In September 2016, the 13th AWID international Forum brought together in Brazil over 1800 feminists and women’s rights advocates in a spirit of resistance and resilience.
This section highlights the gains, learnings and resources that came out of our rich conversations. We invite you to explore, share and comment!
One of the key takeaways from the 2016 Forum was the need to broaden and deepen our cross-movement work to address rising fascisms, fundamentalisms, corporate greed and climate change.
With this in mind, we have been working with multiple allies to grow these seeds of resistance:
And through our next strategic plan and Forum process, we are committed to keep developing ideas and deepen the learnings ignited at the 2016 Forum.
AWID Forums started in 1983, in Washington DC. Since then, the event has grown to become many things to many peoples: an iterative process of sharpening our analyses, vision and actions; a watershed moment that reinvigorates participants’ feminisms and energizes their organizing; and a political home for women human rights defenders to find sanctuary and solidarity.
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ترجمة مارينا سمير
«الآن قد يكون وقتًا مناسبًا لإعادة التفكير في الشكل الذي يمكن للثورة أن تتّخذه. ربما لن تبدو كمسيرةٍ من الأجساد الغاضبة والقادرة في الشوارع. ربما ستبدو وكأنّ العالم واقفٌ في ثباتٍ لأن جميع الأجساد الموجودة فيه منهَكة – حيثُ أنّه يجب إعطاء الأولوية للرعاية قبل فوات الأوان».
- جوانا هيدفا
المستشفيات مؤسسات، ومواقع حيّة للرأسمالية، وما يحدث عندما يكون من المفترض أن يستريح شخصٌ ما ليس إلّا نموذجاً مصغّراً من النظام الأكبر. تَعمَد المؤسسات إلى فصلنا عن أنظمة رعايتنا – نَجِد أنفسنا معزولين في بُنى تراتبية راسخة، وغالبًا ما نشعر وكأنّ الرعاية هي شيء يُفعَل بنا بدلاً من أن تكون شيئًا يُعطى ويؤخَذ كجزء من محادثة. الرعاية المؤسسية معزولة بسبب اندماجها في الطلب الرأسمالي: شخص واحد يعالج رِجلك ورِجلك فقط، شخص آخر يعالج ضغط الدم وهكذا.
المستشفيات مؤسسات، ومواقع حيّة للرأسمالية، وما يحدث عندما يكون من المفترض أن يستريح شخصٌ ما ليس إلّا نموذجاً مصغّراً من النظام الأكبر. تَعمَد المؤسسات إلى فصلنا عن أنظمة رعايتنا – نَجِد أنفسنا معزولين في بُنى تراتبية راسخة، وغالبًا ما نشعر وكأنّ الرعاية هي شيء يُفعَل بنا بدلاً من أن تكون شيئًا يُعطى ويؤخَذ كجزء من محادثة. الرعاية المؤسسية معزولة بسبب اندماجها في الطلب الرأسمالي: شخص واحد يعالج رِجلك ورِجلك فقط، شخص آخر يعالج ضغط الدم وهكذا.
اضطرّت المصوّرة مريم مكيوي لإجراء عملية جراحية الشهر الماضي، ووثّقت هذا المسار. صورها للبيئات المعقّمة بألوانها الباهتة – أضواء نيون بيضاء وصفوف تلو صفوف من التكوينات المتكرّرة – تعكس مكانًا استُنزفت منه الحياة والحركة. كانت هذه إحدى الطرق التي حافظت بها مريم على بقاء روحها. لقد كان أحد أشكال الاحتجاج من داخل حدود مؤسسةٍ كان عليها التعامل معها.
تُشكّل الصور وصفًا لشيءٍ واهنٍ بشدّة، فمشاهدة شخصٍ ما وهو يعايش انهيار جسده هو دائمًا تذكير جليل بهشاشتنا. إنه أيضًا تذكير بهشاشة أنظمة الرعاية هذه، والتي قد تُمنَع عنّا لأسباب متعدّدة – بدايةً من عدم امتلاك الأموال وصولًا إلى عدم التواجد في جسدٍ يُعتبَر ذا قيمة كافية، فربما يكون أنثويًا أكثر مما ينبغي أو كويريًا أكثر مما ينبغي أو ملوَّنًا أكثر مما ينبغي.
الرعاية الانفرادية والمجرّدة من جوهرها والتي قد تُسلَب منّا في أي لحظة لا تساعدنا على الازدهار. وهي مختلفة تمامًا عن الطريقة التي يسلكها البشر عند رعاية بعضهم البعض. كم سيبدو عالمنا مختلفًا إذا التزمنا بتفكيك الهياكل الرأسمالية الحالية حول صحّتنا؟ كيف سيبدو إذا أعَدنا تخيُّلَه بشكل جذريّ؟
The menstrual cycle usually lasts between 27 and 30 days. During this time, the period itself would only go on for five to seven days. During the period, fatigue, mood swings, and cramps are the result of inflammation.
In traditional Javanese culture, this is the moment for women to rest and take care of themselves. During this moment, a woman would take Kunyit Asam, a jamu or herbal drink to soothe the inflammation. This elixir consists of turmeric and tamarind boiled together in a pot.
I still remember my first period - it was one day before graduation day in elementary school. I remember pedaling my bike feeling something warm running between my thighs. When I arrived home I did all I could to clean myself and then put on a menstrual pad. My mother came home from work about four hours later. I told her what had happened. She looked me in the eye and asked how I felt. I told her that it was painful, that my body was swollen in every place. Then she asked me to go with her to the backyard. I followed her to our little jungle, my mother sat down on the soil and smiled.
“See this slender leaf? This is the leaf of Kunyit, *empon-empon that leaves the yellow stain on your fingers. What’s most important is not the leaf, but the roots. You dig the soil and slowly grab the roots.”, my mother showed me how to pick Kunyit or Turmeric roots. Then we went to the kitchen where she boiled water along with some tamarind. While waiting for it to boil, she showed me how to wash and grate the orangey-yellow root. Then, we put the grated turmeric into the boiling tamarind water. “Tomorrow, you can make it for yourself. This will help you to feel better!”.
I remember the first time I tasted it - a slightly bitter taste but also sour. My mother always served it warm. She would also put some in a big bottle which I would place on my stomach or lower back for further relief. For days after, my mother’s hands and mine were yellow. My friends could always tell every time I got period because my hands would be yellow.
A year after my first period, I found out that you could get the bottled version in convenience stores. Still, I made my own Kunyit Asam every time I had my period because the one in the convenience stores was cold. It did not smell of wet soil and warm kitchen.
Fast forward, I am a 26 year old woman who casually makes this drink for friends when they have their periods. I’ve made some for my housemates and I’ve delivered some for friends who live in different towns. I do not grow turmeric roots in my garden, but I have grown and shared the love from my mom. What was once from garden to cup is now from *pasar to cup.
A couple of days ago, I asked my mother who taught her how to make the jamu.
“Who else? Yang Ti*! Your grandmother was not just a teacher”, said my mom. I was never close to my grandmother. She passed away when I was eight. All I knew from my mom was that she was a math teacher who had to teach courses after work. I had this image of my grandmother as a hard worker who was kind of distant with her children. My mom did not disagree with that but explained it came from her survival instinct as a mother. “She tried to make time. She tried. She taught me how to make jamu so I could take care of myself and my sisters”.
My mother is the second child out of seven, six of whom are girls. The reason my grandmother taught her is so that all of her children could take care of each other. While my mother was taught how to make the drink, my mother’s older sister was taught how to plant turmeric. Yang Ti knew which one loved the smell of soil more and which one loved the smell of the kitchen. My mother was the latter. She learned how to plant from my aunt, her older sister.
My grandfather worked in a bank but he got laid off when he was in his 40s. So, my grandmother had to do a side-hustle to support their children. My mother was in high school at that time when Yang Ti woke her and her older sister up at dawn. “Would you help me to pick some roots?”. Of course nobody said no. Especially if it was your mother, especially if you were born in Javanese culture where saying “no” sounded like a bad word. Together, the three of them went to the backyard, and they harvested empon - empon, rhizome, that was buried inside the soil. She grew many kinds of rhizome; temu lawak, temu putih, ginger, galangal, kunci, kencur, and kunyit. That was the day where my mother realized that her mother was never far away from her.
That was the day where she could spend more time with her mother. There, in the garden. There, in the kitchen.
“We’re sending these for Ibu Darti, the lady who lives across the river. Kunyit Asam for her and her daughters.”, said my grandmother to my mother and my aunt that day. They poured the Turmeric-Tamarind warm drink into a tall thermos and later my grandmother would deliver it on the way to school.
Over time, my grandmother got more orders for jamu. Everybody in the family helped her to make and deliver her jamu. The small business lasted only a few years, but that was what paid for my mother and her siblings’ education.
Today, my mother, who got laid off just a few days before I wrote this piece, harvested Turmeric and other roots. She’s making her Turmeric Tamarind drink from her kitchen.
My phone rang in the middle of this afternoon, a couple minutes after I boiled the rest of my grated turmeric. Today is one day after my period.
“Ingka, have you washed your pot after boiling those turmeric? It would forever be yellow if you don’t wash it right away!”
*empon-empon = roots like ginger, turmeric, etc. coming from the Javanese word “Empu” which means, something or someone that has deep knowledge.
*jamu = Indonesia’s traditional elixir made of roots, barks, flowers, seeds, leaves, and fruits.
*Yang Ti = Javanese term for grandmother, taken from the term “Eyang Putri” the female you look up to.
*pasar = the word for traditional market in Indonesian.
The more women support other women, the quicker we’ll see progress. Together we are stronger and make even more impact.
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ترجمة عربية النسخة الإسبانية تدقيق لغوي النسخة الفرنسية تدقيق لغوي من البرتغالية إلى الإنجليزية تدقيق لغوي |
فريق التحرير
تصميم ورسم
مسؤولة استراتيجيات التواصل
محرّرة النسخة العربية
مديرة الترجمة
فريق AWID |
The artwork is a photography and illustration collaboration between Siphumeze and Katia during lockdown. The work looks at black queer sex and plesure narratives, bondage, safe sex, toys, mental health and sex and many more. It was created to accompany the Anthology Touch.
El Colectivo Moriviví es una colectiva de solo mujeres. Nuestra producción artística consiste en muralismo, muralismo comunitario y acciones/performances de protesta. Nuestro trabajo tiene como objetivo democratizar el arte y llevar a la esfera pública las narrativas de las comunidades de Puerto Rico, para generar espacios en donde sean validadas. Creemos que, a través del artivismo, podemos promover conciencia sobre temas sociales y fortalecer nuestra memoria colectiva.
En el marco de su participación en el Grupo de Trabajo Artístico de AWID, el Colectivo Moriviví convocó a un grupo diverso de afiliadxs, asociadxs y personal de AWID y facilitó un proceso colaborativo de imaginación, configuración y decisión sobre el contenido para la creación de un mural comunitario, a través de un proceso de creación conjunta en múltiples etapas. El proyecto comenzó con una conceptualización remota con feministas de diferentes zonas del planeta reunidxs por AWID, y luego evolucionó hacia su recontextualización y realización en Puerto Rico. Nos honra haber contado con la contribución de las artistas locales Las Nietas de Nonó (@lasnietasdenono), la participación de mujeres locales en la Sesión de Pintura Comunitaria, el apoyo logístico de la Municipalidad de Caguas, y el apoyo adicional al colectivo, brindado por FRIDA Young Feminist Fund.
El mural explora la trascendencia de las fronteras, al presentar cuerpos como un mapa en un abrazo que realza la intersección de las distintas manifestaciones, prácticas y realidades feministas.
Agradecemos también a Kelvin Rodríguez, quien documentó y captó las diferentes etapas de este proyecto en Puerto Rico:
للجنسانيّة تدفّقات متعدّدة ومتبدّلة كحال الغمد الملتهب بين فخذَيّ
Les antidroits ont adopté une double stratégie : outre leurs attaques ouvertes sur le système multilatéral, ils et elles sapent les droits humains depuis l’intérieur. Leur implication vise à prendre le contrôle des processus, instaurer des normes régressives et fragiliser la redevabilité.
Leur implication dans les sphères des droits humains a un but essentiel : saper le système et sa capacité à respecter, protéger et assurer les droits humains de tout un chacun, et à tenir les États membres pour responsables de leurs enfreintes. Certaines tactiques antidroits en dehors de l’ONU visent à la délégitimer, exercer des pressions politiques pour limiter son financement ou se retirer d’accords internationaux sur les droits humains. Les acteur·rice·s antidroits gagnent cependant en influence au sein même de l’ONU. Leurs tactiques de l’intérieur incluent la formation de délégué·e·s, la dénaturation de cadres relatifs aux droits humains, la dilution de la substance d’accords sur les droits humains, l’infiltration de comités d’ONG, la demande du statut ECOSOC sous un nom neutre, l’infiltration des espaces des jeunes et la pression pour que des acteur·rice·s antidroits occupent des postes clés.
