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.
The HRC works by:
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.
With our partners, our work will:
◾️ Monitor, track and analyze anti-rights actors, discourses and strategies and their impact on resolutions
Florence était une militante des droits des personnes handicapées qui travaillait avec plusieurs organisations de femmes handicapées en Ouganda.
Elle a également occupé le poste de présidente de l’Association des femmes handicapées du district de Lira, ainsi que du caucus des conseillères du district de Lira. Formée en tant que conseillère pour personnes handicapées et parents d'enfants handicapés, elle a soutenu de nombreux projets appelant à une plus grande représentation des personnes handicapées.
Elle est morte dans un accident de moto.
Snippet FEA Sabrina Sanchez Bio (FR)
Nous vous présentons Sabrina Sanchez, incroyable femme trans, migrante, travailleuse du sexe, organisatrice, transféministe et l'une des fondatrices du syndicat OTRAS.
Originaire de Mexico, elle a émigré en Espagne il y a 17 ans après avoir obtenu son diplôme en communication et a commencé à travailler comme travailleuse du sexe.
Il ne fallut pas longtemps avant qu'elle ne s'implique dans l'activisme trans et l'activisme des travailleur·euses du sexe à Barcelone. Après avoir rejoint l'Association des Professionnel·les du Sexe (Asociación de Profesionales del Sexo, Aprosex), elle a commencé à travailler dans son secrétariat et a fondé le syndicat espagnol des travailleur·euses du sexe OTRAS.
I pray with my family for the first time in six years while wrapped in a keffiyah I scavenged from a dumpster.
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.
Word meanings:
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
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.
Born in 1928, Marceline worked as an actress, a screenwriter, and a director.
She directed The Birch-Tree Meadow in 2003, starring Anouk Aimee, as well as several other documentaries. She was also a holocaust survivor. She was just fifteen when she and her father were both arrested and sent to Nazi concentration camps. The three kilometres between her father in Auschwitz and herself in Birkenau were an insurmountable distance, which she writes about in one of her seminal novels “But You Did Not Come Back.”
In talking about her work, she once said: "All I can say is that everything I can write, everything I can unveil — it's my task to do it.”
« Où est l’argent pour l’organisation des mouvements féministes? »
En s’appuyant sur nos 20 années d’efforts pour la mobilisation de davantage de financements de meilleure qualité pour des changements sociaux menés par des féministes, l’AWID vous invite à répondre à la nouvelle version de notre enquête phare intitulée WITM
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. (...)
Upasana is a non binary illustrator and artist based out of Kolkata, India. Their work explores identity and personal narratives by using a visual remnant or evidence of the contexts they work with. They are especially drawn to patterns which to them communicate complex truths about the past, present and future. When Upasana is not illustrating they organise and run a queer and trans community art centre in the city.
Sylvia Rivera fue activista por los derechos civiles, travesti y trabajadora sexual.
Conocida como la Drag Queen de color de Nueva York, Sylvia fue feroz e incansable en su voluntad por cambiar las cosas, y en su defensa de quienes quedaron marginadxs y excluidxs cuando el movimiento por los "derechos de la comunidad gay" se volvió predominante en los Estados Unidos, a principios de los 70.
En 1973, durante un conocido discurso por el día de Christopher Street, Sylvia gritó en medio de la multitud de integrantes de la comunidad LGBT:
"Todos ustedes me dicen, anda y esconde la cola entre las patas.
No voy a seguir aguantando esta mierda.
Me han golpeado.
Me han roto la nariz.
Me han metido en la cárcel.
He perdido mi trabajo.
He perdido mi departamento
por la liberación gay, ¿y todos ustedes me tratan así?
¿Qué carajo les pasa a todos ustedes?
¡Piensen en eso!"
En 1969, a la edad de 17 años, Sylvia participó en los emblemáticos disturbios de Stonewall, al lanzar, presuntamente, el segundo cóctel molotov para protestar por la redada policial en este bar gay de Manhattan. Siguió siendo una figura central en los levantamientos posteriores, organizando mítines y luchando contra la brutalidad policial.
En 1970, Sylvia trabajó junto con Marsha P. Johnson para establecer Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries [Acción Travesti Callejera Revolucionaria] (S.T.A.R., por sus siglas en inglés), un colectivo político y una organización que establecería proyectos de apoyo mutuo para las personas trans que vivían en la calle, aquellxs que luchaban contra la drogadicción, las que estaban encarceladas y, en particular, para las personas trans de color que vivían en la pobreza.
Desafiante de las etiquetas, Silvia vivió la vida de una manera que retaba a las personas del movimiento de liberación gay a pensar de manera diferente. Ella dijo:
"Me fui de casa a los 10 años, en 1961. Hice la calle en la 42. El inicio de los años 60 no era un buen momento para lxs drag queens, los chicos afeminados o los chicos que usaban maquillaje como nosotrxs. En ese entonces nos golpeaba la policía, y todo el mundo. Yo no salí realmente como drag queen hasta finales de los 60, cuando se arrestaba a lxs drag queens, qué degradación había. Recuerdo que la primera vez que me arrestaron, ni siquiera estaba vestida totalmente en drag. Estaba caminando y los policías me arrebataron de la calle. La gente ahora quiere llamarme lesbiana porque estoy con Julia, y yo digo: "No. Soy sólo yo. No soy lesbiana". Estoy cansada de que me etiqueten. Ni siquiera me gusta la etiqueta transgénero. Estoy cansada de vivir con etiquetas. Sólo quiero ser quien soy. Soy Sylvia Rivera.
A través de su activismo y su coraje, Sylvia ofreció un espejo que reflejaba todo lo que estaba mal en la sociedad, pero también la posibilidad de transformación. Sylvia nació en 1951 y falleció en 2002.
Snippet FEA Intro Acknowledgments (FR)
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.
