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.
AWID Community is an online social networking platform for specifically for AWID members. It’s a feminist space for connection, resistance and celebration. A space for critical feminist conversations, collective power and solidarity. It is also a space for post-event dialogues, navigating difficult political learnings and community care
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
"He dado testimonio de la discriminación que vi en las calles, he sufrido burlas y abusos verbales ahí. También he hecho numerosas amistades y he conocido a mucha gente. Puede que haya peligros ahí fuera, pero soy una sobreviviente y aquí es donde estaré por ahora." - Sainimili Naivalu
Sainimili Naivalu fue una feminista y activista por los derechos de las personas con discapacidades de la aldea de Dakuibeqa en la isla de Beqa, Fiji.
Exigió a las autoridades políticas y a otras partes interesadas que proporcionaran políticas y servicios favorables a la movilidad de las personas con discapacidad, como la construcción de rampas en pueblos y ciudades para aumentar su accesibilidad. Sin embargo, las barreras físicas no fueron las únicas que Sainimili se esforzó por cambiar. Por experiencia propia, sabía que era necesario que se produjeran cambios más complejos en las esferas sociales y económicas. Muchos de los retos a los que se enfrentan las personas con discapacidad tienen su origen en actitudes que llevan a la discriminación y al estigma.
Como sobreviviente y luchadora, Sainimili contribuyó a la creación conjunta de realidades feministas que fomentasen la inclusión y cambiasen las actitudes hacia las personas con discapacidad. Como afiliada a la Asociación de Lesiones de la Espina Dorsal de Fiji (SIA, por sus siglas en inglés) y a través del proyecto del Foro para Personas con Discapacidades del Pacífico “Pacífico Habilita”, Sainimili asistió a la formación de la Organización Internacional del Trabajo "Inicie su Negocio" en Suva, lo que le permitió transformar sus ideas en su propio negocio. Fue emprendedora en el puesto 7 del mercado de Suva, donde ofrecía servicios de manicura, y también se encargaba del puesto del mercado de las mujeres de SIA, donde vendía artesanías, sulus y otros objetos. El plan de Sainimili era expandir su negocio y convertirse en una importante empleadora de personas con discapacidad.
Además de su activismo, también fue medallista y campeona juvenil de tenis de mesa.
Sainimili era única, con una personalidad vivaz. Siempre podías saber si Sainimili estaba en una habitación porque su risa y sus historias eran los primero que notabas. - Michelle Reddy
Kindle for your feminist fire! Browse AWID’s research on funding, WHRDs, movement building, fundamentalisms, economic justice, feminist monitoring & evaluation and more
Sylvia Rivera était une militante pour les droits civiques, travestie et travailleuse du sexe.
Connue comme la drag queen de couleur de New York, Sylvia était une infatigable et féroce défenseure des marginalisé·e·s et exclu·e·s au début des années 1970, alors que le mouvement pour les « droits des gays » prenait de l’ampleur aux États-Unis.
Dans un discours bien connu prononcé pour Chistopher Street Day en 1973, Sylvia s’est exclamée, parmi une foule de membres de la communauté LGBT :
« Vous me dites tous d’aller me cacher, la queue entre les jambes.
Je ne supporterai plus ces conneries.
On m’a battue.
On m’a cassé le nez.
On m’a jetée en prison.
J’ai perdu mon travail.
J’ai perdu mon appartement.
Tout ça pour la libération gay, et vous me traitez de la sorte?
C’est quoi votre putain de problème à tous?
Réfléchissez à ça! »
En 1969, à l’âge de 17 ans, Sylvia a participé aux célèbres émeutes de Stonewall en jetant, paraît-il, le deuxième cocktail molotov en signe de protestation contre la descente de la police dans le bar gay de Manhattan. Elle a continué à être une figure centrale des soulèvements qui ont suivi, organisant des rassemblements et ripostant aux brutalités policières.
En 1970, Sylvia a collaboré avec Marsha P. Johnson à la création de Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (S.T.A.R.), collectif et organisation politique qui mettait sur pied des projets de soutien mutuel pour les personnes trans vivant dans la rue, celles et ceux aux prises avec la toxicomanie ou en détention, et spécialement pour les personnes trans de couleur et celles et ceux vivant dans la pauvreté.
Refusant les étiquettes, Sylvia a incité les personnes du mouvement de libération gay à penser différemment, et ce, tout au long de sa vie. Elle a déclaré :
« J’ai quitté ma maison en 1961, à l’âge de 10 ans. Je me suis démenée sur la 42e rue. Le début des années 1960 n’était pas génial pour les drag queens, les garçons efféminés ou les garçons qui se maquillaient comme on le faisait. À l’époque, on se faisait battre par la police, par tout le monde. Je n’ai pas vraiment fait mon coming out en tant que drag queen avant la fin des années 1960. C’était vraiment la débandade lorsque des drag queens se faisaient arrêter. Je me rappelle la première fois où je me suis fait arrêter, je n’étais même pas habillée entièrement en drag. Je marchais dans la rue et les flics m’ont tout simplement attrapée. Les gens maintenant prétendent que je suis une lesbienne, parce que je suis avec Julia, ce à quoi je leur je réponds : « Non, je suis juste moi. Je ne suis pas une lesbienne. » J’en ai marre d’être étiquetée. Je ne suis même pas en faveur de l’étiquette de transgenre. J’en ai marre de vivre avec des étiquettes. Je veux juste être qui je suis. Je suis Sylvia Rivera »
Par son activisme et son courage, Sylvia Rivera a présenté un miroir où se reflétait tout ce qui n’allait pas dans la société, mais aussi la possibilité d’une transformation. Sylvia est née en 1951 et décédée en 2002.
Body
FRMag - Anatomy of a survivor's story
Anatomía de la historia de una sobreviviente
por Maryum Saifee
Cuando se hace una búsqueda en Internet sobre «mutilación genital femenina» o «MGF», junto a la entrada de Wikipedia, aparece una imagen de cuatro dibujos lineales de la anatomía femenina, que ilustran cuatro tipos de violencia. (...)
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.
Nous tenons à remercier le collectif Amar.ela de femmes féministes militantes et créatives qui ont rendu cette série possible, et tout particulièrement Natalia Mallo (le poulpe de l'équipe) pour son soutien et son accompagnement dans ce voyage.
Nous exprimons également notre profonde gratitude et notre admiration à tous les groupes et personnes qui ont participé à ce projet, et nous les remercions d'avoir partagé leur temps, leur sagesse, leurs rêves et leurs illusions avec nous. Nous les remercions de faire de ce monde un monde plus juste, féministe et durable.
Nous espérons que leurs histoires inspireront le reste du monde autant qu’elles nous ont inspirés.
Yamile Guerra was a well-known lawyer, community leader and political activist in the Santander region of Colombia.
She was actively working to resolve disputes between local communities and developers, advocating against illegal land appropriation. Yamile had occupied various political posts, including as the Secretary General for the Santander government in Bogota and also aspired for the Mayor’s Office of Bucaramanga. In the last few years of her life, Yamile became increasingly active in environmental causes, particularly in the defense of the biodiverse wetlands of Santurbán against development, a region which supplies nearly 2 million people with freshwater.
According to her family and friends, Yamile received daily threats against her life and had asked the authorities for protection.
“She was very very aware of this issue [land litigation] and she said many times that she felt insecure.” - Alixon Navarro Munoz, journalist and friend of Guerra family
On July 20, 2019 Yamile was shot to death by two men in Floridablanca, Santander. She had just finished discussing a land dispute with them. A suspect was later arrested for her murder and admitted to being paid to carry out her assassination. According to reports, Yamile was the third member of her family to have been killed in relation to land disputes. Her father, Hernando Guerra was murdered several years previously.
Yamile’s assassination is part of a wave of violence and systematic killing of hundreds of social activists and human rights defenders in Colombia. According to the Institute for Development and Peace Studies (INDEPAZ), at the time of Yamile’s death, over 700 community leaders and human rights activists had been killed since the country signed a peace agreement in August 2016. Most were murdered for confronting illegal drug trafficking and mining operations, with indigenous people, Afro-Colombians and women human rights defenders being most at risk.
Less than a week after Yamile’s death, thousands of Colombians marched all over towns and cities, holding up black and white photos of activists who had been killed, with signs that read: "Without leaders there can be no peace" and "No more bloodshed”.
Yamile Guerra was only 42 years old at the time of her assassination.
Esmeralda aux contrôles d’Internet : comment les réseaux sociaux aident les femmes roms à gagner en visibilité
par Émilie Herbert-Pontonnier
Vous vous souvenez d’Esmeralda? Cette héroïne « gitane » et exotique née sous la plume de Victor Hugo, géant de la littérature française, et rendue célèbre par les studios Disney et leur Bossu de Notre-Dame. (...)
