participation in Cuban public life are, on the surface, so impressive that Perez jokingly suggests that what Cuba really needs is a Federation of Cuban Men.

Perez and Chacon's censure of Cuba is carefully calibrated and avoids any direct criticism of the extant regime; Perez calls Cuba an ‘imperfect but perfectable society'. Despite not explicitly addressing these flaws, Perez and Chacon's talk does address a much more convoluted issue: the culture of sexism. Indeed, effecting political change in Cuba is arguably easier than tackling the deeply ingrained traditions that legitimize inequality.

Hiding behind a set of inspiring numbers and figures is a serious undercurrent of machismo, or male domination, which underwrites much of Cuban life in the private sphere. 

Though Cuban law sets out equal rights and duties in domestic tasks, traditional attitudes about gender roles often prevail and many women are expected to take full responsibility in household affairs in addition to full time work. Perez also notes that while the culture of machismo frowns upon physical violence against women, psychological and emotional abuse continue to be problematic in Cuban society - an issue that the CMF has organized a national working group to attend to.

The CMF's goal of democratizing family life remains elusive. And while statistics and statutes are important, they do not portray the subtleties of female subordination that often have deep historical roots. As in the Western world, it seems that legal measures to protect and empower women in Cuba outpace the cultural shifts necessary achieve full gender equality.

According to Perez, Cuban women are ‘content but not yet satisfied' with their progress. But the Cuban example is compelling because it complicates the Western conception of developed and underdeveloped states, a paradigm that tends to equate progress with ‘becoming like us'. At a time when the pay differential between men and women in the UK has recently increased to 17 percent, and when only 20 percent of all MPs in this country are women, a refusal to acknowledge the successes of other political and economic models -even when they are deeply flawed in some respects - seems foolish.

Indeed, Perez is visibly emotional when she speaks of Fidel Castro and she tells me that she sees him as a real leader, a man who genuinely believes that women are a fundamental and equal part of a revolutionary society.

To what extent her sentiments are popularly shared in Cuba is debatable.  Many would argue that Cuba's political restrictions and its economic woes, aggravated by the US embargo, have tarnished the governments ‘revolutionary' credentials. Moreover, the effects of economic hardship have been borne disproportionately by women.

But what Perez articulates is a continued belief in justice and equality, ideals that were integral to the Cuban revolution just as they were integral to social movements of all different political stripes around the world. Those ideals - especially when it comes to women - have been badly bruised in countries that are communist, capitalist, and everything in between. So as economies flag and politicians flail, perhaps it is time to re-commit ourselves to creating societies that accept nothing less than the full participation of half their populations.

Almost 800,000 Latin American women die each year from medical hazards associated with abortion, and fatalities resulting from the procedure make up 17 percent of all maternal deaths in the region.

To the disappointment of many women's rights activists, President Tabaré Vasquez of Uruguay vetoed a bill to legalize abortion last week. The bill, part of a larger document on sexual health and reproductive rights, would have decriminalized abortion during the first trimester of pregnancy. The bill was approved by the parliament and senate, and recent polls indicate that 63 percent of the population in Uruguay supported the proposed legislation.

President Vasquez, leader of the left wing coalition Frente Amplio and a former oncologist, said that he disagreed with the bill on both "philosophical and biological" grounds.

Currently, Uruguayan women can only legally obtain abortions if they have been raped or if the pregnancy endangers their lives. According to a 1938 law, women who have abortions under any other circumstances are liable to serve up to nine months in prison. Doctors who perform the procedure may face a sentence of six to twenty four months.

Abortions are illegal throughout most of Latin America, with the exception of Cuba and Mexico City. Nonetheless, an estimated 3.7 million women in Latin America have clandestine abortions every year.

Abortion is a multi-layered issue interwoven with themes of gender discrimination, culture, and religion. While many gender activists in Latin America argue that abortion is part of women's fundamental rights to health and security of person, the region's strong Catholic tradition militates against abortion's legalization. Many Latin American doctors are against abortion and have been known to report their patients to the authorities after surgeries where complications have arisen.

Yet the criminalization of abortion multiplies the risks involved, often forcing women to seek help from untrained practitioners in unsanitary conditions. Cross cutting the problem of medical safety is the issue of socio-economic inequality. While most middle or upper class women in Latin America can obtain safe abortions in spite of legislation, poor women generally cannot.

According to the Human Development Index and Gender Development Index, inequality is relatively low in Uruguay compared to most Latin American countries. But socio-economic disparities and gender discrimination continue to plague Uruguayan society. In a report issued earlier this month, the Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination Against Women expressed its concern over high incidences of teen pregnancy and maternal mortality in Uruguay. CEDAW also cited high secondary school drop out rates, low public participation and under/unemployment as severe problems for Uruguayan women - especially those of rural background or African descent.

Upon vetoing the bill to legalize abortion in Uruguay, President Vasquez argued that "it is more appropriate to look for a solution based on solidarity, giving a woman the freedom to make other choices and thereby save both her and the baby." Yet when access to education or health care is limited - as it often is for poor or rural women - making informed choices about reproductive health is difficult. Mr. Vasquez's veto reflects both a denial of the structural inequalities that impact women's personal security and health, and a negation of women's right to control over their bodies. For a country which, according to CEDAW, has made important strides toward ending gender discrimination, the veto is a disappointing retreat from the principles of equality and justice.

The Edge of Heaven, directed by Fatih Akin, is a carefully crafted, tender account of six interwoven lives. Ali is a effervescent Turkish expatriate living in Germany with his bookish son Nejat. The film begins with Ali inviting Yeter, a Turkish prostitute, to become his live-in girlfriend - much to Nejat's dismay. Yet Nejat quickly gains respect for the grim but kind hearted Yeter and after her sudden death, he returns to Turkey to search for her daughter Ayten. Ayten meanwhile, is a defiant political activist desperately refuge in Germany after an encounter with the Turkish police. Penniless and homeless, she is taken in by a German student named Lotte and her disapproving mother. When Ayten's asylum plea is rejected, Lotte follows Ayten to Istanbul to help secure her release from prison.