Communiquer le désir et autres pratiques politiques incarnées

avec Manal Tamimi, Lindiwe Rasekoala et Louise Malherbe
Crédit podcast : Zuhour Mahmoud

Una serie de películas sobre realidades feministas de la región del Sudoeste Asiático y África del Norte

por Esra Ozban

En un mundo obsesionado con los productos, el proceso de priorización es un método feminista fundamental. Los procesos importan, y la curaduría no es una excepción. Mientras trataba de determinar cuáles de las películas de la región del Sudoeste Asiático y África del Norte (SWANA, por su sigla en inglés) serían más relevantes para el tema de las realidades feministas, la pandemia global, que todavía estamos enfrentando, modificó tremendamente nuestras vidas cotidianas. Incluso pensar, escribir o expresarme se ha convertido en una lucha diaria. Se me pasaban constantemente las fechas límites, y mandaba correos de disculpas a Kamee Abrahamian, con quien estaba trabajando como curadora independiente para el proyecto de la Club de Cine Feminista de AWID. El invalorable apoyo de Kamee, su comprensión y sus sugerencias, me recordaron que, incluso en dos lugares diferentes del mundo, como colegas que nunca se han encontrado personalmente, podemos crear conjuntamente micro versiones de las realidades feministas que anhelamos y para las cuales vivimos.
 
Para mí, las realidades feministas tienen mucho que ver con las sororidades. Sororidades que ayudan a lxs mujerxs que se ocupan de la remoción de minas en Artsaj/Alto Karabaj. Sororidades horneadas en Vegan Inclusive Trans Cake [Torta Trans Vegana  Inclusiva] de feministas trans jóvenes de Ankara, que les recuerdan que no están siendo bienvenidas por la generación Z a las hermanas cis. Sororidades que están creciendo entre la menta de la azotea de Dragiča Alafandi, en el campamento de refugiadxs de Dheisheh de  la Palestina ocupada, en Sowing seeds of resistance [Sembrando semillas de resistencia]. Sororidades que asumen proximidades íntimas, sexuales y revolucionarias en el Parque Gezi en #resistayol. Sororidades que sacan a la luz un encuentro imaginado entre dos generaciones de mujerxs exiliadxs  en las calles de Haifa, en Your father was born 100 years old and so was the Nakba [Tu padre nació teniendo 100 años, igual que la Nakba]. Sororidades interespecies que se desarrollan en un espacio ficticio (y valiente) creado por Mounia Akl en Submarine [Submarino] para su personaje rebelde Hala, quien se rehúsa a ser evacuada  de una ciudad llena de basura y es abandonada con su amigx perrx.
 
Esta selección reúne trozos y fragmentos de muchas realidades feministas que se han producido en la región del Sudoeste Asiático y África del Norte durante los últimos años. Continuaremos imaginando, aprendiendo y compartiendo corporizaciones feministas de esperanza y poder. Mientras tanto, sumerjámonos en las potentes alternativas  a las que lxs cineastas y lxs protagonistas de estas películas han dado vida. Podemos crear conjuntamente cada paso, cada acto y cada intento, mientras seguimos cohabitando este mundo con otrxs que están viviendo realidades feministas y que persisten en sus sueños para dar vida a más de estas realidades.

MOTHERLAND [MADRE PATRIA]

por Emily Mkrtichian y Jesse Soursourian

«Con una belleza visual y atractivas escenas de la realidad, Motherland es un espectáculo de camaradería y fortaleza femeninas... La película es un testimonio de mujeres de todo el mundo que están dispuestas a trabajar más aún, para superar cualquier obstáculo que encuentren.»
 
    - Nosarieme Garrick, cineasta galardonada

«Motherland es una inspiradora visualización de solidaridad, valentía, y agallas...»
 
    - Hers is Ours Collective, organizadorxs del Outsider Moving Art & Film Festival 

Motherland from jesse soursourian on Vimeo.

Emily Mkrtichian sobre las realidades feministas y Artsaj/Alto Karabaj

Filmamos el cortometraje Motherland en la República de Artsaj en 2018. Cada una de estas mujeres me atrajo por su fortaleza, su resiliencia y su humor, a pesar del contexto en el que vivían. En 2018, ese contexto era el del período posterior a una guerra brutal que había tenido lugar en la década de 1990, después de la cual su país se convirtió en un territorio no reconocido (o disputado, para la comunidad internacional) que no recibía la autonomía y la independencia de las que gozan tantos otros países. Artsaj estaba también profundamente afectada por las consecuencias que vemos en casi todos los lugares que atraviesan conflictos violentos, -consecuencias que tan a menudo recaen sobre las mujeres-: trastornos de estrés postraumático, altas tasas de alcoholismo, altas tasas de violencia doméstica, menos igualdades y libertades otorgadas a las mujeres, poca o ninguna representación de las mujeres en la política y la administración pública. Frente a estos desafíos, esta película trata de captar el fuego y el poder de las mujeres de Artsaj, algo que podría no ajustarse al paradigma feminista occidental tradicional, pero que ha sido creado por y para ellas mismas a través de los profundos lazos comunitarios, el cuidado de sus familias, el trabajo duro, y la capacidad de reírse juntas a lo largo  de todo este proceso. Hoy, la República de Artsaj ha sido devastada nuevamente por otra guerra, que la dejó sin el 70% de las tierras que estas mujeres consideraron como propias durante toda sus vidas. Sin embargo, puedo prometerles que estas mujeres, y miles de otras, continúan sosteniendo a sus familias, sus comunidades y su cultura a través de las mismas redes de cuidado, del mismo compromiso con el trabajo duro y de las mismas carcajadas revoltosas, de cara a un futuro incierto.
 

SOWING SEEDS OF RESISTANCE [SEMBRANDO SEMILLAS DE RESISTENCIA]

por Baladi-Rooted Resistance

«Una película oportuna para mirar después de ser testigxs del último bombardeo de Gaza por parte de las Fuerzas de Defensa de Israel. Una mirada sobre el modo en que las mujeres de las comunidades palestinas sobreviven a la opresión estructural, a través de la historia de un banco de semillas tradicionales... y de las mujeres que lo sostienen como forma de alimentar la rebelión.»

    - Jessica Horn, activista feminista panafricana, escritora y co-creadora del sitio web the temple of her skin

«Ver mujeres que se reúnen y trabajan  colectivamente por la autonomía alimentaria es, para mí, terapéutico y empoderante.»
 
    - Hers is Ours Collective, organizadorxs del Outsider Moving Art & Film Festival 

Equipo Baladi-Rooted Resistance sobre las realidades feministas«¿Cómo hablar sobre realidades feministas cuando vives en Deheisheh, un campamento de refugiadxs palestino, construido hace setenta años para contener  a tres mil refugiadxs, pero que es ahora el hogar de quince mil personas, en la Cisjordania ocupada? ¿O cuando la tierra que cultivas está amenazada constantemente por los colonizadores  ilegales?
Si eres mujer en Palestina ocupada, tienes que luchar no solo contra el patriarcado, sino también contra el colonialismo y contra una ocupación militar brutal.
 
Dragiča y Vivien están peleando contra estos múltiples sistemas de dominación, a su propio modo.
Vivien utiliza semillas nativas para ayudar a lxs palestinxs a mantener su identidad. Cultivar alimentos tradicionales de forma tradicional es sumamente significativo: «Si ya no eres unx productorx, eres unx consumidorx, y qué mejor manera de esclavizar a alguien que convertirlx en tu consumidxr . Esto está sucediendo en todo el mundo, pero aquí se duplica con la ocupación militar.»
 
El 31,5% de los hogares de Cisjordania no tiene seguridad alimentaria. Mediante un huerto de azotea, Dragiča logró incrementar la autonomía alimentaria de su familia. En el hacinado campamento, al que  el ejército israelí realiza incursiones nocturnas de forma regular para arrestar y acosar a lxs residentes, el huerto de azotea de Dragiča no solamente nutre a su familia, sino que, en especial, nutre su alma.»
 

#RESISTAYOL

por Ruzgar Buski

Ruzgar Buski sobre las realidades feministas

«No sé qué decir sobre las realidades feministas, pero, como artista trans, como activista de Turquía, sé que nuestras realidades son duras. Vivimos con violencias: ¡físicas, emocionales, económicas, sexuales!. Por eso es que tenemos que construir nuestras propias redes, y crear conjuntamente microrrealidades recíprocas es, para mí, una realidad feminista. #resistayol es mi primera película, y al comienzo planeaba hacer una película por/para/con personas trans que no tratara de convencer a nadie del hecho de que las personas trans son humanas, ni que se centrara en crear consciencia sobre los temas trans. Sin embargo, sucedieron  las protestas del Parque Gezi, que se convirtieron en una de las sublevaciones más grandes de la historia de Turquía, y la película resultó ser algo diferente.

Creo que el proceso de producción afecta realmente lo que la película termina siendo. Nos esforzamos mucho para que trabajaran mujeres y personas trans y no binarias en cada etapa de la filmación. Esta película está hecha por gente que se reunió con camaradería y amistad. Kanka Productions está basada en el compañerismo transfeminista. Quiero que la película aporte esperanza, que sane, porque acarreamos muchos traumas en nuestros cuerpos: esto es lo que nos constituye y lo que nos conecta. La sanación es un proceso que nunca termina, y tenemos que crear espacios para respirar. #resistayol es una hora de respiración colectiva.»
 

Boysan Yakar en #resistayol

«Bueno, lxs lubunyas (queers) estábamos sentadxs en el parque, y de pronto llegaron topadoras y todxs nos enojamos. En realidad, en resumen, eso fue suficiente . Es el parque de lxs lubunyas, y teníamos treinta días para explicar eso a esta ciudad enorme. Todxs reconocen que a la noche los ibnes (putos) cogen en ese parque... El bloque LGBTI llevó a nuestra comunidad ahí. Ya no confiábamos en el Estado s y la policía, y no teníamos seguridad; hemos establecido nuestras propias formas de hacer las cosas, nuestras propias leyes y costumbres para sobrevivir... Rápidamente, llevamos nuestra ley a Gezi. En un esfuerzo por establecer un lenguaje y un entendimiento comunes entre todos estos grupos, el lenguaje LGBT de unión y solidaridad se propagó por todo el parque. Todos los días había una Marcha del Orgullo, todxs decían continuamente “ayol”. Embellecimos el lenguaje apestoso y polvoriento de la izquierda. Supongo que tuvimos este nivel de impacto porque hemos sido repudiadxs todos estos años. Desde lxs más radicales hasta lxs más conservadorxs y nacionalistas, todxs nos necesitaban, porque todxs nos habituamos a ser confrontadxs por todo. Ellxs no estaban acostumbradxs a tanta energía, a nuestra energía. Por eso esta  fue una gran arena política  para nosotrxs. Todos los días hacíamos realidad aquí nuestra mayor y principal lucha, o sea, una lucha por la visibilidad y el reconocimiento. Por eso dejamos Gezi con una gran victoria.»
 

VEGAN INCLUSIVE TRANS CAKE [TORTA TRANS VEGANA INCLUSIVA]

por Pembe Hayat

  «... un manifiesto multifacético que muestra la alegría que existe en las amistades dentro de la comunidad queer de Turquía, como despliegues de rebelión y resistencia.»
 
    - Nosarieme Garrick, cineasta galardonada

«... diversión, luz, y azar. En un mundo constantemente marcado por las  cicatrices de  la violencia contra la comunidad trans, nada, ninguna acción, está (desafortunadamente) privada de significado. De modo que ¡por más alegría, más amor, y más azar significativo!»

    - Hers is Ours Collective, organizadorxs del Outsider Moving Art & Film Festival 

Cayan Azadi en Vegan Inclusive Trans Cake

«Hola Barbies, Kens, muñecas de porcelana, Olivia Olivo, muñecas Pimpollo. Novias de Chucky, hermanas de Chucky, cuñados de Chucky y, por último pero no menos importante, estimados amantes de los cuñados.
 
Entonces, por qué hicimos esta torta.
 
Ahora recibimos la noticia de que una trabajadora sexual trans ha intentado suicidarse debido a la violencia de los vigilantes y la policía en las calles. En este momento, está siendo retenida en un puesto de policía y es exactamente por eso que hicimos esta torta. Esta torta travesti es horneada para mostrar que existimos en todas las partes de la vida, que existimos persistentemente, y esta torta muestra que no seremos erradicadas o ignoradas en esta sociedad.
 
Sí, hay violencia en nuestras vidas y sí, también hay mucha falta de respeto [shade], pero a pesar de todo eso igual podemos divertirnos, disfrutando de la vida todo lo que podemos. ¡Buen provecho, hermana!»

YOUR FATHER WAS BORN 100 YEARS OLD AND SO WAS THE NAKBA [TU PADRE NACIÓ TENIENDO 100 AÑOS, IGUAL QUE LA NAKBA]  ابوكي خلق عمره ١٠٠ سنة، زي النكبة

por Razan AlSalah

SUBMARINE [SUBMARINO]

por Mounia Akl

«Este film está dirigido como se escribe un poema: es simple, un poco abstracto, y conmovedor.»
 
    - Hers is Ours Collective, organizadorxs del Outsider Moving Art & Film Festival 

Esra Ozban:

Esra Ozban es unx programadorx y cineasta turcx. Su trabajo artístico, curatorial y académico se cruza con las prácticas críticas de archivo, el trabajo sexual, la pornografía y las culturas cinematográficas feministas/queer, entre otras. 

Síguenos en las redes sociales para recibir noticias sobre futuros eventos y proyecciones:

• Facebook: @AWIDWomensRights
• Instagram: @awidwomensrights
• Twitter ENG: @awid
• Twitter FR: @awid_fr
• Twitter ES: @awid_es
• LinkedIn: Association for Women's Rights in Development (AWID)

General Information

Communicating Desire

and Other Embodied Political Praxes

We tend to think about communicating desire as something that is limited to the private intimacy of the bedroom and our personal relationships. But can we also think of this kind of communication as a structure, a praxis that informs our work, and how we are, how we do in the world?

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Chapitre 3

Les discours antidroits continuent à évoluer. Outre le recours à des arguments religieux, culturels et traditionnels, les acteur·rice·s antidroits s’approprient le langage de la justice sociale et des droits humains pour travestir leurs véritables programmes et gagner ainsi en légitimité.

Il y a trente ans, un télévangéliste américain candidat républicain décrivait le féminisme comme « un mouvement politique antifamille qui encourage les femmes à quitter leur mari, tuer leurs enfants, pratiquer la sorcellerie, détruire le capitalisme et devenir lesbiennes ». Cette idée progresse et acquiert aujourd’hui une légitimité insoupçonnée sous les apparats de l’« idéologie du genre » – une espèce de croque-mitaine polyvalent créé par les antidroits dans le seul but de s’y opposer.

Un thème revient sans cesse dans leurs discours teintés d’« impérialisme culturel », de « colonisation idéologique », de « génocide prénatal » et d’appel à la « clause de conscience » : la prise de contrôle. Les antidroits s’approprient des questions d’intérêt légitime, qu’ils et elles déforment pour servir leurs programmes oppressifs.

Sommaire

• L’idéologie du genre
• L’impérialisme culturel et la colonisation idéologique
• L’avortement : la clause de conscience
• L’avortement : un génocide prénatal
• Exercice : ressaisissons-nous du discours
• Histoire du mouvement de la résistance. Les Principes de Nairobi : les engagements intermouvements en faveur du handicap et de la SDSR

Lire le chapitre complet

Accessibilité et santé

Illumination by the Light of the Full Moon: An African BDSM experience

More than a fun kink to explore for the sensations, BDSM can be a way of addressing emotional pain and trauma. It has been a medium of sexual healing for me, providing a radical form of liberation. 

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النمرة.

Listen here!

Tshegofatso Senne is a Black, chronically-ill, genderqueer feminist who does the most. Much of their work is rooted in pleasure, community, and dreaming, while being informed by somatic abolitionism and disability, healing, and transformative justices. Writing, researching, and speaking on issues concerning feminism, community, sexual and reproductive justice, consent, rape culture, and justice, Tshegofatso has 8 years of experience theorising on the ways in which these topics intersect with pleasure. They run their own business, Thembekile Stationery, and their community platform Hedone brings people together to explore and understand the power of trauma-awareness and pleasure in their daily lives. Tshegofatso believes deeply in the individual and collective potential of regenerative and sustainable change, pleasure, and care work.

The body. The most permanent home we have.

The body, not the thinking brain, is where we experience most of our pain, pleasure, and joy, and where we process most of what happens to us. It is also where we do most of our healing, including our emotional and psychological healing. And it is where we experience resilience and a sense of flow.

These words, said by Resmaa Menakem in his book My Grandmother’s Hands, have stayed with me.

The body; it holds our experiences. Our memories. Our resilience. And as Menakem has written, the body also holds our traumas. It responds with spontaneous protective mechanisms to stop or prevent more damage. That is the power of the body. Trauma is not the event; it is how our bodies respond to events that feel dangerous to us. It is often left stuck in the body, until we address it. There’s no talking our body out of this response – it just is.

Using Ling Tan’s Digital Superpower app, I tracked how my body felt as I travelled around different parts of my city, Johannesburg, South Africa. The app is a gesture-driven online platform that allows you to trace your perceptions as you move through locations by logging and recording the data. I used it to track my psychosomatic symptoms – physical reactions connected to a mental cause. Whether that be flashbacks. Panic attacks. Tightness in the chest. A fast heartbeat. Tension headaches. Muscle pain. Insomnia. Struggling to breathe. I tracked these symptoms as I walked and travelled to different areas in Johannesburg. And I asked myself.

Where can we be safe? Can we be safe?

Psychosomatic responses can be caused by a number of things, and some are not as severe as others. After experiencing any kind of trauma you may feel intense distress in similar events or situations. I tracked my sensations, ranked on a scale of 1-5, where 1 were the instances I barely felt any of these symptoms – I felt at ease rather than on-guard and jumpy, my breath and heart rate were stable, I was not looking over my shoulder – and number 5 being the opposite – symptoms that had me close to a panic attack.

As a Black person. As a queer person. As a genderqueer person who could be perceived as a woman, depending on what my gender expression is that day.

I asked myself.
Where can we be safe?

Even in neighbourhoods one might consider “safe,” I felt constantly panicked. Looking around me to make sure I wasn’t being followed, adjusting the way my T-shirt sat so my breasts wouldn’t show up as much, looking around to make sure I knew multiple routes to get out of the place I was should I sense danger. An empty road brings anxiety. A packed one does too. Being in an Uber does. Walking on a public road does. Being in my apartment does. So does picking up a delivery from the front of the building.

Can we be safe? 

Pumla Dineo Gqola speaks of the Female Fear Factory. It may or may not be familiar, but if you’re someone socialised as a woman, you’ll know this feeling well. The feeling that has you planning every step you take, whether you’re going to work, school, or just running an errand. The feeling that you have to watch how you dress, act, speak in public and private spaces. The feeling in the pit of your stomach if you have to travel at night, get a delivery, or deal with any person who continues to socialise as a cis man. Harassed on the street, always with the threat of violence. Us existing in any space comes with an innate fear.

Fear is both an individual and a socio-political phenomenon. At an individual level, fear can be present as part of a healthy well developing warning system […] When we think about fear, it is important to hold both notions of individual emotional experience and the political ways in which fear has been used in different epochs for control.
- Pumla Dineo Gqola, in her book Rape: A South African Nightmare

South African women, femmes, and queers know that every step we take outside – steps to do ordinary things: a walk to the shops, a taxi to work, an Uber from a party – all of these acts are a negotiation with violence. This fear, is part of the trauma. To cope with the trauma we carry in our bodies, we develop responses to detect danger – watching the emotional responses of those around us, reading for “friendliness.” We’re constantly on guard.

Day after day. Year after year. Life after life. Generation after generation.

On the additional challenge of this learned defence system, author of The Body Keeps Score, Bessel Van Der Kolk, has said

It disrupts this ability to accurately read others, rendering the trauma survivor either less able to detect danger or more likely to misperceive danger where there is none. It takes tremendous energy to keep functioning while carrying the memory of terror, and the shame of utter weakness and vulnerability.

As Resmaa Menakem has said, trauma is in everything; it infiltrates the air we breathe, the water we drink, the foods we eat. It is in the systems that govern us, the institutions that teach and also traumatise us, and within the social contracts we enter into with each other. Most importantly, we take it with us everywhere we go, in our bodies, exhausting us and eroding our health and happiness. We carry that truth in our bodies. Generations of us have.

So, as I walk around my city, whether an area is considered “safe” or not, I carry the traumas of generations whose responses are embedded in my body. My heart palpitates, it becomes difficult to breathe, my chest tightens – because my body feels as though the trauma is happening in that very moment. I live hyper vigilant. To the point where one is either too on-guard to mindfully enjoy their life, or too numb to absorb new experiences.

For us to begin to heal, we need to acknowledge these truths.

These truths that live in our bodies.

This trauma is what keeps many of us from living the lives we want. Ask any femme or queer person what safety looks like to them and they’ll mostly share examples that are simple tasks – being able to simply live joyful lives, without the constant threat of violence. 
Feelings of safety, of comfort and ease, are spatial. When we embody our trauma, it affects the ways we perceive our own safety, affects the ways we interact with the world, and alters the ways we are able to experience and embody anything pleasurable and joyful.

We have to refuse this burdensome responsibility and fight for a safe world for all of us. Walking wounded as many of us are, we are fighters. Patriarchy may terrorise and brutalise us, but we will not give up the fight. As we repeatedly take to the streets, defying the fear in spectacular and seemingly insignificant ways, we defend ourselves and speak in our own name. 
- Pumla Dineo Gqola, in her book Rape: A South African Nightmare

Where can we be safe? How do we begin to defend ourselves, not just in the physical sense, but in the emotional, psychological, and spiritual senses? 

“Trauma makes weapons out of us all,” adrienne maree brown has said in an interview conducted by Justin Scott Campbell. And her work, Pleasure Activism, offers us multiple methodologies to heal that trauma and ground ourselves in the understanding that healing, justice, and liberation can also be pleasurable experiences. Especially those of us who are the most marginalised, who may have been raised to equate suffering with “The Work.” The Work that so many of us have gone into as activists, community builders and workers, those serving the most marginalised, The Work that we struggle in order to do, burning ourselves out and rarely caring for our minds and bodies. The alternative is becoming more informed about our trauma, able to identify our own needs, and becoming deeply embodied. That embodiment means we are simply more able to experience the world through the senses and sensations in our bodies, acknowledging what they tell us rather than suppressing and ignoring the information it is communicating with us.

Being constantly in conversation with our living body and intentionally practising those conversations connects us to embodiment more deeply; it allows us to make tangible the emotions we feel as we interact with the world, befriend our bodies, and understand all that they try to teach us. When understanding trauma and embodiment paired, we can begin to start the healing and access pleasure more holistically, healthily, and in our daily lives without shame and guilt. We can begin to access pleasure as a tool for individual and social change, tapping into the power of the erotic as Audre Lorde described it. A power that allows us to share the joy we access and experience, expanding our capacity for happiness and understanding that we are deserving of it, even with our trauma. 

Tapping into pleasure and embodying the erotic gives us the expansion of being deliberately alive, feeling grounded and stable and understanding our nervous systems. It allows us to understand and shed the generational baggage we’ve been carrying without realising; we can be empowered with the knowledge that even as traumatised as we are, as traumatised as we potentially could be in the future, we are still deserving of pleasurable and joyful lives, that we can share that power with our people. It is the community aspect that is missing from the ways we care for ourselves; self-care cannot exist without community care. We are able to feel a deeper internal trust, safety, and power of ourselves, especially in the face of future traumas that will trigger us, knowing how to soothe and stabilise ourselves. All this understanding leads us to a deep internal power that is resourced to meet any challenges that come your way.

As those living with deep generational traumas, we have come to distrust and perhaps think we are incapable of containing and accessing the power we have. In “Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power,” Lorde teaches us that the erotic offers a source of replenishment, a way to demand better for ourselves and our lives. 

For the erotic is not a question only of what we do; it is a question of how acutely and fully we can feel in the doing. Once we know the extent to which we are capable of feeling that sense of satisfaction and completion, we can then observe which of our various life endeavours brings us closest to that fullness.

I don’t say any of this lightly – I know that this is easier said than done. I know that many of us are prevented from understanding these truths, from internalising or even healing them. Resistance comes with acts of feeling unsafe, but is not impossible. Resisting power structures that keep the most powerful safe will always endanger those of us shoved to the margins. Acknowledging the traumas you’ve faced is a reclamation of your lived experiences, those that have passed and those that will follow; it is resistance that embodies that knowledge that we are deserving of more than the breadcrumbs these systems have forced us to lap up. It is a resistance that understands that pleasure is complicated by trauma, but it can be accessed in arbitrary and powerful ways. It is a resistance that acknowledges that our trauma is a resource that connects us to each other, and can allow us to keep each other safe. It is a resistance that understands that even with pleasure and joy, this is not a utopia; we will still harm and be harmed, but we will be better equipped for survival and thrive in a community of diverse care and kindness. A resistance that makes way for healing and connecting to our full human selves.

Healing will never be an easy and rosy journey, but it begins with the acknowledgment of the possibility. When oppression makes us believe that pleasure is not something that we all have equal access to, one of the ways that we start doing the work of reclaiming our full selves — our whole liberated, free selves — is by reclaiming our access to pleasure.

Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha has said in her article in Pleasure Activism (to which she contributed), 

I know that for most people, the words “care” and “pleasure” can’t even be in the same sentence. We’re all soaking in ableism’s hatred of bodies that have needs, and we’re given a really shitty choice: either have no needs and get to have autonomy, dignity, and control over your life or admit you need care and lose all of the above.

The power that this has? We understand our traumas, so we understand those of others; we embody the sensations we experience and tend to them rather than distract and avoid. We access pleasure in ways that make us want to share that joy with those in our communities. When we are trauma-informed, we give ourselves more room to experience all this and give ourselves, and others, permission to heal. Imagine, a community in which everyone has access, resources, and time to live pleasurable lives, in whichever way they want and deserve. In which spatial traumas are lessened because the people that occupy them are trauma-aware, are filled with a tender care. Isn’t that healing? Is that not working through generational traumas? Does that not build and sustain healthier futures for us all?

It is time we reconnected with the ancestral knowledge that we deserve to live full lives. We need to get back in touch with our natural right to joy and existing for ourselves. To feel pleasure simply for the sake of it. To not live lives of terror. It sounds radical; it feels radical. In a world where we have been socialised and traumatised to numb, to fear, to feel and remain powerless, to be greedy and live with structural issues that lead to mental illness, what a gift and wonder it is to begin to feel, to be in community with those who feel, to be healthily interdependent in, to love each other boldly. Feeling is radical. Pleasure is radical. Healing is radical. 

You have permission to feel pleasure. You have permission to dance, create, make love to yourself and others, celebrate and cultivate joy. You are encouraged to do so. You have permission to heal. Don’t bottle it up inside, don’t try to move through this time alone. You have permission to grieve. And you have permission to live.
- adrienne maree brown, “You Have Permission”

Somatic embodiment allows us to explore our trauma, work through it and make meaningful connections to ourselves and the collective. Doing this over time sustains our healing; just like trauma, healing is not a one-time only event. This healing helps move us toward individual and collective liberation. 

In “A Queer Politics of Pleasure,” Andy Johnson speaks about the ways in which the queering of pleasure offers us sources of healing, acceptance, release, playfulness, wholeness, defiance, subversion, and freedom. How expansive! When we embody pleasure in ways that are this holistic, this queer, we are able to acknowledge the limitation.

Queering pleasure also asks us the questions that intersect our dreaming with our lived realities. 

Who is free or deemed worthy enough to feel pleasure? When is one allowed to feel pleasure or pleased? With whom can one experience pleasure? What kind of pleasure is accessible? What limits one from accessing their full erotic and pleased potential?
- Andy Johnson, “A Queer Politics 
of Pleasure”

When our trauma-informed pleasure practices are grounded in community care, we begin to answer some of these questions. We begin to understand the liberating potential. As pleasure activists, this is the reality we ground ourselves within. The reality that says, my pleasure may be fractal, but it has the potential to heal not only me and my community, but future bloodlines.

I am a whole system; we are whole systems. We are not just our pains, not just our fears, and not just our thoughts. We are entire systems wired for pleasure, and we can learn how to say yes from the inside out.
- Prentis Hemphill, interviewed by Shar Jossell

There’s a world of pleasure that allows us to begin to understand ourselves holistically, in ways that give us room to rebuild the realities that affirm that we are capable and deserving of daily pleasure. BDSM, one of my deepest pleasures, allows me a glimpse into these realities where I can both feel and heal my trauma, as well as feel immeasurable opportunities to say yes from the inside out. While trauma keeps me stuck in a cycle of fight or flight, bondage, kneeling, impact, and breath play encourage me to stay grounded and connected, reconnecting to restoration. Pleasure that is playful allows me to heal, to identify where traumatic energy is stored in my body and focus my energy there. It allows me to express the sensations my body feels through screams of pain and delight, to express my no with no fear and revel in the fuck yes. With a safety plan, aftercare, and a deeper understanding of trauma, kink offers a place of pleasure and healing that is invaluable. 

So whether your pleasure looks like cooking a meal at your leisure, engaging in sex, having bed days with your people, participating in disability care collectives, having someone spit in your mouth, going on accessible outings, having cuddle dates, attending an online dance party, spending time in your garden, being choked out in a dungeon, 

I hope you take pleasure with you wherever you go. I hope it heals you and your people.

Recognising the power of the erotic within our lives can give us the energy to pursue genuine change within our world. 
- Audre Lorde, “Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power”

Si tu actividad es seleccionada, el equipo de AWID te contactará para evaluar y responder a tus necesidades de interpretación y accesibilidad.

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يومَ دعتني أنجليكا وفابي لأكون القَيِّمة على تشكيلة نصوص شبقية من تحرير نسوة سود لم أكن أعرف ما يعنيه عملُ القيِّم. الشبق ومشتقاته، هذه فهمتها جيداً، لكن عمل القَيِّم...

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