by Alejandra Laprea, Caracas, Venezuela (@alejalaprea)

I live in a country of the impossible, where there are no bombs yet we are living in a war.

A war that exists only for those of us living in this territory.

I live in a country no one understands, which few can really see, where various realities co-exist, and where the truth is murdered time and again.

I live in a country where one has to pay for the audacity of thinking for oneself, for taking on the challenge of seeing life another way.

I live in a country of women who have had to invent and reinvent, time and again, how they live and how to get by.

I live in Venezuela, in a time of an unusual and extraordinary threat.

Since 2012 my country has been subjected to an unconventional war. There are no defined armies or fire power. Their objective is to dislocate and distort the economy, affecting all households, daily life, the capacity of a people to dream and build a different kind of politics, an alternative to the patriarchal, bourgeois, capitalist democracy.

Venezuelan women are the primary victims of this economic war. Women who historically and culturally are responsible for providing care, are the most affected and in demand. However, in these years of economic and financial embargo, Venezuelan women have gone from being victims to the protagonists on the front lines defending our territory.  

Battles are fought from the barrios, kitchens, and small gardens. We defend the right of girls and boys to go to school, and to be given something so simple as some arepas for breakfast.

Arepas are a kind of corn cake that can be fried, roasted or baked and served sweet or savoury as a side or main dish. It is a staple in the diet of all Venezuelans.

In Venezuela, arepas mean culture, family, food sovereignty, childhood nostalgia, the expert hands of grandmothers molding little balls, the warmth that comforts you when recovering from illness.

Arepas connect us as a people with the pre-Colombian cultures of corn, a resistance that has endured for more than five centuries. They are the Caribbean expressed differently on firm ground.

They are an act of resistance.

When my mother was a girl, they would start grinding the dry corn early in the morning to make arepas. The women would get up and put the kernels of corn in wooden mortars and pound it with heavy mallets to separate the shells. Then they would boil, soak, and grind the corn to make dough, and finally they would mold it into round arepas. The process would take hours and demand a lot of physical effort.   

In the mid-20th century a Venezuelan company industrialized the production of corn meal. For an entire generation that seemed like an act of liberation, since there was now a flour that you could simply add water to and have hot arepas in 45 minutes time.

But that also meant that the same generation would lose the traditional knowledge on how to make them from scratch. My grandmother was an expert arepa maker, my mother saw it as a girl, and for me the corn meal came pre-packaged.

In the war with no military, the pre-cooked corn meal came to be wielded as an instrument of war by the same company that invented it, which was not so Venezuelan anymore: today the Polar group of companies is transnational.

We women began to recuperate our knowledge by talking with the eldest among us. We searched in the back of the closets for our grandmothers’ grinders, the ones we hadn’t thrown away out of affection. Some families still prepared the corn in the traditional way for important occasions. In some towns there were still communal grinding stations which had been preserved as part of local history or because small family businesses refused to die. All of these forms of cultural resistance were activated, and we even went so far as to invent new arepas.

Today we know that in order to resist we cannot depend on one food staple. Although corn arepas continue to be everyone’s favourite, we have invented recipes for arepas made of sweet potato, cassava, squash, and celery root.

We have learned that we can use almost any root vegetable to make arepas. Cooperative businesses have developed semi-industrial processes to make pre-cooked corn meal. In other words, we have recuperated our arepas and their preparation as a cultural good that belongs to all.

“Entretejidas” [Interwoven women]

by Surmercé, Santa Marta (@surmerce)

My artivism aims to decolonize our senses in everyday life. I like to create spaces that communicate how we weave together our different struggles, and that render visible dissident (re)existences, other possible worlds, and living bodies here in the SOUTH.

“We carry one another towards the future”

by Marga RH, Chile, UK (@Marga.RH)

Let's take care of one another

As we continue to fight in our struggles, let us remember how essential it is that we support each other, believe each other, and love ourselves and our sisters. When this system fucks us over, we must take time to look after our (physical and mental) health, that of our sisters, and to understand that each one of us carries unique stories, making us fighters in resist

Until dignity becomes a habit

These portraits are inspired by the voices of resistance and protest movements in Latin America, especially by the key role that feminised bodies play in these struggles. It is a tribute to the grassroots feminist movements in resistance.

A Film Series on Feminist Realities from the SWANA region

by Esra Ozban

In a product-obsessed world, prioritizing process is a fundamental feminist method. Processes matter, and curation is no exception. While figuring out which of the films from the SWANA region would speak the loudest to the Feminist Realities theme, the global pandemic we are still facing shifted our everyday lives tremendously. Even to think, write, or express myself has become an everyday struggle. I kept missing all of my deadlines and sending apology emails to Kamee Abrahamian, whom I was working with as an independent curator for AWID’s Feminist Film Club. Kamee’s invaluable support, understanding, and suggestions reminded me that even in two different parts of the world, as colleagues who never met in person, we can co-create micro versions of the Feminist Realities for which we live and yearn. 

Feminist Realities for me have a lot to do with sisterhoods. Sisterhoods that help womxn clearing mines in Artsakh/Nagorno-Karabakh. Sisterhoods baked in Vegan Inclusive Trans Cake by young trans feminists in Ankara that remind cis-ters that they are not welcomed by the Z generation. Sisterhoods that are growing into the mint on Dragica Alafandi’s rooftop in the Dheisheh Refugee Camp in Occupied Palestine in Sowing seeds of resistance. Sisterhoods that embrace intimate, sexual, and revolutionary proximities in Gezi Park in #resistayol. Sisterhoods that unearth an imagined encounter between two generations of womxn in exile in the streets of Haifa in Your father was born 100 years old and so was the Nakba. Cross-species sisterhoods that build in a fictional (brave) space created by Mounia Akl in Submarine for her rebel character Hala, who refuses to evacuate from a city full of garbage and is left behind with a dog friend.
 
This selection gathers bits and pieces of many Feminist Realities that have been realized in the SWANA region over the last couple of years. We will continue to imagine, learn, and share feminist embodiments of hope and power. In the meantime, let’s immerse ourselves in the powerful alternatives brought to life by the filmmakers and protagonists of these films. We may co-create every step, every act, and every attempt as we continue to cohabitate this world with others who are living Feminist Realities and continue to dream more of them into existence. 

MOTHERLAND 

By Emily Mkrtichian& Jesse Soursourian

“With beautiful visuals paired with compelling verité scenes, Motherland is a show of female camaraderie and strength… The film is a testament of women around the world who are willing to work harder to overcome any obstacle they meet.”
    - Nosarieme Garrick, award winning filmmaker

“Motherland is an inspiring visualization of solidarity, courage, and grit…”
    - Hers is Ours Collective, organizers of the Outsider Moving Art & Film Festival

Motherland from jesse soursourian on Vimeo.

Emily Mkrtichian on Feminist Realities and Artsakh/NKR:
We shot the short film, Motherland, in the Republic of Artsakh in 2018. I was drawn to each of these women for their strength, their resilience and their humor -- despite the context in which they lived. In 2018, that context was the aftermath of a brutal war in the 1990’s, after which their country remained an unrecognized (or, in the international community, disputed) territory that was not given the autonomy and independence so many other countries enjoy. Artsakh was also deeply affected by the consequences we see in almost all places that go through violent conflict -- consequences that so often fall on women to bear: PTSD, high rates of alcoholism, high rates of domestic abuse, less equality and freedoms granted to women, little to no representation of women in politics and civil service. In the face of all these challenges, this film tries to capture the fire and power of the women of Artsakh, one that might not fit the traditional Western feminist paradigm, but one they have created for themselves through deep community ties, care for their families, hard work, and the ability to laugh with eachother through it all. Today, the Republic of Artsakh has been newly devastated by another war that left it without 70% of the lands these women grew up understanding were theirs. Yet, I can promise you that these women, and thousands of others, continue to pull their families, communities, and culture together through the same networks of care, commitment to hard work, and deep riotous laughter in the face of an uncertain future. 

SOWING SEEDS OF RESISTANCE

By Baladi-Rooted Resistance

“A timely film to watch after having born witness to the latest bombardment of Gaza by Israeli Defence Forces. A glimpse into the way that women in Palestinian communities survive structural oppression, through the story of a library of traditional seeds.. and the women that sustain them as a form of nourishing rebellion.”

    - Jessica Horn, PanAfrican feminst strategist, writer and co-creator of the temple of her skin

“Watching women coming together and working collectively for food autonomy is both therapeutic and empowering for me.”
    - Hers is Ours Collective, organizers of the Outsider Moving Art & Film Festival

Baladi-Rooted Resistance Team on Feminist Realities:
How to talk about Feminist Realities when you live in Deheisheh, a Palestinian refugee camp, built 70 years ago to serve 3000 refugees, but now home to 15000 people, in the occupied West Bank? Or when the land you farm is under constant threat by illegal settlers.
If you’re a woman in occupied Palestine you will have to struggle not only against patriarchy but also against colonialism and a brutal military occupation. 

Dragiča and Vivien are fighting these multiple systems of domination in their own way. 
Vivien uses native seeds to help Palestinians maintain their identity. Growing traditional food in traditional ways has great significance: “If you’re not a producer anymore, you’re a consumer, and what better way to enslave someone than turning them into your consumer. This is happening all around the world, but here you have it doubled with the military occupation.”

31.5% of households in the West Bank are food insecure. Through a rooftop edible garden, Dragiča managed to increase her family’s food autonomy. In the crowded camp, where the Israeli army conducts regular nighttime incursions to arrest and harass residents, Dragiča’s rooftop garden not only nourishes her family, but it especially nourishes her soul.

#RESISTAYOL

By Ruzgar Buski

Ruzgar Buski on Feminist Realities:
I don’t know what to say about Feminist Realities but as a trans artist, an activist from Turkey, I know our realities are harsh. We live with violences- physical, emotional, economical, sexual! That is why we have to build our own networks, and co-creating micro realities for each other is a Feminist Reality for me. #resistayol is my first film, and at the beginning I was planning to make a film by/for/with trans people that does not try to convince anyone to the fact that trans people are human or focuses on raising awareness on trans issues. However, Gezi Uprising, one of the biggest uprising in the history of Turkey, happened and the film became something different. 

I believe the production process really affects what the film is. We tried very hard for women, trans and non-binary people to work on every step of the film. This film is made by people who gathered with camaraderie and friendship. Kanka Productions is founded on transfeminist comradeship. I want the film to give hope, to heal because we carry a lot of traumas in our bodies- this is what makes us and what bonds us. Healing is a never-ending process and we have to create spaces to breath. #resistayol is an hour of breathing collectively.

Boysan Yakar in #resistayol:
Well lubunyas (queers) were sitting in the park, all of a sudden bulldozers arrived and everyone got pissed off. Actually in summary this is it. It's Lubunya's park,and we had thirty days to explain that to this huge city. Everyone acknowledged that at night ibnes (faggots) fuck in that park...LGBTI Block carried our commune there. We already didn't trust the state and police  and didn't have any security, we've established our own ways of doing things, our own laws and customs to survive... We carried our law to Gezi rapidly...With an effort to establish some common language and understanding among all these groups, the LGBT language of togetherness spread all through the park. Every day was a Pride march, everyone was continuously saying ‘ayol’. We spruced up the stinky, fusty language of the left. I guess we had such an impact because we've been disowned for all these years. From the most radical ones to the most conservative and nationalist ones, they all needed us, because everyone got used to being confronted with everything. Τhey were not used to such energy, our energy. That’s why it was a great political space for us. Every day, we actualized our biggest and main struggle there, that is, a struggle for visibility and recognition. That’s why we left Gezi with a huge gain.

VEGAN INCLUSIVE TRANS CAKE

By Pembe Hayat

“...a multifaceted statement, showing the joy that exists in the friendships within the queer  community in Turkey as a display of rebellion and resistance.”
 
    - Nosarieme Garrick, award winning filmmaker

“...fun, light, and random. In a world constantly marked and scarred by violence against the trans community, nothing, no action, is (unfortunately) deprived of meaning. So to more joy, love, and meaningful randomness!”
 

    - Hers is Ours Collective, organizers of the Outsider Moving Art & Film Festival

Cayan Azadi in Vegan Inclusive Trans Cake:
Hello Barbies, Kens, porcelain dolls,  Olive Oyls, cabbage dolls. Brides of Chucky, sisters of Chucky, brother-in-laws of Chucky and last but not least, esteemed brother-in-law lovers.

So why did we make this cake. 

Now we got the news that a trans woman sex worker has attempted suicide due to the violence from street-guards and police on the street. She’s being kept at a police station now and that’s exactly why we made this cake. This transvestite cake is baked to show that we exist in every part of life, that we exist persistently and this cake shows that won’t be wiped off or ignored in this society. 

Yes, there is violence in our lives, yes there is a lot of shade as well but despite all of that, we can still have fun, enjoying life as much as we can. Bon appetit, sis! 

YOUR FATHER WAS BORN 100 YEARS OLD AND SO WAS THE NAKBA  ابوكي خلق عمره ١٠٠ سنة، زي النكبة

By Razan AlSalah

SUBMARINE

By Mounia Akl

“It is directed as a poem is written… simple, a touch abstract, and moving.” 
 
    - Hers is Ours Collective, organizers of the Outsider Moving Art & Film Festival

Esra Ozban:
Esra Ozban is a film programmer and filmmaker from Turkey. Their artistic, curatorial, and scholarly work intersects critical archival practices, sex work, pornography, feminist/queer film cultures among others.

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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.

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?

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?

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.

Call for Activities

Dear Feminist Movements,

On behalf of the AWID Board of Directors, I am proud to introduce AWID’s next Co-Executive Directors: Faye Macheke and Inna Michaeli!  

Faye Macheke is a passionate Pan-African feminist, active in movements for women's rights, racial justice, migrant and labor rights, and environmental justice.  Her activism builds on the legacy of the struggle against apartheid in South Africa and the aftermath of the apartheid era in Zimbabwe. In 2019, Faye joined AWID as the Director of Finance, Operations and Development. She brings extensive experience in feminist leadership, strategy, and all aspects of organisational development. Faye is a committed Board Member of UAF-Africa and other women's rights organizations. She is based in Cape Town, South Africa.

Inna Michaeli is a feminist lesbian queer activist and sociologist with many years of deep engagement in feminist and LGBTQI+ struggles, political education and organizing by and for migrant women, and Palestine liberation and solidarity. Inna joined AWID in 2016 and served in different roles, most recently as the Director of Programs. She brings extensive experience in research and knowledge building, policy advocacy and organizational development. Inna serves on the Board of the Jewish Voice for Peace - Germany. She is based in Berlin, Germany.

This decision is the result of a rigorous process with full participation of the Board and the staff of AWID. The Board recognised and honoured the skills and talents of AWID staff by opening an internal hiring search.  As a result, we had two brilliant candidates, who embody the integrity, ethic of care, and feminist intersectional values that drive AWID’s work, apply together as a team. Faye and Inna brought forward a brave and exciting vision to meet the challenges of this moment: building a global feminist community, resisting and disrupting systems of oppression, and supporting feminist movements to thrive.
 
As AWID celebrates 40 years we are excited for Inna and Faye to co-lead AWID into our next strategy and a new phase of evolving, pushing boundaries, and supporting feminist movements worldwide. 
 
Appointing and supporting AWID’s Co-Executive Directors to lead the organisation is a fiduciary responsibility we take seriously as a Board. How we engage those processes is also a reflection of AWID’s brilliant and diverse membership, which elects AWID’s Board.
 
As we say good-bye to Cindy and Hakima, we, the Board, unanimously and enthusiastically welcome Faye and Inna as our next Co-EDs as of September 5, 2022. Stay tuned for more updates about our leadership transition in the months ahead.

Most of all, thank you for your ongoing support!

In feminist solidarity and love,
Margo Okazawa-Rey
President, AWID Board

ทุกสามถึงสี่ปี AWID จะเป็นเจ้าภาพงานประชุมนานาชาติที่สำคัญ โดยจะเป็นการประชุมขนาดใหญ่ระดับโลกที่หัวใจหลักอยู่ที่ขบวนการเฟมินิสต์และความเป็นธรรมทางเพศที่หลากหลาย เป็นการรวมตัวกันระดับโลกของนักกิจกรรมเฟมินิสต์ เครือข่ายพันธมิตร นักวิชาการ แหล่งทุน และผู้กำหนดนโยบาย โดยฟอรัมเปลี่ยนสถานที่จัดหมุนเวียนไปในต่างภูมิภาคและในประเทศต่างๆทั่วซีกโลกใต้

AWID is a part of an incredible ecosystem of feminist movements working to achieve gender justice and social justice worldwide. With our 40th anniversary, we are celebrating all that we’ve built over these last 40 years. As a global feminist movement support organization we know that working with fierce feminisms is our way forward, acknowledging both the multiplicity of feminisms and the value of fierce and unapologetic drive for justice. The state of the world and of feminist movements calls for brave conversations and action. We look forward to working together with our members, partners and funders in creating the worlds we believe in, celebrating the wins and speaking truth to power in service of feminist movements globally.

The 2023 Feminist Calendar is our gift to movements. It features the artwork of some of our amazing AWID members.

Use it. Print it. Share it. 

ไม่ คุณไม่จะเป็นต้องเป็นสมาชิก AWID เพื่อที่จะเข้าร่วมฟอรัม แต่สมาชิก AWID จะได้รับส่วนลดค่าลงทะเบียนรวมถึงสิทธิประโยชน์อื่นๆ เรียนรู้เพิ่มเติมเกี่ยวกับการเป็นสมาชิก AWID

Thank you for your interest, but the page you're looking for no longer exists.

You can explore more content and updates at https://www.awid.org.

คุณสามารถส่งกิจกรรมได้มากถึง 2 กิจกรรมในฐานะผู้จัดกิจกรรม และคุณยังสามารถเป็นผู้ร่วมจัดในการส่งกิจกรรมของผู้อื่นได้

ได้หรือไม่ เพราะได้มีการเสนอกิจกรรมเป็นเวลาเกือบ 1 ปีก่อนกิจกรรมจริง

แน่นอน! ในตอนนี้แบบฟอร์มสำหรับเสนอกิจกรรมได้ให้ระบุชื่อวิทยากร แม้วิทยากรเหล่านั้นอาจยังไม่ได้ยืนยันเข้าร่วมเราเข้าใจว่าการเปลี่ยนแปลงอาจเกิดขึ้นได้ภายในระยะเวลา 1 ปี