Over the past few years, a troubling new trend at the international human rights level is being observed, where discourses on ‘protecting the family’ are being employed to defend violations committed against family members, to bolster and justify impunity, and to restrict equal rights within and to family life.
The campaign to "Protect the Family" is driven by ultra-conservative efforts to impose "traditional" and patriarchal interpretations of the family, and to move rights out of the hands of family members and into the institution of ‘the family’.
“Protection of the Family” efforts stem from:
rising traditionalism,
rising cultural, social and religious conservatism and
sentiment hostile to women’s human rights, sexual rights, child rights and the rights of persons with non-normative gender identities and sexual orientations.
Since 2014, a group of states have been operating as a bloc in human rights spaces under the name “Group of Friends of the Family”, and resolutions on “Protection of the Family” have been successfully passed every year since 2014.
This agenda has spread beyond the Human Rights Council. We have seen regressive language on “the family” being introduced at the Commission on the Status of Women, and attempts made to introduce it in negotiations on the Sustainable Development Goals.
Our Approach
AWID works with partners and allies to jointly resist “Protection of the Family” and other regressive agendas, and to uphold the universality of human rights.
In response to the increased influence of regressive actors in human rights spaces, AWID joined allies to form the Observatory on the Universality of Rights (OURs). OURs is a collaborative project that monitors, analyzes, and shares information on anti-rights initiatives like “Protection of the Family”.
Rights at Risk, the first OURs report, charts a map of the actors making up the global anti-rights lobby, identifies their key discourses and strategies, and the effect they are having on our human rights.
The report outlines “Protection of the Family” as an agenda that has fostered collaboration across a broad range of regressive actors at the UN. It describes it as: “a strategic framework that houses “multiple patriarchal and anti-rights positions, where the framework, in turn, aims to justify and institutionalize these positions.”
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When you do a search for “Female Genital Mutilation” or “FGM” online, an image of four line-drawings of the female anatomy pop up next to its Wikipedia entry. It illustrates four types of violence. The first being a partial cut to the clitoris. The second, a more invasive cut with the entire clitoris removed. The third is progressively worse with the removal of the clitoris, labia majora and minora. And the fourth box illustrates a series of hash marks to symbolize stitches over the vaginal opening to allow only for urination and menstruation.
As a survivor of FGM, most questions about my story fixate on the physical. The first question I usually get asked is what type of FGM I underwent. When I told a journalist once that I went through Type 1, she said “oh, that’s not so bad. It’s not like type three which is far worse.” She was technically right. I had the least invasive form. And for many years, I gaslighted myself into feeling a sense of relief that I was one of the lucky ones. I comforted myself noting that I could have been less fortunate with all of my genitalia gouged out, not just the clitoral tip. Or worse I could have been one of the ones who didn’t survive at all. Like Nada Hassan Abdel-Maqsoud, a twelve year old, who bled to death on a doctor’s operating table earlier this year in Upper Egypt. Nada is a reminder to me that for every data point -- 200 million women and girls who live with the consequences of FGM globally -- there is a story. Nada will never be able to tell hers.
As much as I find the label “survivor” suffocating at times -- I also realize there is privilege embedded in the word. By surviving, you are alive. You have the ability to tell your story, process the trauma, activate others in your community and gain insights and a new language and lens to see yourself through.
The act of storytelling can be cathartic and liberating, but it can also shatter the storyteller in the process.
Without integrating the psychosocial support of trained clinicians into storytelling and healing retreats, well-intentioned interventions can result in more trauma. This is all the more important as FGM survivors navigate the double pandemic of their own PTSD from childhood trauma, and the indefinite COVID-19 global shutdown.
In many anti-FGM advocacy spaces, I have seen this insatiable hunger to unearth stories -- whatever the cost to the storyteller. The stories help activate funding and serve as a data point
for measuring impact.
Survivor stories then become commodities fueling a storytelling industrial complex. Storytellers, if not provided proper mental health support in the process, can become collateral damage.
My motivation in writing this piece is to flip the script on how we view FGM survivors, prioritizing the storyteller over the story itself.
FGM survivors are more than the four boxes describing how the pieces of our anatomy were cut, pricked, carved, or gouged out. In this essay, I’ll break down the anatomy of an FGM survivor’s story into four parts: stories that break, stories that remake, stories that heal, and stories that reveal.
Type 1: Stories that break
I was sitting in the heart of Appalachia with a group of FGM survivors, meeting many for the first time. As they shared their traumas, I realized we all belonged in some way or another to the same unenviable club. A white Christian survivor from Kentucky - who I don’t think I would have ever met if we didn’t have FGM survivorship connecting us - told the contours of her story.
There were so many parallels. We were both cut at seven. She was bribed with cake after her cut. I was bribed with a jumbo-sized Toblerone chocolate bar when mine was over. Absorbing her trauma overwhelmed me. And I imagine when I shared my story, others in the circle may also have been silently unraveling. We didn’t have a clinician or mental health professional in a facilitation role and that absence was felt. The first night, I was sharing a room with six other survivors and tried hard to keep the sounds of my own tears muffled. By the last day, I reached breaking point. Before leaving for the airport, my stomach contracted and I convulsively vomited. I felt like I was purging not only my pain, but the pain of the others I’d absorbed that week. We all dutifully produced our stories into 90 second social media friendly soundbites with narration and photos. But at what cost?
Type 2: Stories that remake
On February 6, 2016, the Guardian published my story as a survivor. The second it was released, I was remade. My identity transformed from nondescript, relatively invisible mid-level Foreign Service Officer to FGM survivor under a public microscope. That same day, then-U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations Samantha Power tweeted my story with the introduction: “I was seven years old” before linking to the article. The tweet symbolized a moment for me where my personal and professional worlds collided. Since then, they have been forever intertwined.
Even though I spent ten years of my career as a diplomat focused on other issues -- I lived in Cairo during the early days of the Arab Spring in 2011 and served in Baghdad and Erbil when the Syrian revolution turned from an uprising to civil war -- all of those past experiences that began to make mefeel erased. When I spoke on panels, my identity would be reduced to “survivor.” Like other survivors, I have worked hard to rewrite the script on how others see me.
I reinsert pieces of my other identities when speaking to underscore to the broader public that while yes, I am a survivor of childhood trauma and while my FGM story may have remade a part of my identity, it doesn’t define me.
Type 3: Stories that heal
With the guidance of a mental health expert, I have spent the last few months doing a deep dive into my FGM survivor story. I have told and retold my story over dozens of times in public venues. My goal is to break the culture of silence and inspire action. At this point, the telling of my story has almost become mechanized, as though I am reciting a verse from the Quran I memorized as a kid. I would always start with: “I was sitting an anthropology class when a fellow student described her research project on Female Genital Mutilation. And that’s when I had the memory jolt. A memory I had suppressed since childhood came flooding to the foreground.” I go into the details of what happened in granular detail -- the color of the floor, the feelings of confusion and betrayal in the hazy aftermath. And then I go on to talk about the afternoon I confronted my mother about the summer she and my father shipped my brother and off to India to stay with my aunt. The summer it happened. I later found out my aunt cut me without my parents’ consent. In my years of telling and retelling this story, I would have moments I felt nothing, moments I would break down, and moments of relief. It was a mixed bag, often contradictory emotions happening all at once.
When I began to take apart the story, I discovered the core moment where I felt most gutted. It wasn’t the cut itself. It was the aftermath. I remember sitting in a corner alone, feeling confused and ashamed. When I looked at my aunt on the other side of the room, she was whispering to my cousin and they both pointed and laughed at me. Unearthing the moment of shame - the laughter - has haunted me since childhood. The piece that was carved out of me is called “haram ki boti” which translates into sinful flesh. Over time, the physical scar healed. But for many FGM survivors, the psychological wounds remain
Type 4: Stories that reveal
Last year, I decided to take a sabbatical from the Foreign Service. I was burning out on both ends -- I had just completed a really tough assignment in Pakistan and was also doing anti-FGM
advocacy in my personal capacity. When I came home, an acquaintance from graduate school approached me to capture my story on film. As part of the process, she would send a camera
crew to shadow me. Sometimes while giving speeches, other times filming mundane interactions with friends and family. On a visit to my home in Texas, I’ll never forget the moment where my mom told me her story of survival. As part of the film, we went on a roadtrip to Austin to visit the university where I first had the memory jolt. My mom is patiently waiting for the cameraman to set up his tripod. My father is standing next to her.
In the end, we eventually had the conversation I never had the courage to have with either of my parents face to face. Looking them both in the eye, retelling my story with a camera as witness, we discussed how FGM ripped our family apart (specifically my dad’s relationship with his sister). For the first time, I heard my mom talking about her own experience and the feeling of betrayal when she discovered my aunt cut me without her consent. When I later told her that FGM was actually indigenous to the U.S. and Europe and that it was a cure for hysteria (prescribed by doctors) up until the 19th century, my mother exclaimed “that’s crazy to me, this was a cure for hysteria. I’m going to educate other doctors to speak out.” And in that moment, my mother, a survivor who had never shared her story before, became an activist.
My story, intertwined with her story, revealed a tightly woven fabric of resistance. With our voices, we were able to break the cycle of intergenerational structural violence. We were able to rewrite the stories of future generations of girls in our own family and hopefully one day, the world.
This is a woman breaking free from her mundane reality, devoid of color. She dreams in a colorful, "nonsensical" way that people in her life would not understand. She could be considered insane, yet her dreams are more vivid and imaginative than actual life. This is frequently how schizophrenia occurs to me, more engaging and exciting than real life.
Tenemos el placer de presentarte a Sopo Japaridze, feminista feroz, líder sindical y presidenta del sindicato independiente de servicios Red de Solidaridad.
Dejó el país cuando era muy joven para ir a los Estados Unidos, donde se volvió políticamente muy activa como organizadora laboral. Siempre mantuvo a Georgia en su mente todo ese tiempo, hasta que un día, dos décadas después, decidió regresar.
La confederación sindical georgiana existente en este momento era menos que ideal. Entonces, equipada con sus habilidades, conocimientos y experiencia en organización laboral, Sopo regresó a Georgia y formó su propio sindicato.
También es una apasionada investigadora y escritora. Estudia relaciones laborales y sociales, escribe para varias publicaciones y es una de lxs editorxs de Left East, una plataforma analítica de Europa del Este. También cofundó la iniciativa y el podcast de historia política, Reimaginando la Georgia soviética, donde explora las complejidades y los matices de las experiencias del país bajo la Unión Soviética, para entender mejor su pasado y construir un futuro mejor.
Reason to join 4
Piensa en grande. Gracias a nuestro alcance internacional, podemos combinar el trabajo analítico con herramientas políticas y prácticas para la incidencia y la transformación, con el objeto de promover la causa de los movimientos feministas en todos los ámbitos.
Jessica est une artiste-activiste queer de Toronto, au Canada, mais qui vit actuellement en Bulgarie. Elle a plus de 15 ans d'expérience dans la riposte au VIH, travaillant aux intersections du genre et du VIH auprès de populations clés (travailleurs·ses du sexe, femmes consommatrices de drogues, communautés LGBTQI, personnes incarcérées et, bien sûr, personnes vivant avec le VIH). Jessica aime créer du mouvement et réfléchir/entreprendre/élaborer des stratégies sur des interventions basées sur les arts. L'un des projets amusants qu'elle a lancé en 2013 était LOVE POSITIVE WOMEN (Femmes positives à l’amour), qui implique plus de 125 groupes et organisations communautaires du monde entier, du 1er au 14 février, pour célébrer les femmes vivant avec le VIH dans leurs communautés.
Position
Responsable de l’Adhésion et de l’Engagement des Membres
Elisa era coordinadora de la organización de derechos humanos Karapatan, en la Provincia de Negros Oriental de Filipinas.
También era organizadora de comunidades urbanas empobrecidas de la Provincia de Cebú, y trabajaba con Desaparecidos, una organización de familiares de personas desaparecidas.
Elisa y dos de sus colegas fueron asesinadxs el 28 de noviembre de 2017 por dos hombres no identificados en Barangay San Ramón, en la ciudad de Bayawan de la Provincia de Negros Oriental, durante una misión que investigaba presuntas violaciones de derechos territoriales en la zona.
La encuesta contiene 47 preguntas en total, de las cuales 27 son de respuesta obligatoria* y las 20 restantes son opcionales. La mayoría de las preguntas de la encuesta son de opción múltiple. Invitamos a responder la totalidad de las preguntas.
Principles of Engagement
Welcome to Crear | Résister | Transform: a festival for feminist movements!
Principles of Engagement
AWID is committed to creating an online space that invites and challenges us all to operate from a place of courage, curiosity, generosity and shared responsibility.
We invite you to co-create spaces with us that are free of harassment and violence, where everyone is respected in their gender identity and expression, race, ability, class, religion, language, ethnicity, age, occupation, type of education, sexuality, body size, and physical appearance. Spaces where we recognize inequalities in our world and strive to transform them in our own interactions with each other.
We want to create a space where ...
we can all be present
This means that we are able to listen, understand and relate to each other. To feel close, in spite of it all being virtual. For this, we will make interpretation available and open channels (like chat and other tools) for you to react and share. To hear each other better, we invite you to wear headphones during the conversation. If it is possible for you , we suggest that you close your email and any other likely source of distraction while you are in the conversation.
all forms of knowledge are valued
Let us celebrate the multiple ways in which knowledge shows up in our lives. We invite you to approach the conversation with curiosity and openness to learn from others, allowing ourselves to unlearn and relearn through the exchange, as a way to start collectively building knowledge.
all of us feel welcome
We are committed to holistically approaching accessibility by being mindful of different physical, language, mental and safety needs. We want a space that is welcoming of folks from various backgrounds, beliefs, abilities and experiences. We will be proactive but we also ask that you communicate your needs with us, and we will do our best within our capacity to address these needs.
all of us feel safe and respected:
We all commit individually and collectively to respect each other’s privacy and to seek people’s consent before sharing any images or content generated during the conversation that involves them.
Creating a safer, respectful and enjoyable environment for the conversations, is everybody's responsibility.
Reporting
If you notice that someone is behaving in a discriminatory or offensive manner, please contact the reference person who will be indicated at the beginning of the session.
Any participants that express oppressive language or images, will be removed from the call and will not be readmitted. We will not engage with them in any way.
Snippet FEA Criminalization of sex workers (FR)
La plupart des États membres de l'Union européenne ont des lois et des pratiques qui pénalisent ou contrôlent de facon inacceptable le travail des travailleur·euses du sexe. La criminalisation des travailleur·euses du sexe et/ou de leurs client·e·s ne fait que contribuer à accroître la vulnérabilité des travailleur·euses du sexe, qui sont déjà confronté·es quotidiennement à la stigmatisation, à la discrimination et à l'exclusion de l'État et de la société, en particulier les femmes, les personnes trans, les migrant·e·s et/ou les travailleur·euses racialisés. En Espagne par exemple, le gouvernement essaie actuellement de faire passer une Loi pour l'Abolition de la Prostitution, ce qui entraînera plus de marginalisation et de violence. Venez entendre les histoires de travailleuses du sexe et d'organisatrices syndicales qui luttent pour décriminaliser le travail du sexe et promouvoir les droits et conditions de travail décentes pour les travailleur·euses du sexe.
Our values - Human Rights
Droits humains
nous croyons en une application complète du principe des droits, y compris ceux établis dans les lois internationales, et affirmons la conviction que tous les droits humains sont indissociables, interdépendants et indivisibles. Nous nous engageons à œuvrer pour l'éradication de toutes les discriminations fondées sur le genre, la sexualité, la religion, l'âge, les capacités, l'ethnicité, la race, la nationalité, la classe sociale ou d'autres facteurs.
Leila is a transnational feminist leader, strategist, and advisor with over 25 years of organizing, advocacy and philanthropic experience advancing human rights, gender equality, and sexual and reproductive rights and justice. She was born in Algeria and educated in the U.S., France, and Morocco; over her professional career, she has lived and worked in forty countries across Africa, Europe, Latin America and Asia. Leila currently serves as a Senior International Fellow at the Asfari Institute for Civil Society and Citizenship at the American University of Beirut in Lebanon and as Senior Strategist for various feminist movements and organizations as well as the the Urgent Action Fund-Africa and Trust Africa on an initiative on Reimagining Feminist and Pan-African Philanthropies.
From 2017-2023, Leila held the position as Vice-President of Programs at Global Fund for Women where she oversaw its strategic grantmaking, movement-strengthening, global advocacy and philanthropic collaborations. At GFW, she doubled its grantmaking to over $17 million, launched its feminist and gender-based movements and crises work, created an adolescent girls program led by a girls’ advisory council and led its philanthropic advocacy work. Prior to that she served on the senior leadership team of Ipas from 2002 to 2016 where she published extensively on abortion rights and justice, lead global advocacy efforts and partnered with feminist groups working on self-management, community strategies and stigma reduction around bodily integrity and sexual and reproductive rights.
Leila is currently researching shifts in the philanthropic sector including recognizing non-institutional practices of giving resources in the Global South and efforts to decolonize practices in the Global North. She has written extensively on the political nature of veiling across North Africa and the Middle East, abortion practices in majority Muslim contexts and feminist approaches to sexual and reproductive health, rights and justice.
Leila holds an MPH in public health and a MA in Middle Eastern and North African Studies, studied Islamic law in Morocco and pursued doctoral studies in sociology in France. She studied Arabic and speaks French and English fluently. She is a mother of two feminist young women, an avid scuba diver, mountain bike rider, skier, and outdoor enthusiast.
Guadalupe était une activiste environnementale impliquée dans la lutte contre le crime à Cherán, au Mexique.
En 2011, Guadalupe a aidé à renverser le gouvernement local. Elle participait à des patrouilles de sécurité locale, notamment dans les forêts municipales et faisait partie des dirigeant-e-s autochtones de Cherán qui ont appelé les gens à défendre leurs forêts contre l’abattage implacable et illégal. Son travail pour les aînés, les enfants, les travailleurs-euses a fait d'elle une icône dans sa communauté.
Elle a été assassinée à Chilchota, au Mexique, à environ 30 kilomètres au nord de Cherán, sa ville natale.
Dois-je répondre à toutes les questions en même temps, ou puis-je y répondre en plusieurs fois?
Au besoin, vous avez la possibilité de sauvegarder vos réponses en cours d’enquête, pour y revenir plus tard. KOBO enregistrera vos brouillons de réponses dans le coin supérieur gauche de la page de l'enquête et rechargera votre dossier lorsque vous reviendrez à l'enquête. Assurez-vous simplement de continuer à partir du même ordinateur et du même navigateur.
Upasana Agarwal
“Forgotten Song” [«Canción Olvidada»]“Ode to the Moon” [Oda a la Luna»]“Vapour and Fire” [«Vapor y Fuego»]
Sobre Upasana Agarwal
Upasana es unx ilustradorx y artista no binarie de Calcuta, India. Su obra explora narrativas identitarias y personales, que empean restos o evidencias visuales de los contextos con los que trabaja. Le atraen especialmente los diseños en patrones que, para ellx, comunican verdades complejas sobre el pasado, el presente y el futuro. Cuando Upasana no está ilustrando, organiza y dirige un centro de arte comunitario queer y trans de la ciudad.
Snippet FEA Union Otras Photo 4 (EN)
Membership why page - Angelina Mootoo quote
"Joining AWID, I hope I can help in the mobilization of the feminist movement. Not just for the privileged women, but for ALL women and feminist activists."
- Angelina Mootoo, Intersectional and Caribbean Feminist, Guyana/USA
Deya est faciliteur·rice de mouvement féministe trans queer non binaire, professionnel·le des droits humains et chercheur·se. Son travail se fonde sur des méthodes queer, féministes et participatives. Iel travaille au sein de l’écosystème de financement féministe depuis plus de sept ans et encore plus longtemps au sein des espaces de mouvements féministes – depuis désormais plus d’une décennie. Son travail se situe à l’intersection entre l’argent et les mouvements. Avant de rejoindre l'AWID, Deya était consultant·e indépendant·e auprès de Mama Cash, Kaleidoscope Trust, Comic Relief, Global Fund for Children et d'autres, cocréant des processus, des espaces et des mécanismes de ressources, des programmes et des recherches centrées sur les mouvements. Deya est titulaire d'un LLM (Master of Laws ou Master Legum) en justice internationale et droits humains de l'Université d'Europe centrale.
À l’AWID, Deya dirige la stratégie de soutien et d’engagement des mouvements de Ressources pour les mouvements féministes, et soutient la mise au centre des principaux mouvements féministes en définissant et en menant des programmes de ressourcement féministe. En dehors du travail, Deya est maître-nageur·se, parent d’un chien et adore la fiction littéraire contemporaine.
Position
Responsable de l’Engagement du Mouvement - Initiative Ressources des mouvements féministes
Ursula was an American novelist who worked mainly in the genres of fantasy and science fiction.
She found fame with The Left Hand Of Darkness, which imagines a future society where people are ambisexual – they have no fixed sex. It explores the effects of gender and sex in society, and was one of the first major feminist science fiction books. Ursula was inspiring in her subversive and original writing, and also for the themes of feminism and freedom she held so dearly.
In a 1983 address at Mills College in California, she told graduates: “Why should a free woman with a college education either fight Macho-man or serve him? Why should she live her life on his terms? I hope you live without the need to dominate, and without the need to be dominated.”
