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The Human Rights Council (HRC) is the key intergovernmental body within the United Nations system responsible for the promotion and protection of all human rights around the globe. It holds three regular sessions a year: in March, June and September. The Office of the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) is the secretariat for the HRC.
Debating and passing resolutions on global human rights issues and human rights situations in particular countries
Examining complaints from victims of human rights violations or activist organizations on behalf of victims of human rights violations
Appointing independent experts (known as “Special Procedures”) to review human rights violations in specific countries and examine and further global human rights issues
Engaging in discussions with experts and governments on human rights issues
Assessing the human rights records of all UN Member States every four and a half years through the Universal Periodic Review
AWID works with feminist, progressive and human rights partners to share key knowledge, convene civil society dialogues and events, and influence negotiations and outcomes of the session.
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Since coming into myself, I have refused to pray in jamaat with my family. Joining in the ranks of hierarchy, “women” behind “men” irks me. It grates my skin and teeth to the degree where I can’t focus, and the standing, bowing, and kneeling feels like a battle against my true being. Each second listening, a betrayal of my nature. Instead, I pray by myself in my own way.
Yet this Ramadan, I feel different. Back in my childhood home after many years, I am choosing to fast. I choose suhoor with my family, and praying together feels like a natural extension of eating together. After eating, my mother, father, brother and I line up for fajr.
I pray behind Baba, but my prayer is my own. I close my eyes, staying with my breath and my body.
My eyes closed, I open my inner sight to a wide open window on a vista of mountains, bright sun spreading over a light mist of clouds. This was the view I had while praying in jamaat at a queer Muslim wedding I attended in the mountains of the South of France last September.
I lined up with the wedding guests, queer and trans folks of North and West African, Arab, and European descent. Folks of all faiths joined while some chose to stand in respect at the sides or behind. The groups did not fall along fault lines of “Muslim” or “non-Muslim,” “religious” or “non religious.” The two lovers marrying each led us in prayer, and so did the Muslim woman officiating the nikkah. Each of the three led us in two rounds of prayers, two raqat.
I showed up as I was, my body uncovered. I had not washed. I only passed my camera to a friend who chose to stand at the side.
In the first sujood, I broke down crying. I wore a jean dress that loves my body, one found at a thrift store my ex-girlfriend pointed me to.
The sobs come through my whole body during the prayer, and I put my head to the earth with my community like a homecoming. A return to the embrace of love both intensely personal and communal, and I am held.
It feels like swimming in the sea with multiple people: joyful togetherness. But when you go beneath the water, it’s just you and the current.
Like a dozen people buried in the same graveyard. Separate, but sharing the same soil. Becoming one with the growing earth.
That was how it felt to pray in communion at a queer Muslim wedding.
I welcomed the light of acceptance while showing up as myself that day, with a group of people who had also chosen to claim all the parts of themselves in love. That light made a home in me, and it illuminates my heart in the dark living room at fajr this Ramadan morning. Though I pray with my birth family who do not accept all of me, I see myself praying in jamaat at that glorious wedding with all of my queer Muslim ancestors, my queer angels, my lineage, my soul family, my queer Muslim family, all standing in prayer. Bowing as one.
My family’s home does not always feel like my own, though I am here now. I take the bukhoor from room to room, barefoot. Smolder from the censer, an incense that says, “Here I am.” Baraka, blessings from the source of all, Allah and the Goddess to each room in the house, bidding good and dispersing the unbidden.
As I write this the sky turns the same royal blue I am familiar with from exiting the club and pulling all-nighters. It is the gradient of morning I step into as I go to sleep.
Ramadan: the Muslim holy month, traditionally observed with 29 days of fasting without food or water during daylight hours
Keffiyah: a patterned scarf common in the SWANA region. The black and white version referred to here is associated with the Palestinian liberation movement
Pray in jamaat: Islamic ritual prayer in a group. Participants follow one person, traditionally male, who calls the prayer aloud.
Suhoor: the meal before the fast starts at dawn
Fajr: the dawn prayer
Baba: father
Raqat: one round of prayer consisting of standing, bowing, kneeling, and pressing the head to the ground
Sujood:the prayer position when one presses one’s head to the earth
Nikkah: the religious marriage ceremony
Bukhoor: an Arabic incense, woodchips soaked in resin
Baraka: blessing
Pictures of angels in my life, just some women and non-binary people of color hanging out, taking care of themselves and expressing love to each other. It's these simplest moments that are the most empowering.





< Freeing the Church, Decolonizing the Bible for West Papuan Women
Nous sommes ravis de vous présenter Clemencia Carabalí Rodallega, une extraordinaire féministe afro-colombienne.
Elle a travaillé sans relâche pendant trois décennies pour sauvegarder les droits humains, les droits des femmes et la consolidation de la paix dans les zones de conflit sur la côte pacifique de la Colombie.
Clemencia a apporté une contribution significative à la lutte pour la vérité, la réparation et la justice pour les victimes de la guerre civile en Colombie.
Elle a reçu le Prix national pour la défense des droits humains en 2019 et a également participé à la campagne de la nouvelle élue afro-colombienne et amie de longue date, la vice-présidente Francia Márquez.
Bien que Clemencia ait rencontré et continue de rencontrer de nombreuses difficultés, notamment des menaces et des tentatives d'assassinat, elle continue de se battre pour les droits des femmes et communautés afro-colombiennes à travers le pays.
Bienvenue à Crear | Résister | Transform : un festival dédié aux mouvements féministes !
L'AWID s'engage à créer un espace en ligne qui nous invite et nous pousse tou·te·s à faire preuve de courage, de curiosité, de générosité et de responsabilité partagée.
Nous vous invitons à créer à nos côtés des espaces sans harcèlement ni violence, où chacun·e est respecté·e dans son identité et son expression de genre, sa race, ses capacités, sa classe, sa religion, sa langue, son ethnicité, son âge, sa profession, son type d'éducation, sa sexualité, sa taille et son apparence physique. Des espaces où nous reconnaissons les inégalités de notre monde et où nous nous efforçons de les transformer au gré de nos propres interactions avec les autres.
Soyez là les un·e·s pour les autres en étant activement à l’écoute. Essayons de nous sentir proches, même si tout est virtuel. Pour cela, vous aurez accès à l’interprétation de la discussion et à des moyens de communications ouverts (comme la boîte de dialogue et autres outils) pour réagir et échanger. Nous vous recommandons de porter des écouteurs ou un casque pendant la séance pour mieux entendre les autres et vous faire entendre. Dans la mesure du possible, essayez de fermer votre messagerie électronique ou toute autre distraction pendant que vous prenez part à la discussion.
Célébrons les multiples façons dont le savoir se manifeste dans nos vies. Nous vous invitons à aborder la conversation avec curiosité et ouverture d’esprit pour apprendre des autres, en se permettant de désapprendre et de réapprendre à travers ces échanges, comme une manièrede commencer à construire collectivement des connaissances.
Nous nous engageons à adopter une approche holistique de l'accessibilité en tenant compte des différents besoins physiques, linguistiques, mentaux et de sécurité. Nous voulons un espace qui accueille des personnes d'origines, de croyances, de capacités et d'expériences différentes. Nous anticiperons au mieux mais vous demanderons également de nous communiquer vos besoins, et nous ferons de notre mieux pour y répondre.
Nous nous engageons tou·te·s individuellement et collectivement à respecter la vie privée de chacun·e· et à demander le consentement des autres avant de partager des images ou du contenu qui les concerne, générés au cours de la conversation.
Créer un environnement sécurisé, respectueux et agréable durant ces conversations est la responsabilité de tou·te·s .
Si vous remarquez qu'une personne a un comportement discriminatoire ou offensant, veuillez contacter la personne de référence qui vous sera indiquée en début de session.
Tout·e participant·e qui utilisera un langage ou des images abusives sera exclu·e de la conversation et ne sera pas réadmis·e. Nous n’aurons plus de relations avec cette personne de quelque manière que ce soit.
Meet Aura Roig, the visionary feminist activist, anthropologist, director and founder of the Metzineres cooperative.
She spent the last two decades researching, designing and implementing drug policies from the perspective of harm reduction, human rights and intersectional feminism.
Having experienced and learned from communities who use drugs around the world, she returned to Barcelona and created Xarxa de Dones que Usen Drogues (the Network of Women Who Use Drugs, XADUD). XADUD was a space of mutual support and solidarity with the struggle to secure rights for marginalized groups, which later became the Metzineres cooperative.
Aura is currently working on expanding the Metzineres model to provide support to bigger constituencies, while also extensively documenting their prolific journey and learnings.
AWID gratefully acknowledges the many people whose ideas, analysis and contributions have shaped the “Where is the Money for Feminist Organizing?” research and advocacy over the years.
First and foremost, our deepest thanks goes to the AWID members and activists who engaged in WITM consultations and piloted this survey with us, sharing so generously of their time, analysis and hearts.
Our appreciation to feminist movements, allies and feminist funds, including but not limited to: Black Feminist Fund, Pacific Feminist Fund, ASTRAEA Lesbian Foundation for Justice, FRIDA Young Feminist Fund, Purposeful, Kosovo Women’s Network, Human Rights Funders Network, Dalan Fund and PROSPERA International Network of Women's Funds - for your rigorous research on the state of resourcing, sharp analysis and continued advocacy for more and better funding and power for feminist and gender justice organizing in all contexts.
Colectivo Moriviví is an all women artistic collective. Our artistic production consists of muralism, community-led muralism, and protest performance/actions. Our work is about democratizing art and bringing the narratives of Puerto Rican communities to the public sphere to create spaces in which they are validated. We believe that through artivism we can promote consciousness on social issues and strengthen our collective memory.





As part of their participation in AWID’s Artist Working Group, Colectivo Morivivi gathered a diverse group of members, partners and staff to facilitate a collaborative process of dreaming into, informing, and deciding on the content for a community mural through a multi-stage co-creation process. The project began with a remote conceptualization with feminists from different parts of the planet brought together by AWID, and then it evolved to its re-contextualization and realization in Puerto Rico. We were honored to have the input of local artists Las Nietas de Nonó(@lasnietasdenono), the participation of local women in the Community Painting Session, the logistics support from the Municipality of Caguas, and FRIDA Young Feminist Fund’s additional support to the collective.
The mural explores the transcendence of borders by presenting bodies like a map, in an embrace that highlights the intersection of the different feminist manifestations, practices and realities.
We also thank Kelvin Rodríguez, who documented and captured the different stages of this project in Puerto Rico:










Mientras estés en São Paulo, Brasil, puedes visitar la Ocupação 9 de Julho y pedir una comida colaborativa. También puedes comprar sus productos en su tienda online desde el extranjero.
Visita la tienda en línea de la Asociación de Mujeres Afrodescendientes del Norte del Cauca (ASOM) donde puedes encontrar hermosos productos hechos a mano.
Hay varias formas de apoyar a Metzineres: puedes hacer una donación económica, donar materiales y servicios, o proponer una formación, un taller o una actividad (para más información, ¡ver aquí!)
Absolutely, we want to hear about your experience with resourcing.
We all can dance
by Mechthild Möhring (aka serialmel)
How I punt myself at the narrow hard knitting I once retrieved. I'm dancing in the kitchen when I'm alone. Gracile and powerful. When I'm in company I'm clumsy. My body scandalizes, scandalizes the laws of look I feel, scandalizes the words which banished me. "Of course she can dance, it's in her blood as a Black person." "If she is able to dance nicely she is good in bed" they whisper, they murmur, no - they say it openly into my face. They smirk and rub themselves against me and let me move back. I stumble and fall. My feet reject their duty. Bearish I get out of breath. Smiling I place myself out of events and notice how my face freezes into a mask.
Translated into English by Tsepo Bollwinkel
Original in German
Tanzen können wir alle
Von Mechthild Möhring (aka serialmel)
Wie ich mich stosse an den engen, harten Maschen, in die ich mich einst zurückgezogen habe. Ich tanze in der Küche, wenn ich allein bin. Grazil und kraftvoll. Wenn ich in Gesellschaft bin, bin ich unbeholfen. Mein Körper eckt an, an die Gesetze des Blicks, den ich spüre, an die Worte, die mich bannten. „Natürlich kann sie tanzen, als Schwarze hat sie das im Blut.“ „Wenn sie gut tanzen kann, dann ist sie auch gut im Bett“ flüstern sie, raunen sie, nein, sie sagen es mir laut ins Gesicht. Sie grinsen und reiben sich an mir und lassen mich zurückweichen. Ich stolpere und falle. Meine Füsse verweigern ihren Dienst. Tollpatschig gerate ich ausser Atem. Lächelnd setze ich mich an den Rand des Geschehens und bemerke, wie mein Gesicht zur Maske erstarrt.