L´AWID est une organisation féministe mondiale qui consacre ses efforts à la justice de genre, au développement durable et aux droits humains des femmes
Forum de l'AWID : Co-créer nos horizons féministes
En septembre 2016, 1800 féministes et défenseur-e-s des droits des femmes venu-e-s des quatre coins de nos mouvements se réunissaient sur les côtes de Bahia à l’occasion du 13ème Forum international de l’AWID.
Cette section met l’accent sur les victoires, les enseignements et les ressources qui ont couronné nos conversations. Nous vous invitons à l’explorer, la partager et laisser vos impressions.
L’un des principaux éléments à retenir de ce Forum a été la nécessité d’élargir et d’approfondir notre travail de collaboration entre mouvements pour faire face à une montée des fascismes et des fondamentalismes, une exacerbation de la cupidité des entreprises et un changement climatique en progression.
L’AWID a donc travaillé avec plusieurs allié-e-s pour ériger ces semences de résistance :
Les mouvements peuvent aussi bénéficier d’une nouvelle méthodologie pour envisager nos horizons féministes. (à venir bientôt !)
A travers son prochain plan stratégique et le processus de son Forum, l’AWID s’engage à poursuivre et approfondir les rapports, les apprentissages et les processus amorcés lors du Forum 2016, tout en s’inspirant de l’actualité.
Et maintenant ?
Le monde est bien différent de celui qu’il était l’an dernier et il continuera à changer dans les années à venir.
Le prochain Forum de l’AWID se tiendra dans la région Asie-Pacifique (les dates et le lieu exacts seront annoncés en 2018). Nous attendons avec impatience de vous y retrouver !
A propos du Forum de l’AWID
Les Forums de l’AWID ont vu le jour en 1983, à Washington DC. Depuis, ils revêtent de nombreux aspects et incarnent, selon les personnes, tantôt un processus itératif visant à affiner nos analyses, notre vision et nos actions, un évènement clé galvanisant les féminismes des participant-e-s et leurs organisations ou un espace politique offrant refuge et solidarité aux défenseur-se-s des droits humains.
Nuestro plan estratégico “Realidades Feministas” completó su último año a finales de 2022. Durante los últimos cinco años, este intrépido marco nos empujó a ir más allá de los futuros feministas y a reconocer las soluciones y formas de vida feministas que ya existen aquí y ahora. Realidades que deben ser enaltecidas, celebradas y popularizadas. El proyecto de historias multimedia Las Economías Feministas que Amamos y el centro de conocimiento Our Resource sobre modos autónomos de dotar de recursos al activismo feminista son sólo dos ejemplos de este trabajo visionario, siempre profundamente colectivo y en colaboración con diversos movimientos feministas.
Con la presente reflexión sobre este año, te invitamos a celebrar con nosotrxs hermosos finales y auspiciosos comienzos. El cambio y las transiciones son una parte inseparable de la vida y de los movimientos, que procuramos abrazar con un sentido de responsabilidad y cuidado.
When you do a search for “Female Genital Mutilation” or “FGM” online, an image of four line-drawings of the female anatomy pop up next to its Wikipedia entry. It illustrates four types of violence. The first being a partial cut to the clitoris. The second, a more invasive cut with the entire clitoris removed. The third is progressively worse with the removal of the clitoris, labia majora and minora. And the fourth box illustrates a series of hash marks to symbolize stitches over the vaginal opening to allow only for urination and menstruation.
As a survivor of FGM, most questions about my story fixate on the physical. The first question I usually get asked is what type of FGM I underwent. When I told a journalist once that I went through Type 1, she said “oh, that’s not so bad. It’s not like type three which is far worse.” She was technically right. I had the least invasive form. And for many years, I gaslighted myself into feeling a sense of relief that I was one of the lucky ones. I comforted myself noting that I could have been less fortunate with all of my genitalia gouged out, not just the clitoral tip. Or worse I could have been one of the ones who didn’t survive at all. Like Nada Hassan Abdel-Maqsoud, a twelve year old, who bled to death on a doctor’s operating table earlier this year in Upper Egypt. Nada is a reminder to me that for every data point -- 200 million women and girls who live with the consequences of FGM globally -- there is a story. Nada will never be able to tell hers.
As much as I find the label “survivor” suffocating at times -- I also realize there is privilege embedded in the word. By surviving, you are alive. You have the ability to tell your story, process the trauma, activate others in your community and gain insights and a new language and lens to see yourself through.
The act of storytelling can be cathartic and liberating, but it can also shatter the storyteller in the process.
Without integrating the psychosocial support of trained clinicians into storytelling and healing retreats, well-intentioned interventions can result in more trauma. This is all the more important as FGM survivors navigate the double pandemic of their own PTSD from childhood trauma, and the indefinite COVID-19 global shutdown.
In many anti-FGM advocacy spaces, I have seen this insatiable hunger to unearth stories -- whatever the cost to the storyteller. The stories help activate funding and serve as a data point
for measuring impact.
Survivor stories then become commodities fueling a storytelling industrial complex. Storytellers, if not provided proper mental health support in the process, can become collateral damage.
My motivation in writing this piece is to flip the script on how we view FGM survivors, prioritizing the storyteller over the story itself.
FGM survivors are more than the four boxes describing how the pieces of our anatomy were cut, pricked, carved, or gouged out. In this essay, I’ll break down the anatomy of an FGM survivor’s story into four parts: stories that break, stories that remake, stories that heal, and stories that reveal.
Type 1: Stories that break
I was sitting in the heart of Appalachia with a group of FGM survivors, meeting many for the first time. As they shared their traumas, I realized we all belonged in some way or another to the same unenviable club. A white Christian survivor from Kentucky - who I don’t think I would have ever met if we didn’t have FGM survivorship connecting us - told the contours of her story.
There were so many parallels. We were both cut at seven. She was bribed with cake after her cut. I was bribed with a jumbo-sized Toblerone chocolate bar when mine was over. Absorbing her trauma overwhelmed me. And I imagine when I shared my story, others in the circle may also have been silently unraveling. We didn’t have a clinician or mental health professional in a facilitation role and that absence was felt. The first night, I was sharing a room with six other survivors and tried hard to keep the sounds of my own tears muffled. By the last day, I reached breaking point. Before leaving for the airport, my stomach contracted and I convulsively vomited. I felt like I was purging not only my pain, but the pain of the others I’d absorbed that week. We all dutifully produced our stories into 90 second social media friendly soundbites with narration and photos. But at what cost?
Type 2: Stories that remake
On February 6, 2016, the Guardian published my story as a survivor. The second it was released, I was remade. My identity transformed from nondescript, relatively invisible mid-level Foreign Service Officer to FGM survivor under a public microscope. That same day, then-U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations Samantha Power tweeted my story with the introduction: “I was seven years old” before linking to the article. The tweet symbolized a moment for me where my personal and professional worlds collided. Since then, they have been forever intertwined.
Even though I spent ten years of my career as a diplomat focused on other issues -- I lived in Cairo during the early days of the Arab Spring in 2011 and served in Baghdad and Erbil when the Syrian revolution turned from an uprising to civil war -- all of those past experiences that began to make mefeel erased. When I spoke on panels, my identity would be reduced to “survivor.” Like other survivors, I have worked hard to rewrite the script on how others see me.
I reinsert pieces of my other identities when speaking to underscore to the broader public that while yes, I am a survivor of childhood trauma and while my FGM story may have remade a part of my identity, it doesn’t define me.
Type 3: Stories that heal
With the guidance of a mental health expert, I have spent the last few months doing a deep dive into my FGM survivor story. I have told and retold my story over dozens of times in public venues. My goal is to break the culture of silence and inspire action. At this point, the telling of my story has almost become mechanized, as though I am reciting a verse from the Quran I memorized as a kid. I would always start with: “I was sitting an anthropology class when a fellow student described her research project on Female Genital Mutilation. And that’s when I had the memory jolt. A memory I had suppressed since childhood came flooding to the foreground.” I go into the details of what happened in granular detail -- the color of the floor, the feelings of confusion and betrayal in the hazy aftermath. And then I go on to talk about the afternoon I confronted my mother about the summer she and my father shipped my brother and off to India to stay with my aunt. The summer it happened. I later found out my aunt cut me without my parents’ consent. In my years of telling and retelling this story, I would have moments I felt nothing, moments I would break down, and moments of relief. It was a mixed bag, often contradictory emotions happening all at once.
When I began to take apart the story, I discovered the core moment where I felt most gutted. It wasn’t the cut itself. It was the aftermath. I remember sitting in a corner alone, feeling confused and ashamed. When I looked at my aunt on the other side of the room, she was whispering to my cousin and they both pointed and laughed at me. Unearthing the moment of shame - the laughter - has haunted me since childhood. The piece that was carved out of me is called “haram ki boti” which translates into sinful flesh. Over time, the physical scar healed. But for many FGM survivors, the psychological wounds remain
Type 4: Stories that reveal
Last year, I decided to take a sabbatical from the Foreign Service. I was burning out on both ends -- I had just completed a really tough assignment in Pakistan and was also doing anti-FGM
advocacy in my personal capacity. When I came home, an acquaintance from graduate school approached me to capture my story on film. As part of the process, she would send a camera
crew to shadow me. Sometimes while giving speeches, other times filming mundane interactions with friends and family. On a visit to my home in Texas, I’ll never forget the moment where my mom told me her story of survival. As part of the film, we went on a roadtrip to Austin to visit the university where I first had the memory jolt. My mom is patiently waiting for the cameraman to set up his tripod. My father is standing next to her.
In the end, we eventually had the conversation I never had the courage to have with either of my parents face to face. Looking them both in the eye, retelling my story with a camera as witness, we discussed how FGM ripped our family apart (specifically my dad’s relationship with his sister). For the first time, I heard my mom talking about her own experience and the feeling of betrayal when she discovered my aunt cut me without her consent. When I later told her that FGM was actually indigenous to the U.S. and Europe and that it was a cure for hysteria (prescribed by doctors) up until the 19th century, my mother exclaimed “that’s crazy to me, this was a cure for hysteria. I’m going to educate other doctors to speak out.” And in that moment, my mother, a survivor who had never shared her story before, became an activist.
My story, intertwined with her story, revealed a tightly woven fabric of resistance. With our voices, we were able to break the cycle of intergenerational structural violence. We were able to rewrite the stories of future generations of girls in our own family and hopefully one day, the world.
This is a woman breaking free from her mundane reality, devoid of color. She dreams in a colorful, "nonsensical" way that people in her life would not understand. She could be considered insane, yet her dreams are more vivid and imaginative than actual life. This is frequently how schizophrenia occurs to me, more engaging and exciting than real life.
nous croyons en une application complète du principe des droits, y compris ceux établis dans les lois internationales, et affirmons la conviction que tous les droits humains sont indissociables, interdépendants et indivisibles. Nous nous engageons à œuvrer pour l'éradication de toutes les discriminations fondées sur le genre, la sexualité, la religion, l'âge, les capacités, l'ethnicité, la race, la nationalité, la classe sociale ou d'autres facteurs.
O inquérito WITM é acessível para pessoas com deficiência?
Sim, é acessível para pessoas com uma variedade diversificada de capacidades auditivas, de movimento, visuais e cognitivas.
Née en 1928, Marceline était actrice, scénariste et réalisatrice.
En 2003, elle avait réalisé « La petite prairie aux bouleaux », mettant en vedette Anouk Aimée, ainsi que plusieurs autres documentaires. Survivante de l'holocauste, elle n'avait que quinze ans lorsque son père et elle furent arrêtés et envoyés dans des camps de concentration nazis. Les trois kilomètres qui la séparaient de son père à Auschwitz alors qu’elle-même était à Birkenau furent une distance insurmontable, décrite dans l’un de ses romans majeurs « Et tu n’es pas revenu ».
En parlant de son travail, elle a un jour déclaré: « Tout ce que je peux dire c’est que tout ce que je peux écrire, tout ce que je peux dévoiler, c’est à moi de le faire. »
Inna es una activista y socióloga feminista queer. Posee muchos años de profundo compromiso con las luchas feministas y LGBTQI+, la educación en política y en procesos de organización de y para las mujeres migrantes, así como por la liberación de y la solidaridad con Palestina. Se incorporó a AWID en 2016 y cumplió diferentes funciones, la más reciente como Directora de Programas. Reside en Berlín (Alemania), creció en Haifa (Palestina/Israel), nació en San Petersburgo (Rusia), y ha puesto todo ese recorrido geográfico político y de resistencia a los colonialismos pasados y presentes al servicio del activismo feminista y la solidaridad transnacional.
Inna es autora de Women's Economic Empowerment: Feminism, Neoliberalism, and the State (Empoderamiento económico de las mujeres: Feminismo, neoliberalismo y Estado. Palgrave Macmillan, 2022), basado en la tesis que le valió un doctorado de la Universidad Humboldt de Berlín. Como académica, impartió cursos sobre globalización, producción de conocimientos, identidad y pertenencia. Inna posee una maestría en Estudios Culturales de la Universidad Hebrea de Jerusalén. Integra la Junta de Jewish Voice for a Just Peace in the Middle East (Voces Judías por una Paz Justa en Medio Oriente, Alemania) y, con anterioridad, fue miembro de la Junta de +972 Advancement of Citizen Journalism (+972 Avance del Periodismo Ciudadano). Antes, Inna trabajó con la Coalición de Mujeres por la Paz y es una apasionada de la movilización de recursos para el activismo de base.
Position
Codirectora Ejecutiva
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Principles of Engagement
Welcome to Crear | Résister | Transform: a festival for feminist movements!
Principles of Engagement
AWID is committed to creating an online space that invites and challenges us all to operate from a place of courage, curiosity, generosity and shared responsibility.
We invite you to co-create spaces with us that are free of harassment and violence, where everyone is respected in their gender identity and expression, race, ability, class, religion, language, ethnicity, age, occupation, type of education, sexuality, body size, and physical appearance. Spaces where we recognize inequalities in our world and strive to transform them in our own interactions with each other.
We want to create a space where ...
we can all be present
This means that we are able to listen, understand and relate to each other. To feel close, in spite of it all being virtual. For this, we will make interpretation available and open channels (like chat and other tools) for you to react and share. To hear each other better, we invite you to wear headphones during the conversation. If it is possible for you , we suggest that you close your email and any other likely source of distraction while you are in the conversation.
all forms of knowledge are valued
Let us celebrate the multiple ways in which knowledge shows up in our lives. We invite you to approach the conversation with curiosity and openness to learn from others, allowing ourselves to unlearn and relearn through the exchange, as a way to start collectively building knowledge.
all of us feel welcome
We are committed to holistically approaching accessibility by being mindful of different physical, language, mental and safety needs. We want a space that is welcoming of folks from various backgrounds, beliefs, abilities and experiences. We will be proactive but we also ask that you communicate your needs with us, and we will do our best within our capacity to address these needs.
all of us feel safe and respected:
We all commit individually and collectively to respect each other’s privacy and to seek people’s consent before sharing any images or content generated during the conversation that involves them.
Creating a safer, respectful and enjoyable environment for the conversations, is everybody's responsibility.
Reporting
If you notice that someone is behaving in a discriminatory or offensive manner, please contact the reference person who will be indicated at the beginning of the session.
Any participants that express oppressive language or images, will be removed from the call and will not be readmitted. We will not engage with them in any way.
Membership why page - Angelina Mootoo quote
"Joining AWID, I hope I can help in the mobilization of the feminist movement. Not just for the privileged women, but for ALL women and feminist activists."
- Angelina Mootoo, Intersectional and Caribbean Feminist, Guyana/USA
Dilma Ferreira Silva était une activiste de premier plan des droits amazoniens qui s’est battue durant plusieurs décennies pour les droits des personnes affectées par les barrages.
Elle faisait elle-même partie des 32 000 personnes déplacées par Tucuruí, un imposant barrage hydroélectrique, construit au Brésil sous la dictature militaire de 1964-1985.
En 2005, Dilma a été invitée à rejoindre le Mouvement des personnes affectées par les barrages (MAB) au Brésil et, en 2006, elle y a formé un collectif de femmes pour finir ensuite par devenir coordonatrice régionale du mouvement.
Évoquant son activisme, ses collègues racontent :
« Elle se distinguait très rapidement car elle n’avait jamais peur dans la lutte. »
Dilma vivait dans la localité rurale de Salvador Allenda, à 50 kilomètres de Tucuru. Elle a dédié sa vie à mieux protéger les communautés et les territoires affectés par la construction d’énormes projets. Elle était particulièrement préoccupée par l’impact de genre de ce type de projets et plaidait pour les droits des femmes.
Lors d’une réunion d’ordre national du MAB en 2011, Dilma évoqua les femmes affectées par les barrages, soulignant :
« Nous sommes les réelles Marias, guerrières, combattantes ici, nous nous confrontons au défi de la lutte quotidienne. »
Au cours des années suivantes, Dilma a organisé des groupes de terrain du MAB et travaillé avec les communautés pour former des coopératives paysannes qui permirent de mieux distribuer la nourriture au sein des communautés. Ensemble, elles ont amélioré la commercialisation de la pêche et développé un projet de citerne pour un accès à l’eau potable. Elle défendait aussi les agriculteurs·rices dont les terres étaient convoitées par les « grileiros » (personnes qui s’approprient les terres).
Le 22 mars 2019, à l’âge de 48 ans, Dilma, son mari et leur ami·e furent violemment assassiné·e·s. Ces trois meurtres s’inscrivirent dans une vague de violences en Amazonie contre les Movimento dos Trabalhadores Sem (mouvements des travailleurs·ses sans terre) et les activistes écologistes et autochtones.
Dre. Margo Okazawa-Rey est titulaire de la Chaire Barbara Lee pour le leadership des femmes et professeure invitée en études sur les femmes, le genre et la sexualité et en politique publique au Mills College à Oakland, en Californie. Elle est également professeure émérite à la San Francisco State University.
Ses principaux domaines de recherche et d’activisme au cours des 25 dernières années sont le militarisme, les conflits armés et la violence à l’égard des femmes, analysés de manière intersectionelle. Professeure Okazawa-Rey siège au conseil consultatif international de Du Re Bang à Uijongbu en Corée du Sud, au Conseil international de PeaceWomen Across the Globe à Berne, en Suisse, et est co-présidente du conseil du Highlander Research and Education Centre à New Market, Tennessee aux États-Unis.
Ses publications récentes incluent « Nation-izing » Coalition and Solidarity Politics for US Anti-militarist Feminists (en presse) ; « No Freedom without Connections: Envisioning Sustainable Feminist Solidarities » (2018) dans Feminist Freedom Warriors : Genealogies, Justice, Politics, and Hope, Chandra Talpade Mohanty et Linda Carty (ed.) ; Between a Rock and Hard Place: Southeast Asian Women Confront Extractivism, Militarism, and Religious Fundamentalisms (2018) ; à « Liberal Arts Colleges Partnering with Highlander Research and Education Center : Intergenerational Learning for Student Campus Activism and Personal Transformation, » numéro spéciale de Feminist Formations (Feminist Social Justice Pedagogy, (2018).
Position
Présidente
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Upasana Agarwal
“Forgotten Song” [«Canción Olvidada»]“Ode to the Moon” [Oda a la Luna»]“Vapour and Fire” [«Vapor y Fuego»]
Sobre Upasana Agarwal
Upasana es unx ilustradorx y artista no binarie de Calcuta, India. Su obra explora narrativas identitarias y personales, que empean restos o evidencias visuales de los contextos con los que trabaja. Le atraen especialmente los diseños en patrones que, para ellx, comunican verdades complejas sobre el pasado, el presente y el futuro. Cuando Upasana no está ilustrando, organiza y dirige un centro de arte comunitario queer y trans de la ciudad.
Questions (Forum page)
¿Preguntas?
¿Tienes preguntas sobre el Foro de AWID o sobre las actividades relacionadas? ¡Tenemos respuestas!
Carol Thomas was a trailblazer for women’s sexual and reproductive rights in South Africa. A gifted gynecologist and founder of the WomenSpace, she practiced and advocated for non-traditional ways of delivering healthcare to women, offering services that were high quality, empathetic and accessible.
“She entered into not only the joy of pregnancies and new babies, but the anxieties of infertility and premature deliveries and female cancers, the heartbreak of miscarriages and stillbirths.” Helen Moffett
Carol thought in new paradigms that centered the needs of women with the least access to services and rights in society:
“The prevailing socio-economic environment that we find ourselves in means that women bear a disproportionate burden of disease and unemployment…As a black, previously disadvantaged woman I have a good sense of what is happening in our communities.” - Carol Thomas
Carol’s innovative and multi-award-winning social venture “iMobiMaMa” used mobile kiosks and interactive technology to connect women directly with antenatal and reproductive health services, information and support in communities all over South Africa.
Carol supported women both in wanted and unwanted pregnancies, mentoring many nurses and doctors during her lifetime.
She was also described as the go-to gynecologist “for trans folks who could have affirming care. She got it right when so many did not have the language or pronouns. Her warm blankets, listening and saying just what you needed to hear was so comforting.” -Marion Lynn Stevens
Carol Thomas was described as being at the height of her professional career when she died on 12 April 2019 of complications following a double lung transplant.
The tributes that poured in following her unexpected death referred to her as many things:
