A general view of participants at the 16th session of the Human Rights Council in Geneva, Switzerland.
Análisis Especiales
AWID es un organización feminista internacional de membresía, que brinda apoyo a los movimientos que trabajan para lograr la justicia de género y los derechos de las mujeres en todo el mundo.
El Consejo de Derechos Humanos (CDH) es el cuerpo intergubernamental del sistema de las Naciones Unidas responsable de la promoción y protección de todos los derechos humanos en todo el mundo. El HRC se reúne en sesión ordinaria tres veces al año, en marzo, junio y septiembre. La La Oficina del Alto Comisionado para los Derechos Humanos (ACNUDH) es la secretaría del Consejo de Derechos Humanos.
El CDH trabaja de la siguiente forma:
Debate y aprueba resoluciones sobre cuestiones mundiales de derechos humanos y el estado de los derechos humanos en determinados países
Examina las denuncias de víctimas de violaciones a los derechos humanos o las de organizaciones activistas, quienes interponen estas denuncias representando a lxs víctimas.
Nombra a expertos independientes que ejecutarán los «Procedimientos Especiales» revisando y presentado informes sobre las violaciones a los derechos humanos desde una perspectiva temática o en relación a un país específico
Participa en discusiones con expertos y gobiernos respecto a cuestiones de derechos humanos.
A través del Examen Periódico Universal, cada cuatro años y medio, se evalúan los expedientes de derechos humanos de todos los Estados Miembro de las Naciones Unidas
Se está llevarando a cabo en Ginebra, Suiza del 30 de junio al 17 de julio de 2020.
AWID trabaja con socios feministas, progresistas y de derechos humanos para compartir conocimientos clave, convocar diálogos y eventos de la sociedad civil, e influir en las negociaciones y los resultados de la sesión.
Con nuestrxs socixs, nuestro trabajo será:
◾️ Monitorear, rastrear y analizar actores, discursos y estrategias anti-derechos y su impacto en las resoluciones
◾️ Desarrollar conjuntamente una labor de promoción conjunta para contrarrestar a los actores anti-derechos y debatir más a fondo las conclusiones del Informe de Tendencias de OUR de 2017
◾️ Apoyar, coordinar y desarrollar de manera colaborativa el Caucus feminista emergente en el CDH
Ardente défenseure des droits des femmes et des enfants, Su’ad dirigeait Al-Weed Al-Alaiami, une organisation irakienne de défense des droits humains.
Elle a participé aux manifestations de juillet 2018 qui ont eu lieu à Bassorah et dans plusieurs autres villes irakiennes pour protester contre le chômage, réclamer des emplois et des services publics appropriés pour les citoyen-ne-s, ainsi que pour exiger l'élimination de la corruption endémique. Le 25 septembre 2018, Su’ad a été assassinée dans le quartier d’Al-Abbasiyah, dans le centre-ville de Bassorah.
Une vidéo de l’incident a montré une personne qui s'est approchée d'elle alors qu'elle montait dans sa voiture, et lui a tiré une balle dans la tête avant de pointer son arme sur son chauffeur, Hussain Hassan, qui a été blessé à l'épaule. Su’ad Al-Ali avait 46 ans et était mère de quatre enfants.
Snippet FEA Principles of work Education and Learning (EN)
EDUCATION AND CONTINUOUS LEARNING
Tendencias anti-derechos en los sistemas regionales de derechos humanos
Chapter 6
En la Comisión Africana y en el Sistema Interamericano, los actores antiderechos impulsan nociones esencialistas de cultura y género para impedir el avance de los derechos y socavar las responsabilidades. Como vemos, los actores anti-derechos están ejerciendo su influencia sobre los sistemas regionales de derechos humanos, así como en los espacios internacionales.
La Comisión Africana de Derechos Humanos y de los Pueblos ha comenzado a definir a los derechos sexuales y de las mujeres como un menoscabo a su capacidad de ocuparse de los «derechos reales» y como contrarios a los «valores africanos», con lo cual se establece un precedente anti-derechos preocupante. La anulación del estatus de observador de la Coalición de Lesbianas Africanas es un ejemplo de esta tendencia y muestra la forma en que el espacio para el involucramiento feminista panafricanista está siendo restringido.
En la Organización de Estados Americanos (OEA) y en el Sistema Interamericano de Protección de los Derechos Humanos, las estrategias anti-derechos incluyen la oenegización de grupos religiosos, la utilización de discursos seculares, y la cooptación de marcos de discriminación. La influencia antiderechos se ha materializado de diversas maneras, que incluyen la intimidación de activistas trans y la obstrucción de la introducción de lenguaje progresista en las resoluciones.
Índice de contenidos
Silenciamiento de feministas en el Sistema Africano de Derechos Humanos
Grupos anti-derechos en América Latina: Asamblea General de la Organización de Estados Americanos (OEA) y el Sistema Interamericano de Protección de los Derechos Humanos
Feminist Realities is a warm and caring invitation, a kind of en masse-care (versus self-care) act of preservation, an invitation to archive, to take stock of all the work lest it disappear. (...)
Cette communauté est un endroit de connexions, où l’on comprend nos combats individuels comme faisant partie de luttes mondiales, et où l’on peut même parfois danser ! Il n’existe aucun endroit de la sorte en ligne, où être en contact avec des activistes de terrain, qui viennent du monde entier, et forger de la solidarité et de la sororité..- Paz Romero, Argentina
« Après
Après l’amour la première fois,
Nos corps et nos esprits nus
Une galerie des glaces,
Complètement désarmés, absolument fragiles,
Nous nous couchons dans les bras de l’autre
Respirant attentivement,
Avec la crainte de briser
Ces figurines en cristal. » - Fahmida Riaz
Fahmida Riaz a brisé les tabous sociaux en écrivant sur le désir des femmes dans ses poèmes, créant des récits alternatifs à propos du corps des femmes et de leur sexualité, et établissant de nouveaux standards dans la littérature urdu.
Son travail s’est confronté à de sévères critiques de la part des conservateurs, qui l’ont accusée d’utiliser des expressions érotiques et « pornographiques » dans son langage poétique.
Fahmida a finalement été mise sur liste noire et accusée de sédition en vertu de l’article 124A du Code pénal pakistanais sous la dictature de Zia-ul-Haq. Forcée à l’exil en 1981, elle a passé presque sept ans en Inde avant de retourner au Pakistan.
Dans la préface de « Badan Dareeda » (Un corps ravagé), un recueil de poèmes publié en 1974, elle écrit :
Si, en effet, je suis forcée à me tenir aujourd’hui devant ce maqtal et me confronte à la potence, je dois y faire face, la tête haute. Mes poèmes sont la trace d’une tête mutilée : des sons émanant même lorsque suspendue par des cordes… Un corps ravagé a pris la forme de razmia, ou d’un son de rupture. Et si cette rupture est effectivement choquante pour les gens, c’est que la poète a atteint son intention : elle a réussi à la perturber. (traduction de l’urdu vers l’anglais par Asad Alvi)
La splendeur de Fahmida résidait dans sa défiance de toute logique ou toute catégorie particulière de genre, nation, religion ou culture. Elle refusait d’être mise dans le rôle d’une « femme poète », brisant les définitions traditionnelles de la poésie féminine, des concepts et des thématiques (variant entre conscience politique, corps, culture, désir, religion, foyer), et renversant les inhibitions assignées à son genre.
« Il faut que vous compreniez que la culture ne peut avoir d’essence. Les cultures changent, circulent entre elles, formant de nouvelles cultures. La culture est née de cette façon. Il n’y a pas de conflits de cultures. »
Fahmida a écrit plus de 15 livres de poésie et de fiction, dont son poème ‘Taaziyati Qaraardaaden’ («Résolutions de condoléances» en anglais) qui pourrait servir d'hommage approprié à sa vie et à son héritage et de collection de poèmes (Apna Jurm To Saabit He «Mon crime est prouvé») publié en 1988 durant son exil.
Fahmida Riaz est née à Meerut, en Inde, le 28 juillet 1946 et est décédée le 21 novembre 2018 à Lahore, au Pakistan.
Snippet FEA Story 1 Maps Economies of Care (ES)
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FRMag - My queer Ramadan
Mi ramadán queer
por Amal Amer
Rezo con mi familia por primera vez en seis años envueltx en un keffiyah que recogí de un contenedor de basura. (...)
A 30 años de la adopción de la Declaración y Plataforma de Acción de Beijing, existe una ola creciente de fascismos que ejercen gran poder e influencia en los espacios multilaterales, todo un retroceso para las conquistas de igualdad de género y la protección de los derechos humanos en el mundo entero.
En torno a la CSW69, estamos organizando, en conjunto y de forma horizontal, una serie de valientes espacios sobre el terreno y en línea a fin de compartir estrategias y forjar un poder feminista más allá de Beijing +30. Nuestra presencia colectiva trastorna las prácticas institucionales de exclusión en dichos espacios y, a la vez, apoya los procesos de organización de los movimientos en torno a las alternativas feministas a los sistemas de opresión.
Súmate a las conversaciones desde el 10 al 21 de marzo de 2025, mientras transformamos de forma colectiva la CSW69 en espacios para y sobre la resistencia y la solidaridad.
Sylvia Rivera was a civil rights activist, a transvestite and sex worker.
Known as the New York Drag queen of color, Silvia was fierce and tireless in her advocacy, in defense of those who were marginalized and excluded as the “gay rights” movement mainstreamed in the United States in the early 1970’s.
In a well-known speech on Christopher Street Day in 1973, Sylvia, shouted through a crowd of LGBT community members:
“You all tell me, go and hide my tail between my legs.
I will no longer put up with this shit.
I have been beaten.
I have had my nose broken.
I have been thrown in jail.
I have lost my job.
I have lost my apartment.
For gay liberation, and you all treat me this way?
What the fuck’s wrong with you all?
Think about that!”
In 1969, at age 17, Silvia took part in the iconic Stonewall Riots by allegedly throwing the second Molotov cocktail to protest the police raid of the gay bar in Manhattan. She continued to be a central figure in the uprisings that followed, organizing rallies and fighting back police brutality.
In 1970, Sylvia worked together with Marsha P. Johnson to establish Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (S.T.A.R.), a political collective and organisation that would set up projects of mutual support for trans people living on the streets, those struggling with drug addiction and in prisons and in particular for trans people of color and those living in poverty.
Defiant of labels, Silvia lived life in a way that challenged people in the gay liberation movement to think differently. She said:
“I left home at age 10 in 1961. I hustled on 42nd Street. The early 60s was not a good time for drag queens, effeminate boys or boys that wore makeup like we did. Back then we were beat up by the police, by everybody. I didn't really come out as a drag queen until the late 60s. when drag queens were arrested, what degradation there was. I remember the first time I got arrested, I wasn't even in full drag. I was walking down the street and the cops just snatched me. People now want to call me a lesbian because I'm with Julia, and I say, "No. I'm just me. I'm not a lesbian." I'm tired of being labeled. I don't even like the label transgender. I'm tired of living with labels. I just want to be who I am. I am Sylvia Rivera.
Through her activism and courage, Sylvia offered a mirror that reflected all that was wrong within society, but also the possibility of transformation. Sylvia was born in 1951 and passed away in 2002.
Snippet - That Feminist Fire Logo (FR)
A Joy to the World: Six Questions with Naike Ledan
Interviewed by Chinelo Onwualu
Naike Ledan is a social justice defendant, a committed feminist that brings forward 20 years of experience in human rights and health justice advocacy, women’s empowerment, the fight for universal access to basic services and social inclusion, as well as civil society capacity building. She has built extensive work in Canada, West and southern Africa, as well as in Haiti, in civil rights advocacy, capacity building for CSOs, while emphasising the social determinants of structural exclusion. She values the principles of shared leadership, anticolonial, anti-oppressive, and anti-patriarchal spaces.
Chinelo You’re billed as a trans rights activist; I’m curious about how you made that journey.
Naike So, I grew up in Haiti until I was 18, then I lived in Montreal for 19 years. Coming back to Haiti in 2016, I thought I would be coming back home, but the place had changed and I had to readjust. I did not necessarily reconnect in the way that I’d expected to with childhood family and friends. I came back as an expat with a comfortable work situation, and I felt very much like a foreigner for a very long time. And at the same time, I felt very much at home because of the language, the understood silence, the not having to explain when we start singing a commercial – you know, that thing we share, that energy, that space, that spirit.
My return to self-love – I would call “rebirth” – coinciding with giving birth to my first child, giving birth to myself, and falling in love with my queerness or same-gender lovingness. (Photo credit: Naike Ledan)
What helped me was, I loved the work of going into the country and documenting people’s knowledge. So I left the comfort. I became a country director of a regional organisation that was queer as fuck! Most of my work was to find resources and build the capacity of civil society. My strategy was to go into the countryside, look for all these little organizations, help build their capacity, and fund them. I was not interested in politicians and shaking hands and taking pictures . I had a very good ally, Charlot Jeudy – the [queer] activist that got killed three years ago in his house. We got very close after an Afro-queer film festival we were planning got banned in Haiti. But it made a lot of noise and sparked conversations about queerness everywhere, so Charlot introduced me to every little CSO in every little corner of the country. And I would just be there to help organisation[s] with registering legally or building their strategic plan. So it’s been a lot of these kinds of work that made me a queer activist and by extension, a trans activist. Although I don’t call myself that – an activist. It’s such a loaded word, you know? And it’s something people call you. I think I’m just a lover and a fighter .
Chinelo Tell me about the workshop you conducted with AWID for the festival. What was it about and what was the context?
My deep self awareness during my childhood years and my engagement in questioning inequalities and injustice at a very very young age (+/- 4 years old). (Photo credit: Naike Ledan)
Naike International media doesn’t really talk about Haiti, but with a political environment that is as bad as ours, the economic environment is even more catastrophic. Being a more middle class Haitian, speaking different languages, having different passports, I was initially hesitant to take the space. But I often see myself as a bridge more than someone that would talk about themself. That is how I came to invite Semi, who is a brilliant young trans woman from outside Port-au-Prince, to take the space to talk for herself and walk us through the ecosystem of the realities for trans women in Haiti. We ended up building a session about uninclusive feminism – or, I would say, formal feminist spaces – and how trans girls in Haiti do not have spaces where they can contribute to women’s knowledge and sharing of women’s realities. So the AWID festival was the opportunity for me to give the space to the women who should have it. We had a wonderful time; we had wine online while hosting the conversation. My co-facilitator, Semi, shared what it is like to be a trans child/girl/woman at different stages of her life. She also shared the dangers of the street, of poverty, of exclusion, of “not passing,” and her victories as well.
Chinelo What is the relationship of trans women to feminist organizations in Haiti? What has been your experience with that?
Naike It’s been really hard – heartbreaking, actually – the experience of trans women in Haiti. From not existing at all to just being extremely sexualized. The other thing that’s been happening is how they’re being killed, and how those killings have gone unreported in the media. This is how non-existent, how erased trans women are. They’re everywhere but not in job settings, not in feminist settings, not in organizational settings. Not even in LGBT organizations. It’s only recently, and because of a lot of advocacy push, that some of these organization are kind of readjusting, but in feminist spaces, this is still out of the question. We are still having to deal with the old exclusionary discourse of “They’re not women. Of course, if they can pass…” The culture of passing, it’s a risk management conversation – how much you pass and how much you don’t pass and what it means for your body and the violence it inflicts. In the trans-exclusionary realities we live in, which are reproduced in a lot of feminist spaces, those that pass completely may be considered girls, but only to a certain extent. But how about falling in love, how about having a conversation, how about being in the closet, how about wanting a certain aesthetic, or a career? So really, the conversation about hormone therapy becomes about risk reduction, as Semi herself shared at the workshop. But we don’t have the option of hormone therapy, we don’t have the medical framework nor the system to support those who would like to pursue that option.
Chinelo When you talk about the way that trans people and queer people are thought of in society, it sounds like it might be similar to Nigeria, which can be a deeply homophobic environment.
Naike Haiti is a very complex country in a very beautiful way. Nothing is simple, you know, nothing is ever one way. Haitians are very tolerant – and they’re also very homophobic. You’re going to find regions in the countryside where people aren’t that homophobic at all because all the Vodou temples there, and this is a religion that respects life. One basic principle of the Vodou religion is that all children are children. So, there is no right or wrong in the religion. For the longest time, people thought of Haiti as a haven, a place where people are tolerant – we’re talking 70s, 80s, pre-HIV, 90s even. Then you had the earthquake [in 2010] where around 300,000 people died. And then all this money came from the south of the US through the Evangelicals to rebuild the country and find Jesus. So, the homophobia in Haiti is very recent. In the depth, in the heart of the soul of the culture, I cannot really say that it is homophobic. But in the everyday life, it surely lands on the skin of queer people, that violence. And that of women, of poor women, of dark women as well, because colorism runs deep in the Caribbean.
Chinelo How have you managed this? What’s been your strategy for survival?
My return to Haiti as part of my decolonizing process, and choosing to physically position my senses and my family’s senses to magic and blackness uncompromisingly. (Photo credit: Naike Ledan)
Naike I’m really in love with my work. I love working. When I first arrived, I was working with this horrible NGO but I was doing amazing work. I was always in the countryside, conversing and learning from people, from women. And that filled my heart for so long because I’m very much in love with my culture, with black people, with black women – old black women, black babies. It just fills me up in a spiritual way. When we were in Canada my kids were in these all-white schools and tokenized. They did not speak Creole nor French. And now, they’re running free in the yard and starting to fight in Creole. I also found hubs of survival with the people I met. I created bonds with the queers and others who were weirdos like me and it’s been really wonderful. But now I’m struggling because I don’t feel safe in Haiti anymore. We have about 40 kidnappings per week in Port-Au-Prince – and it’s been like that since 2018. I’ve developed anxiety and panic attacks. So It’s time to go, and I’ve been asking myself, “where is home?” I spent 19 years in Montreal but I never felt at home there. When I left, I never missed it so I don’t want to go back. I’ve been crying a lot lately because it feels like entering a second exile.
Chinelo What’s your relationship to pleasure, leisure, and rest?
Naike My relationship with pleasure, leisure, and rest are for me one and the same. It is the lived moment when I indulge in the heat of the sun on my face for example. It is pleasure, leisure, and rest at the same time.
Pleasure: My go-to space, most solely a haven of celebration of myself. I reserve myself the power and the right to be loud or quiet in the enjoyment of the pleasure I experience. All the pleasure I viciously and abundantly indulge in, including and not limited to the pleasure of solitude and silence.
Leisure: biking, music festivals, eating, wine discoveries, dancing in Haitian traditional Vodou dances are amongst many that occur at the moment.
Rest: is what I live for. As an overachiever and a person that is literally in love with work, it is a paradox how lazy I am. No one knows that because all of what the world sees is this: an accomplished overworker. They do not know how I can just, uncompromisingly and profoundly indulge in idleness.
ExploreTransnational Embodiments
This journal edition in partnership with Kohl: a Journal for Body and Gender Research, will explore feminist solutions, proposals and realities for transforming our current world, our bodies and our sexualities.
نصدر النسخة هذه من المجلة بالشراكة مع «كحل: مجلة لأبحاث الجسد والجندر»، وسنستكشف عبرها الحلول والاقتراحات وأنواع الواقع النسوية لتغيير عالمنا الحالي وكذلك أجسادنا وجنسانياتنا.
« Ashawo Work na Work » : Comment les jeunes féministes ghanéennes transforment des horizons féministes en réalité
par Fatima B. Derby
En 2017, la campagne #ManifestezVotreSolidarité a mis en évidence la manière dont les jeunes féministes pouvaient construire un avenir féministe en étant là les unes pour les autres, en participant à des conversations transrégionales, en marchant en solidarité avec d'autres activistes et en collaborant entre les mouvements. (...)
