1 Homophobia in American Beauty
Homophobia is one of the central themes of the
controversial and award-winning film American
Beauty,1released in 1999. In the closing scenes,
Frank Fitts, a hyper-macho, retired US Marine
Corps colonel, finds himself embroiled in an
unprecedented existential crisis, that is, at the
same time, a decisive moment of genuine self-
discovery. For a brief moment, the patriarchal
norms that for a lifetime had imprisoned his
body, mind and spirit vanish and are vanquished.
His authentic self emerges. He kisses another
man. Tearful and craving for affection he plants
a clumsy and startled kiss on the mouth of the
object of his desire – his neighbour Lester. His
actions, however, are not reciprocated and his
moment of turbulent liberation comes to an
abrupt end. In a flash, his covert homoerotic
desire, a secret he never wished to discover, is
inadvertently laid bare. For the first time in his
life he reveals the authentic core of his being to
another man. Ironically, within the strict
parameters of his own moral codes, that is also
the most forbidden and abominable part of
himself.2The disclosure of this deeply buried
secret terrifies him and fuels the need to lay it to
rest instantly, possessing Frank to pull a pistol on
the man he has just kissed and cold-bloodedly
end Lester’s life.
The murder he commits, however, is motivated
more by the acute sense of panic that invades
him than by the rejection he has just
experienced. He realises that the clumsy kiss he
has just placed on another man’s lips was much
more than that. He has also relinquished to
another man the power to remove his mask and
to oblige him to acknowledge in himself the
homosexual desire he has always abhorred in
other men.
The interpersonal homophobia and homosexual
panic that are portrayed in American Beauty are a
crude reality in cultures and subcultures all over
the world that stigmatise homosexuality in
males (both the ‘act’ itself and the individuals
involved) and that consider it to be immoral,
sinful or an illness. The prevailing cultural
norms that spawn stereotypes and prejudices vis-
à-vis homosexuality in males also generate fear,
hatred, discrimination and violence towards
those males who do not conform to society’s
heteronormative and heterosexist vision of
patriarchal sexuality.
39
Homophobia and Patriarchy in
Nicaragua: A Few Ideas to Start
a Debate
Patrick Welsh
Abstract Reflecting on a 25-year-old study on cultural constructions of same-sex sexual relations between
men in Nicaragua, which described a submissive–dominant – or cochón–cochonero – model, this article
contrasts this notion with more recent gay identities that have emerged in urban Nicaragua in particular, and
which now coexist alongside the more traditional model. Despite many LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, and
transgender) groups having emerged in the country, patriarchy is proving resilient and adaptive in surprising
ways. Although important victories have been achieved on a global and national scale, culturally and
legislatively, in relation to equal rights for LGBT people, this article argues that such advances do not
necessarily mean that the intensely andocentric character of patriarchy itself has been significantly challenged
or altered. In the struggle for equal rights for all, the models and dynamics of patriarchal power and how they
manifest themselves within LGBT organisations, families and relations must also be addressed… and undressed.
IDS Bulletin Volume 45 Number 1 January 2014 © 2014 The Author. IDS Bulletin © 2014 Institute of Development Studies
Published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd, 9600 Garsington Road, Oxford OX4 2DQ, UK and 350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148, USA
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2 Homophobia in Nicaragua
When I first saw American Beauty, more than ten
years ago, it was a criminal offence in Nicaragua,
where I live, for two males to have sexual relations.
Or more precisely ‘sodomy’, had been declared
illegal in a polemic reform in 1992 that introduced
the infamous ‘Article 204’ into the Nicaraguan
penal code (abolished in 2008).3Ironically,
compared to its northern neighbours (Honduras,
El Salvador and Guatemala) where anti-gay
legislation has never existed per se, Nicaragua, in
my experience, has a greater level of ‘acceptance’
of LGBT people, before, during and after ‘204’. The
brutal assassination in Honduras of 74 LGBT
people (34 gay men, 35 transwomen and five
lesbians) between June 2008 and March 2012,
registered by LGBT organisations, and of at least 30
transwomen in Guatemala between 2009 and 2010,
is tragic testimony to that (Welsh and Solano 2012).
Whilst official records don’t exist, the number of
LGBT people in Nicaragua murdered on account
of their sexual orientation or gender identity,
appears to be much lower. A study carried out in
2011 identified 15 LGBT murders between 1999
and 2011 (Welsh and Altamirano 2012), by no
means a definitive number, and in 2012 the Special
Procurator for Sexual Diversity in Nicaragua4had
documented evidence of five assassinations of
LGBT people.
The apparent lower levels of documented hate-
crime murders of LGBT people in Nicaragua,
compared to other countries in Central America
may be linked to the sociocultural transformations
that occurred in Nicaragua following the
overthrow of the Somoza right-wing military
dictatorship in 1979. In their processes of
‘democratisation’, other countries in the region
like Guatemala and El Salvador didn’t experience
the same definitive break with authoritarian
right-wing military structures and values that
continued to dominate those societies even after
the negotiated peace process of the mid-1990s
and which still do to a significant degree until the
present day. Furthermore, the increase in hate
crimes and murders of LGBT people in Honduras
appears to be related to the military coup of 2009
and the political identification of several LGBT
leaders and organisations with the Honduran
resistance movement.5
Another possible explanation for the noticeably
fewer murders of LGBT people in Nicaragua may
also be related to particular cultural
understandings of homosexuality and
interpretations of sexual practices, particularly
between ‘biological men’. The most commonly
used word in Nicaragua to describe a homosexual
man is cochón. It derives from Náhuatl, the
language of the indigenous peoples who inhabited
parts of Nicaragua previous to and during the
Spanish conquest and also means a coward
(Arellano 2006). The fact that its colloquial usage
has survived more than 500 years and that it
continues to be used widely in Nicaragua strongly
implies that cochones were a recognised and visible
social group in Náhuatl culture, although little is
known of how they were viewed and treated in
society. Nowadays, however, cochón is associated
with gender identity and expression in biological
men that are interpreted culturally as both
feminine (to varying degrees) and homosexual
and is used derogatorily to demean and
stigmatise. It is widely employed in the gender
socialisation of boys, to ‘correct’ them, from a
very early age and to ensure that they assimilate
those attributes, characteristics, attitudes and
behaviours considered socially acceptable as
masculine. As such, to brand a boy as a cochón is
an act that is simultaneously misogynist and
homophobic. It reinforces hegemonic masculinity
and the heteronormative and heterosexist
attitudes, values and behaviour that are part of it.
3 Life is hard – homosexuality in Nicaragua in
the 1980s
In his book Life is Hard – Machismo, Danger, and the
Intimacy of Power in Nicaragua, written in the early
1990s, Roger Lancaster, an anthropologist from
the USA, proposed that modern conceptions and
practices of homosexuality that he referred to as
‘Anglo-American’ and the language used to
describe them, were inadequate at that time to
describe the cultural specificity of the
Nicaraguan homosexual experience that he
observed in Nicaragua during the 1980s.6
From a cultural point of view, Lancaster argued
that the Nicaraguan cochón7and the Anglo-
American ‘gay’ – both cultural archetypes of
sexual identities that transgress
heteronormativity – whilst sharing many
similarities, also had important differences.
Firstly, Lancaster observed that in the sexual
exchanges between two Nicaraguan men
(biologically speaking), only the ‘passive’
Welsh Homophobia and Patriarchy in Nicaragua: A Few Ideas to Start a Debate
40
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participant (real or perceived) in anal sex is
branded culturally with the label cochón. The
other participant, referred to by Lancaster as
‘the he-man’ and who plays, or is perceived to
play an active role in anal sex (i.e. the one who
penetrates), is not generally viewed as
homosexual and does not usually consider
himself to be so.
In Nicaraguan Spanish the ‘he-man’ who
penetrates the cochón is in fact known as the
cochonero. The language clearly denotes the
relationship between the two and the sexual roles
involved that, in theory at least, cannot be altered.
Generally, cochoneros do not have sex with each
other; neither do cochones. And if they do, and
some do, they are likely to keep it quiet. For the
cochonero, the experience of anally penetrating
another man is assimilated as a source of virility
and power. As such, the ‘masculinity’ of the
cochonero remains intact and even reinforced whilst
that of the cochón is damaged and diminished.
Reflecting ingrained cultural attitudes and
beliefs, Lancaster says: ‘cochones are therefore
feminine men, or more accurately feminized men,
not fully male men’ (Lancaster 1992: 242).
As such, for a Nicaraguan boy or adolescent
growing up, the experience of being branded cochón
goes beyond the assimilation of feminine attributes
and being called a ‘sissy’. It is intrinsically
related to the idea of being anally penetrated by
another man, leading to the irrecoverable loss of
his masculinity in both a symbolic and real way
and to social isolation and stigmatisation.
In contrast to the cochón–cochonero model in
Nicaragua, in which only the cochón is socially
ostracised, Lancaster proposed that, historically,
in patriarchal cultures where the Anglo-
American/gay model has developed, both/all
participants in sexual activity of any kind
between males (and the sexual acts themselves)
are condemned and stigmatised from a cultural
and religious perspective. Within the Anglo-
American model, oral sex between gays, partly
on account of HIV and AIDS, had become a
common sexual practice, perhaps more so than
anal sex. Knowledge, therefore, of who was
penetrating whom (or seen to be) was only one of
many possible motives for labelling gay men as
‘faggots’ or ‘queers’, and was not in itself a
prerequisite for doing so. It is the relationship of
a sexual nature between the two males that
defines their homosexuality and not the act of
penetration itself, as in the case of the cochón.
4 Power, discrimination and exclusion
Another element that differentiates the
Nicaraguan homosexual experience from the
Anglo-American one is the degree of
marginalisation faced in relation to
heteronormative hegemonic masculinity and the
power dynamics that it generates between men.
In relation to this, Lancaster argued that the
discrimination and rejection experienced by
Anglo-American gays, historically, independently
of their sexual practices, had led to their
exclusion from active participation in the social,
economic and political spaces created, controlled
and dominated by heterosexual men (or at least
to severe limitations). Ironically, he claimed, this
was also a key factor in enabling them to create
their own autonomous spaces from which to
denounce discrimination and violence and to
defend their own rights, whilst simultaneously
challenging patriarchy. At Lancaster’s time of
writing, these included the right to equal access
to education, health, work, active citizenship and
leisure as well as the right to live free from
discrimination and violence.
In contrast, as regards the position of the cochón
in Nicaragua, Lancaster argued that historically
they did not face the same kind of exclusion that
their Anglo-American gay counterparts have
encountered. Emphasis on the act of anal
penetration that goes beyond the symbolic
epitomises cochón–cochonero relationships as
mutually dependent ones. Primarily of a
physical–sexual nature, they frequently also
involve affectionate/emotional, social and
economic reliance and transactions between the
two. These, however, are generally characterised
by power inequalities that favour the cochonero
and place severe restrictions and limitations on
the cochón. The former continues to participate in
patriarchal society and enjoy its multiple
benefits; the latter endures stigmatisation,
marginalisation, abuse and frequent violence.
Lancaster notes, however, one without the other
ceases to exist – a mutual interdependence that
does not occur in the interactions that take place
in the same way between gays and heterosexual
men in the Anglo-American model.
In this way, the culturally specific experience of
homosexuality between men in Nicaragua, as
IDS Bulletin Volume 45 Number 1 January 2014 41
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represented and symbolised in the cochón–cochonero
paradigm, is embedded in heteronormative
patriarchy and is an integral component of it.
The rigid sexual binarism of the paradigm
ensures that in the eyes of society the cochoneros’
heteromasculinity remains unquestioned. To
penetrate a cochón anally is ample proof that one
is NOT a cochón and is a source of affirmation of
self-identity and social regard as a ‘real man’.
Thus it is imperative for cochoneros to subjugate
cochones (or at least be seen to do so) and confine
them to sociosexual roles that nurture the
cochoneros’ own sense of manliness and assure
their continued access to the privileges and
rights of patriarchy. In doing so, they neutralise
the capacity of cochones to organise around
demands for their own rights and emancipation,
whist simultaneously limiting any challenge they
may make to patriarchy itself.
5 Homophobia in present day Nicaragua
Returning to the question of the particular
characteristics and manifestations of
homophobia in Nicaragua, the cochón–cochonero
paradigm would suggest that it has been
substantially different from the viscerally violent
model presented in the film American Beauty.
Cochones – historically the visible and stigmatised
face of sexual practices between men – are
undoubtedly subjected to vicious ridicule and
constant derision within families and
communities, as well as discrimination and
violence. Despite the intensity of Nicaraguan
‘machismo’, however, cultural attitudes to
sexuality in general vary and in many settings
cochones experience minimal levels of ‘tolerance’
and often are even supported and protected by
close friends and occasionally family members.
Their ‘acceptance’, however, is intrinsically
linked to their willingness to conform to the role
that has been socially prescribed to them and
that demands of them passive submission to and
collusion with the very patriarchal system that
subjugates and controls them. In doing so their
visibility, in the words of Lancaster as ‘feminised
men’, serves as a deterrent to other men –
warning them not to digress (publicly at least)
from the cultural norms of hegemonic
masculinity, whilst simultaneously contributing
to the perpetuation of patriarchal norms.
Homophobia in Nicaragua is first and foremost
related to the fear of being labelled cochón and the
implications inherent in that. It is internalised
through processes of gender socialisation that
drive boys and men to express constantly that
they are ‘real men’ by proving that they are
neither women nor cochones. Consequently, to
achieve that, patriarchal attitudes, values and
behaviour are reinforced, which in turn contribute
to discrimination and violence against women and
girls and the perpetuation of patriarchy.
Lancaster put it this way:
It is not that homophobia is more intense in a
culture of machismo, but that it is a different
sort of thing altogether. Indeed, the word
homophobia meaning a fear of homosexuals or
homosexual intercourse, is quite
inappropriate in a milieu where unlabeled
men desire and actively seek intercourse with
labeled men. An altogether different word is
necessary to identify the praxis implicit in
machismo, whereby men may simultaneously
use, fear being used by, and stigmatize other
men (Lancaster 1992: 269).
Whatever that word may be, its absence from the
Nicaraguan vernacular does not mean that cochones
do not suffer the consequences of homophobia and
transphobia that result from heteronormative and
heterosexist gender norms and practices that view
them as inferior and ‘abnormal’. All too often they
bear the brunt of abusive insults, discrimination
and violent acts that limit their access to
education, health services and work and that are a
constant threat to their mental, physical and
sexual health, human dignity and right to life.
6 The evolution of LGBT identities, organisation
and rights in Nicaragua
In recent years in Nicaragua, and particularly
since the decriminalisation of homosexuality in
2008, there has been a proliferation of groups
and organisations that are working from a
human rights perspective and that self-identify
as LGBT. At the same time, in contemporary
Nicaragua at least, the autochthonous
cochón–cochonero paradigm has never really existed
as an exclusive model of homosexuality between
men. During the 1980s, for example, in the
midst of the Sandinista Revolution, a ‘gay’
collective emerged in Managua that brought
together a group of young revolutionaries who
self-identified mostly as lesbians and gays.8The
latter category, however, integrated at least two
sub-groups of homosexual men – those who had
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42
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been culturally labelled as cochones and those
whose self-identification was as ‘gays’, within a
modern conceptualisation of the term. To some
degree, the distinction between the two sub-
groups was also related to issues of social class,
formal educational achievements, the influence
of religion, economic capacity, access to other
cultures and urban/rural origins.
Also, during the 1990s, after the war ended, large
numbers of Nicaraguans who lived in other
countries such as the USA and Costa Rica,
including LGBT people, returned to Nicaragua,
bringing with them other visions and experiences
of diverse sexualities. Simultaneously, between
1992 and 2008, in the face of the criminalisation
of homosexuality, several NGOs working on
gender, HIV prevention, and sexual and
reproductive health and rights (SRHR)9openly
and defiantly worked on LGBT issues, whilst
offering safe spaces for LGBT people to meet and
take part in processes that contributed to their
personal growth and political maturity. Also, the
rapid globalisation of mass communications,
especially TV, cinema and internet, enabled
access to and dissemination of modern concepts
and practices of sexuality and the opening-up of
new spaces for discussion, and debate on sexual
orientations and gender identities in Nicaragua,
in an unprecedented way.
Whilst the cochón–cochonero model may continue
to be more prevalent in rural and semi-rural
areas and the LGBT one in urban settings, the
division is not always a clear and simple one.
Many gays and transwomen in cities and towns
experience abuse and discrimination at the
hands, for example, of medical professionals and
police officers whose expression of
homo/transphobia derives from the cultural
representation of cochón, implying a lack of
informed awareness of diverse sexual
orientations and gender identities. Also, some
LGBT organisations (particularly transgender)
have carried out important processes of
consciousness-raising and personal growth in
semi-rural areas with self-identifying gays and
transwomen who previously in their own
communities would have been referred to and
treated as cochones. Indeed, for many people in
Nicaragua, ‘gay’ is often synonymous with cochón
in that it conjures up an image of feminised men,
linked to the erroneous belief that all ‘gays’ in
effect want to become women.
Currently, the simultaneous presence in
Nicaragua of both modern gays (Lancaster’s
‘Anglo American’ model of homosexuality) and
the autochthonous cochón–cochonero paradigm is
indicative of a process of cultural syncretism that
in itself has implications in relation to how
homophobia is expressed, to whom it is directed,
to what degree it affects LGBT people and with
what consequences. A study on hate crimes
against LGBT people in Nicaragua in 2011
identified 15 murders committed between 1999
and 2010; seven of those murdered were gays,
seven were transwomen and one was lesbian.10 In
its analysis of those murders and of other hate
crimes committed in the same period (assaults,
attacks, etc.) the study highlighted that
transwomen were more vulnerable to hate-
motivated crimes in public places (parks, bars,
streets, etc.) whereas gay men were more at risk
in their own homes. Also, many of the crimes
committed against gay men were linked to
clandestine relationships that involved
psychological/emotional manipulation and
economic extortion (Welsh and Altamirano 2012).
It would be tempting to conclude that the term
cochón is in fact synonymous with ‘transwomen’.
That, however, is not necessarily the case. Self-
identifying transwomen in Nicaragua have
undergone a conscious process of personal
transition and social transgression that involves
choices related to their own gender identity and
expression and sexual orientation. Cochón is
merely a label used to stigmatise ‘feminised men’
and for social control. In all likelihood, many of
the self-identifying gay men included in the
aforementioned study would also have been
branded as cochones, especially those whose
gender expression (or elements of it) is
culturally interpreted as feminine.
Nowadays, it is also probable that many biological
men who have previously been labelled culturally
as cochones would self-identity as transwomen, but
the term itself, from a strictly cultural perspective,
is a much wider one. It is in fact related to any
combination of gender identity, gender expression
and sexual orientation that breaks the
heteronormative and heterosexist mould of what
biological men should look like, and in relation to
whom and how they should love. In practice,
however, the more feminised a biological man’s
presentation is, the more intense and destructive
the discrimination and violence experienced.
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7 Access to rights, homophobia, and patriarchy
Since Lancaster’s sexual archaeology of the
Nicaraguan cochón–cochonero paradigm almost a
quarter of a century ago, significant advances have
been achieved, culturally and legislatively, on a
global scale in relation to equal rights for LGBT
people that include access to health and education,
decriminalisation, legal recognition and
protection, civil partnerships, access to adoption,
and marriage equality in at least 15 countries.
This would seem to imply that LGBT activists and
movements have had considerable success in
challenging the heteronormative and heterosexist
attitudes and beliefs ingrained in many cultures.
It does not necessarily mean, however, that the
intensely andocentric character of patriarchy
itself has been significantly challenged or
altered. For many gay men, perhaps, it simply
translates into being able to enjoy the benefits of
patriarchy (some at least, if not all of them) on
an ‘equal basis’, that their heterosexual
counterparts have had for centuries. In fact,
their access to and inclusion into formerly
hetero-exclusive spaces, public and political
organisations and social institutions may just be
a manoeuvre to perpetuate patriarchy itself.
In Nicaragua, certainly, the urgent need to
eliminate discrimination, violence and hate crimes
against LGBT people is intrinsically linked to the
recognition of homo/trans/lesbophobia as a major
pillar that helps sustain patriarchy. Their
deconstruction must not only entail the
eradication of personal ‘phobias’ but also the
challenging and transformation of those cultural,
social, economic, religious and political institutions
and structures that reproduce and reinforce
andocentric, heteronormative and heterosexist
value systems and practices that oppress and
marginalise LGBT people and can render them
expendable. In the struggle to have the same
rights enjoyed by straight people, the models and
dynamics of patriarchal power itself and how they
manifest themselves within LGBT organisations,
families and relations must also be addressed…
and undressed.
Welsh Homophobia and Patriarchy in Nicaragua: A Few Ideas to Start a Debate
44
Notes
1 For more information on American Beauty see:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_
Beauty_(film).
2 This ten-minute collage of scenes from American
Beauty follows the evolution of Frank Fitts’
homophobic and self-loathing character, leading
up to the fateful kiss: www.youtube.com/
watch?v=8QIqX_UDoIg.
3 At the time of the introduction of Article 204 in
1992, concerted efforts were made nationally
and internationally for its repeal (with the
support of Amnesty International and the
United Nations) but without success. The
elimination of ‘204’ in 2008 came about as a
result of the introduction of a brand new penal
code and not directly in response to the demands
of LGBT organisations. It also included two
Articles that address discrimination on the
basis of sexual orientation (Articles 36 and
315). Ironically, within the same new penal
code, abortion for medical reason was
criminalised and many feminists and human
rights activists believe that the elimination of
Article 204 was, in a sense, a political decision
to sow divisions between the women’s
movement and the emerging LGBT movement.
4 In a surprise development on 30 November
2009 the Procurator for Human Rights (State
Ombudsman) appointed a Special Procurator
for Sexual Diversity in Nicaragua, the first of
its kind in Latin America and the Caribbean.
The special procurator’s principal role is to
monitor state and government entities to
ensure that they respect the human rights of
the LGBT community in Nicaragua. Whilst
generally welcomed in political and
development circles, little state funding has
been made available and the future of the post
depends solely on the will of the incumbent
Procurator for Human Rights. The election of a
new Procurator could see the disappearance of
the Special Procurator for Sexual Diversity
position. Also, some critics (political opposition
and feminists) claim that the creation of the
post serves the political interests of the
Sandinista governing party in its attempt to
monitor and control the emerging LGBT
groups and whose international reputation on
women’s rights had been severely damaged
with the criminalisation of abortion for medical
reason in 2008.
5 For more information see:
http://resistediverso.blogspot.com/ and
www.facebook.com/Movimiento.de.Diversidad.
en.Resistencia.
6 The reflections and analysis in this article
related to Lancaster’s book Life is Hard stem
1 IDSB45.1 Intro.qxd 16/12/2013 14:16 Page 44
from my own reading and interpretations, in
particular of the final chapter of the book
entitled ‘Subject Honor, Object Shame’
(Lancaster 1992: 235–78).
7Cochón in Nicaraguan Spanish is generally
used in a derogatory way and can be deeply
offensive and insulting. In this article the
word is used, sociologically, in the same way in
which Lancaster used it in his book. It refers
to the particular sociocultural construction
and sexual identification of a minority of
Nicaraguan men who are culturally labelled as
cochones on account of perceived femininity in
their gender expression. Its use here, far from
having derogatory connotations, seeks to
illuminate the inherent differences in the two
cultural models of homosexuality being
examined.
8 In 1991, Lucinda Broadbent, a Scottish
filmmaker, made a documentary on this
gay–lesbian collective. Entitled Sex and the
Sandinistas it explores the hidden world of
lesbian and gay culture in Managua – from
safe sex demonstrations to drag shows, from
lesbian love poetry to debates about
butch/femme role-playing, and it includes a
tribute to Nicaragua’s homosexual indigenous
ancestors. Without assuming any prior
knowledge of Nicaraguan history, the film
brings to life the extraordinary and valuable
experience of lesbians and gays coming out in
the whirlwind of a Latin American revolution
(www.wmm.com/filmcatalog/pages/c27.shtml).
Copies of Sex and the Sandinistas can be
purchased directly from Lucinda Broadbent
who is current director and executive producer
of Media Co-Op based in Glasgow, Scotland.
9 These include but are not limited to Puntos de
Encuentro, Sí Mujer, Grupo Venancia, Association
of Men Against Violence as well as many
feminist collectives and women’s groups in
different parts of the country.
10 Only one hate crime against lesbians was
documented in the study that as well as in-
depth interviews with LGBT leaders in
different parts of Nicaragua also carried out
an exhaustive review of reports in national
newspapers going back to the late 1990s. The
study suggested that this was probably related
to the general invisibility of lesbians in society
and to issues related to violence against
women, recommending future research on
lesbophobia and violence against and between
lesbians.
IDS Bulletin Volume 45 Number 1 January 2014 45
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