Jurema Araújo is a teacher-poet from Rio de Janeiro. She contributed to the magazine Urbana, edited by the poets Brasil Barreto and Samaral (RIP) and to the book Amor e outras revoluções (Love and Other Revolutions) with several other writers. In collaboration with Angélica Ferrarez and Fabiana Pereira, she co-edited O livro negro dos sentidos (The Black Book of Senses), a creative anthology on black women’s sexuality in Brazil. Jurema is 54-years-old; she has a daughter, three dogs, a cat, and many friends.

Introducing The Black Book of Senses

I’ll admit it: when Angélica and Fabi invited me to curate a collection of erotic texts by black women, I didn’t know what curatorship was. I understood the erotic well, but curatorship... I smiled, feeling shy and flattered. I think I thanked them – at least I hope I did – and thought to myself: what the fuck is it?! This fancy word I’ll have to learn the meaning of while doing it, what is it?

Now at this point, I know what it is to be a curator: it is making love with someone else’s texts, with someone else’s art, with the intention of putting a book together. And that is exactly what I did. I undressed each text of every author of this book with a literary lasciviousness. And I got involved in the words and senses of others. I was penetrated by poems I didn’t write; tales I didn’t even dare to imagine turned me upside down, messing with my feelings, with my libido. And it was a wonderful and unusual orgasm: ethereal, corporeal, sublime, at once intellectual and sensitive.
These texts pulsated like a clit hardened by desire, drenched, dripping joy in every reading. Words that swallowed me with their naughty significance, making me dive deeper into this wet universe. 

These black women went to the bottom of their arousals and turned their deepest erotic fantasies into art. These works are impregnated with each writer’s own way of experiencing sexuality: freely, blackly, for ourselves, in our own way, empowered.

I chose to spread the texts throughout different parts of the book, each one organized according to the most delicate, explosive, evident, or implicit content they presented.

To open the door to this “invulved blackessence,” we have our Preliminaries section, with texts that introduce readers to this world of delights. It is a more general, delicate caress to acknowledge the subjects addressed by the texts in the rest of the book.

Then comes the heat of Touch, addressing what the skin can feel. That energy which burns or freezes our bodies, makes our hormones explode and starts to awaken the other senses. And although there are many of us who are voyeurs, the contact of skin with a wet and warm mouth is exciting, like wandering through the softness of whomever is with you. We are seduced by the firm or gentle touch that gives us goosebumps and that lovely discomfort that runs from the neck down to the back and only stops the next day. And the warmth of the lips, the mouth, the wet tongue on the skin – oh, the tongue in the ear, hmmm – or skin on skin, clothes moving over the body, almost like an extension of the other’s hand. If there is no urgency, that wildest arousal of the pressure of a tight grab, a bit of pain – or a lot, who knows?

The Sound – or melody? – section shows us that attraction also happens through hearing: the voice, the whispers, the music that enables the connection between the bodies and can become the theme of desire. For some of us, someone with a beautiful voice would only need their vocal cords, because that harsh or heavy or melodious sound would be auditory sex. Their loud swearing or sweet words whispered in the ear would be enough to give us hair-raising shivers from neck to coccyx.

In Flavor, we know the tongue does a good job tasting the most hidden places and wandering through the body to delight itself. Sometimes this organ is used, boldly, to taste the other’s nectar. The idea of someone sharing their strawberry or a delicious, juicy mango through bites and licks – or licks and bites – melts us. But nothing is more delicious than tasting the caves and hills of the person you are with. Stick your tongue deep inside to taste a piece of fruit... or spend hours tasting the head of a cock in your mouth, or suck on a delicious breast to taste the nipples. This is all about memorizing someone by their Flavor.

There are texts in which the nose is what triggers desire. The Smell, my dear readers, can awaken us to the delights of desire. Sometimes we meet a person who smells so good, we want to swallow them right through our nose. When you run through the other person’s body with your nose, starting with the neck – wow, that delightfully uncomfortable shiver that runs down the spine and undresses the soul! The shameless nose then moves to the back of the neck and captures the scent of the other in such a way that in the absence of that person, smelling their same scent evokes, or conversely, invades in us olfactory memories that bring the arousing smell of that person back.

We then get to Look – for me, the betrayer of senses – in which we perceive desire from a point of “view.” It is through sight that the texts present desire and arousal, through which the other senses are brought about. Sometimes a smile is all it takes to drive us crazy. The exchange of glances? That look that says “I want you now.” That look of possession that comes to an end when you stop fucking, or not. That one is very particular; it draws the other who won’t be able to look away for long. Or the sidelong glance – when one looks away when the other turns their head, like a cat-and-mouse game? Once we are caught red-handed, there’s nothing else to do besides breaking into a wide smile.

Finally, the explosion. Wandering through All senses, the texts mix feelings that seem like an alert, so there is the greatest pleasure, that orgasm.

Of course, there is nothing explicitly separating these poems and tales. Some are subtle. Arousal engages all our senses and, most importantly, our heads. That’s where it happens, and it connects our whole body. I organized the poems according to how they came to me in each reading. Feel free to disagree! But to me, there is a sense through which desire goes and then explodes. Realizing which one it is, is delightful. 

Being able to turn arousal into art means freeing ourselves from all the prejudice, prisons, and stigma this white-centric society has trapped us in.

Every time a black writer transforms the erotic into art, she breaks these harmful racist chains that cripple her body, repress her sexuality, and turn us into the object of another’s greed. Writing erotic poetry is taking back the power over her own body and roaming fearlessly through the delights of desire for herself, for others, for life.

The literary erotic is who we are when turned into art. Here we show the best of us, our views of love drenched by pleasure, seasoned by the erogenous, spread through our bodies, and translated by our artistic consciousness. We are multiple and we share this multiplicity of sensations in words dripping with arousal. Yes, even our words drip with our sexual desire, drenching our verses, turning our sexual urges into paragraphs. To come, for us, is a breakthrough.

It is necessary to make our minds, bodies, and sexuality black, to reestablish our pleasure, and take back our orgasms. Only then will we be free. This whole process is a breakthrough, and it happens painfully. But there is happiness in finding ourselves to be very different from where we had been placed. 

I feel like I am yours, I am ours. Taste, delight yourselves, feast on these beautiful words with us. 

This text is adapted from the introductions to “O Livro Negro Dos Sentidos” [The Black Book of Senses], an erotic collection of poems by 23 black female writers.
 

Sí, por favor. El mundo ha cambiado desde 2021, y te invitamos a proponer una actividad que refleje tus realidades y prioridades actuales.

Desintegración

 El miércoles llega una nota con una dirección en el reverso.

Leer más

The Circle’s Conspiracy of Writers | Wazina Zondon

	Also known as the Teta Research Network, The Conspiracy of Writers was founded in 2021 in the context of Kohl’s weekly writing circles. The Network is a transnational group of queer and feminist writers who engage in collective writing, thinking, and world-making.	Wazina Zondon is an Afghan raised in New York City. Her storycollecting and storytelling work centers collective memories and rites of passage in the diaspora. Currently, she is working on Faith: in Love/faith in love which (re)traces her parent’s love story and family’s inherited love print.

Love is a contraband in Hell,
cause love is acid
that eats away bars. 

But you, me, and tomorrow
hold hands and make vows
that struggle will multiply.

The hacksaw has two blades.
The shotgun has two barrels.
We are pregnant with freedom.
We are a conspiracy.

It is our duty to fight for freedom.
It is our duty to win.
We must love each other and support each other.
We have nothing to lose but our chains.

- “Love” by Assata Shakur

“If we can inherit trauma, can we inherit an imprint related to love?”

That is the question Wazina Zondon asks in her collective memoir Loveprint. Loveprint is a wandering, an overlap, a deviation that (re)creates, at the intersection of interviews and personal essays, our family’s stories and insights on love, partnership and romance. Under Wazina’s guidance, the circle’s conspiracy of writers came together and attempted to reproduce this literal blueprint in the form of collective writing, where our different stories, our genders and sexual identities complement and contradict each other. With our voices overlapping, we complete each other’s sentences to create a conversation, a memorial, pieces of ourselves that speak to a “we.”

What are the origins of your love print?

I am a so-called “happy accident.” There is much narration about this – an accidental life, one that is entirely wanted at the same time. I feel this shaped my way of loving, I don’t just fall in love; I risk the slips that lead to the fall. Perhaps it made me an amor fati kind of person. 

I was told that I was an unwanted child. So I grew up to become an unwanted adult. The origins of my love print are based on being eternally unwelcomed. I am not a fruit of love or any happy feelings but rather one pain and burden. I don’t have a love print – at least not in this sense.

I know for a fact that both my parents were in love at some point, but mental health is such a demon, and until one confronts their demons, there is no winning.

I will never associate “love” with my parents or normative family. Love growing up was full of violence and responsibilities I didn’t sign up for or was even ready for. For the longest time, it felt like life and love were about carrying a big rock uphill. While my parents “loved each other,” it was a toxic ethos of violence, jealousy, and insecurity to grow up in. I grew up wanting to crave stability, and this is what is me now. I am a risk taker, but never in my “love space.”

I don’t know why my mother chose to host a child (me) within her.
She does not love in this form.

My mother tells me that if I have to think about “finding” love, I should never look at her marriage as a template. My love print comes instead from my raising dogs for the last two decades (18 years to be precise). The other way around is true as well – they raised me. I understand more and more about love and its many layers in their company.

I haven’t known love from a “print.” In our household we don’t talk about love. I had to teach myself how to love. It was hard work. Still, I fail and still, I keep on trying and I fail everyday. Perhaps failure is my love print.

My love print is the care, warmth, and understanding I give to others
surrounding me, whether a stranger, a friend, a relative, a lover. 
My love print is political – uncalculated and unthought of.

I was born under heavy shelling. 
My love print is the negative 
print of that.

Lessons learned about love

I know more about what love is not than I know about what love is. 

Love is neither anxiety nor panic.

Love is not asking permission to live or breathe. It is always about love and there is no love without freedom.

Everything you do is about using your heart except love. Love is about using your mind. 

Sometimes I fear that my love language is lost in translation.

--- There are many ways
to map the origins
of how to
how not to
love
not love
love just enough
love far too much
some love
some loss
to love
to love lost ---

I cannot stand the idea of the couple. I cannot stand the idea of living alone while aging either. I am tired of doing the chores alone, moving houses alone, paying rent and bills alone... I imagine getting a stroke alone, and it scares me. I have no plan of “partnering up.” I want a world where I can get married to a friend, buy a house with a friend, not have sex.

Loving many does not corrupt a love shared between two, and whether love is romantic or not is really not that important.

When I reflect on the shoddy state of my relationships, I realize that I am in the relationship I was trained to be in. With all my “radicalness” I have not yet unlearned shitty gendered norms.

My need for stability feels “not radical” enough. I want to get out of this labeling. I want something I never had. I want to make it beautiful. I want to feel beautiful and safe – and only stability makes me feel that. Safe, sound, knowing home is neither about violence nor strife.

--- Love print – love to smell the books to see 
where they were printed
I try to think of the origin of my 
understanding and practice of love
Do we need origin, it is not the same as purity? 
No purity or origin of love. 
Why is it understanding and practice, 
and not “emotion” that comes to mind? ---

When I call my parents, I don’t hang up the phone after we’ve said
goodbye, so I can hear the sounds of home.

What do we need to be/feel loved in death?

During my Sunni burial, I want all the women and men to come together for my burial. What’s with not being able to go say goodbye to dead people from a different sex? It will be Sunni because my mother would want it to be. It will be eco-friendly; no need for the headstone. I love all burial rituals. Quran is good, but I also want music. I really like Asmahan, Um Kulthum, and The Stone Roses.

I have a Monday-Friday playlist and two different ones for the weekend: one for Saturday and one for Sunday playlist. I would like those who loved me to play the music that I used to listen to, respecting the days – with some margin of tolerance as long as they stick to the playlists.

I want to be surrounded by the one(s) who have loved me, even for a moment. And in music and embowered in fresh cut flowers. I don’t want to be discovered dead; I want to pass away mid-laugh with loved ones.

I want to be remembered as someone who loved.

I don’t need to feel loved in death. I need the people around me to feel I loved them, even after I die. Being loved in death is about those who are alive. So I think more about how we come together as a living and loving community in the death of those we love and live with. How we take their memories with us. How we become archives of their lives.

 --- Sometimes, you can only love people in their death. ---

I have to think back to the body being connected to a space. My family is very tiny and although we come from different places, it is as if every generation moved somewhere new. Perhaps this is the reason why death is not connected to a special place, a cemetery. It is common in our family to bury the dead without names or gravestones, or to distribute the ashes in the wind. I feel at peace with this kind of spaceless remembrance. The idea that my ashes fertilize new life gives me the sense of being loved, being remembered through recreation. My grandmother died earlier this year due to complications after the vaccination. Two hours after she died, my family sat laughing tears about her jokes, her hilarious way to tell stories. We laughed and loved, and it was as though she sat with us again. This is what would make me feel at peace – fertilizing soil, fertilizing conversations, and collective remembrance.

--- There were
Two streets that I used 
To walk
To run
To play
To stay

There were 
Five hours when the sun
Was hot
The sky was blue
The earth was green

There was 
A flower I could
Smell
Touch
Squeeze
Crush

There were
The friends I could
Caress
The food
I could 
inhale
The language
That would roll off my
lips

There might still be

Those many places

And things

And people

After me  ---

Perhaps a promise that I will be “spatially commemorated” as a plant and taken care of in turns until it becomes a tree is enough. No name, no plaques – just the plant/tree, and knowing that it will be cared for. As for my body, I want to be cremated without any rituals and my bone ashes set free in the Arabian sea.

I need my body to be treated as subversively as it’s lived.

I do not want to be buried next to my family. In this tiny drawer next to all of the people who never knew me. Trapped in death as I was in life. I want to be cremated, and my ashes finally set free. 

I want to be allowed to pass, not hang in the in-between, so it is a presence, an active process, a trespassing.

I will ask of you: 

• To release me and let me pass
• To not let nostalgia muddy this moment because I will ask only for the normalcy of your expressions
• I have snuck the gentle glimpses and hoarded away the already small and large ways you loved me in order to be sustained. I kept myself alive on these
• To set a finite amount of time to grieve
• To be be reminded there is no separation in the beauty of loving; it is infinite and it regenerates without the body

I want to be remembered for the love I put into the world.
I want my body to be given away, and my organs
to further fuel love in (an)other live(s).

--- The smell of jasmine ---

ข้อมูลทั่วไป

“Now might be a good time to rethink what a revolution can look like. Perhaps it doesn’t look like a march of angry, abled bodies in the streets. Perhaps it looks something more like the world standing still because all the bodies in it are exhausted—because care has to be prioritized before it’s too late.” 
- Johanna Hedva (https://getwellsoon.labr.io/)

Hospitals are institutions, living sites of capitalism, and what gets played out when somebody is supposed to be resting is a microcosm of the larger system itself. 

Institutions are set out to separate us from our care systems – we find ourselves isolated in structures that are rigidly hierarchical, and it often feels as if care is something done to us rather than given/taken as part of a conversation. Institutional care, because of its integration into capitalist demand, is silo-ed: one person is treating your leg and only your leg, another is treating your blood pressure, etc. 

Photographer Mariam Mekiwi had to have surgery last month and documented the process. Her portraits of sanitized environments – neon white lights, rows after rows of repetitive structures – in a washed-out color palette reflect a place that was drained of life and movement. This was one of the ways Mariam kept her own spirit alive. It was a form of protest from within the confines of an institution she had to engage with.

The photos form a portrait of something incredibly vulnerable, because watching someone live through their own body’s breakdown is always a sacred reminder of our own fragility. It is also a reminder of the fragility of these care systems, which can be denied to us for a variety of reasons – from not having money to not being in a body that’s considered valuable enough, one that’s maybe too feminine, too queer or too brown.  

Care experienced as disembodied and solitary, that is subject to revocation at any moment, doesn’t help us thrive. And it is very different from how human beings actually behave when they take care of each other. How different would our world look like if we committed to dismantling the current capitalist structures around our health? What would it look like if we radically reimagined it?

Chers mouvements féministes,

Au nom du Conseil d’administration, je souhaite exprimer notre plus profonde gratitude, notre appréciation et tout notre respect pour Hakima Abbas et Cindy Clark, nos deux extraordinaires codirectrices exécutives ces cinq dernières années, qui quittent leurs fonctions pour laisser place à un nouveau leadership de l’AWID, alors que nous entrons dans une nouvelle phase de la vie de notre organisation avec un nouveau plan stratégique. Elles ont systématiquement mis en application les meilleurs principes de leadership organisationnel féministe et d’éthique du soin lorsqu’elles nous guidaient, lors des temps bien troubles et imprévisibles de la récente histoire du monde, cette syndémie de COVID-19 et la spirale politique mondiale descendante qui s’en est suivie. Elles ont tenu l’AWID, notre personnel et notre CA fermement, doucement et avec amour alors que nous éprouvions toutes et tous ces situations inconnues. Elles se sont également accrochées à la vision et à la mission de l’AWID lorsqu’elles ont dû, avec respect et stratégie, réagir aux différents changements, dont la difficile annulation du forum de l’AWID.

Reconnaissant tout à fait le potentiel immense qui existe au sein de l’équipe actuelle, le CA a décidé de privilégier un processus de recrutement en interne dans un premier temps. Nous pensons terminer cette transition d’ici la fin de l’année 2022. Hakima et Cindy décaleront leur départ, pour permettre une transition en douceur vers le nouveau leadership.

Il est difficile pour le Conseil d’administration et d’autres, qui ont travaillé étroitement avec elles et qui les aiment, de voir Cindy et Hakima quitter l’AWID. Rassurez-vous, le CA de l’AWID mène ce processus de transition de manière à ce que les belles marques indélébiles et inspirantes que laissent Hakima et Cindy soient inscrites dans les quatre décennies de notre histoire. Nous assurerons l’arrivée et le soutien de la nouvelle direction et veillerons à ce que ce processus nous inspire à faire mieux encore à cette étape de la vie de l’AWID.

Les grandes transformations dans les organisations ne sont jamais simples ni faciles. Elles sont parfois contraintes, hors du contrôle de quiconque, tendues, voire destructrices. J’ai vu, mais vous aussi, des exemples de telles transitions. Il arrive également que les besoins et les aspirations du personnel soient alignés avec ceux de l’organisation. Bien que nous n’ayons ni choisi ni souhaité le départ de Cindy et Hakima, leur décision et l’entrée de l’AWID dans un nouveau plan stratégique et une nouvelle décennie d’existence sont alignées. Et mieux que tout encore, nous sommes entre les mains merveilleuses, super compétentes, créatives et féministes du personnel et du CA de l’AWID.

Nous vous remercions, chers mouvements féministes, pour votre confiance dans l’AWID. Nous vous demandons également de soutenir notre transition de leadership au cours des mois à venir. Continuons à construire, approfondir et renforcer nos connexions, comme nous le faisons depuis 40 ans.

Nous reviendrons vers vous dans les prochaines semaines pour vous tenir au courant de nos mises à jour et des évolutions concrètes.

Avec solidarité et amour féministes,
Margo Okazawa-Rey,
Présidente, Conseil d’administration de l’AWID

“ابدعي، قاومي، غيّري”: جولة في المهرجان

مع استمرار الرأسمالية الأبوية الغيريّة في دَفعِنا نحو الاستهلاكية والرضوخ، نجد نضالاتنا تُعزَل وتُفصَل عن بعضها الآخر من خلال الحدود المادّية والحدود الافتراضية على حدٍّ سواء.

اقرأ أكثر

por Nandini Tanya Lallmon, República de Mauricio (@nandini_tanya)

Olajumoke «Jay» Abdullahi y Kym Oliver son feministas revolucionarias en más de un sentido. 

Las dos amigas se llaman a sí mismas las «Triple Cripples» [«Triples Inválidas»] porque, como mujeres discapacitadas negras, se ven sometidas a tres niveles de discriminación. Jay, actualmente de 31 años, contrajo polio cuando era bebé y utiliza una férula y unas muletas como sostén, mientras que Kym, de 25 años, tiene esclerosis múltiple y se moviliza en silla de ruedas. El nombre del dúo surge de un esfuerzo por redefinir la palabra «inválida» que, según ellas, «ha sido un término habitualmente usado contra las personas discapacitadas como injuria, como una forma infalible de recordarnos que estábamos “falladas” y que siempre íbamos a ser “menos que”.»

Como mujeres negras, Kym y Jay han sido víctimas del estereotipo racial globalizado que hipersexualiza la piel oscura. En su libro Heart of the Race: Black Women’s Lives in Britain [Corazón de la raza: las vidas de las mujeres negras en Gran Bretaña], Beverley Bryan, Stella Dadzie y Suzanne Scafe describen cómo las mujeres negras han sido históricamente definidas como un «riesgo de alta promiscuidad» por los doctores, debido a su libido y su fertilidad. Jay explica que «la gente piensa que estoy siempre dispuesta a hacer de todo y cualquier cosa todo el tiempo porque soy una mujer negra». Aunque ambas mujeres han sido sometidas a una intensa fetichización debido a su color de piel, sus discapacidades han confundido a muchas personas. Kym describe así su experiencia como mujer con curvas: «Tengo el tipo de cuerpo que la gente quiere manosear, y les parece que yo debería poder aceptarlo, pero, al mismo tiempo, existe esta idea de que yo no debería tener pretensiones, por mi discapacidad.»
 
En las plataformas de citas en línea, a Jay le han preguntado si puede realizar ciertas posiciones sexuales, dado que ciertas potenciales parejas «han decidido que quieren estar contigo de este modo y quieren saber si tu corporalidad puede facilitarlo.» Durante una consulta de control, Kym hizo disculparse a unx profesional médicx que, mientras completaba un formulario de admisión, le preguntó cuántas parejas sexuales ha tenido con un tono que implicaba «yo sé que estas preguntas no son aplicables en tu caso, pero tenemos que seguir el proceso estándar del cuestionario.» 

El error de pensar que la falta de autonomía física equivale a una falta de deseo sexual es generalizado.

En la escuela, Jay era excluida de las clases de educación sexual, porque se presuponía que estaba incapacitada para tener sexo. Ella explica que incluso las organizaciones bien intencionadas que promueven el acceso a los servicios de salud sexual y reproductiva a menudo no tienen en cuenta las necesidades específicas de las mujeres discapacitadas. Por ejemplo, las píldoras son consideradas con frecuencia un método anticonceptivo efectivo, sin ninguna mención de que pueden agravar los riesgos de coágulos de las mujeres que usan sillas de ruedas.

Con sede en Londres, las Triple Cripples esperaban ansiosamente participar, junto con el equipo Decolonising Contraception [descolonizar la contracepción], en el SexFest2020, un festival de un día organizado para personas de color y dedicado a la salud y el bienestar sexuales. Desafortunadamente, el evento fue cancelado debido a la pandemia del COVID-19. A pesar de ello, sin desanimarse, Jay y Kim se volcaron a sus plataformas de activismo en línea, para oponerse a la forma en que la sexualidad es vista desde una perspectiva estrictamente heteronormativa y para desafiar la idea de que la femineidad está definida por la capacidad de procrear. El dúo inauguró un canal de YouTube y un podcast (también llamado «The Triple Cripples») para promover la representación de las personas discriminadas de múltiples formas como seres humanos holísticos. Sus planes a futuro incluyen un documental creativo y una muestra fotográfica dedicada a luchar contra la discriminación y a difundir las voces de personas de color discapacitadas.

La experiencia de discriminación basada en la raza, el género y la discapacidad es más que acumulativa.

Si bien las mujeres discapacitadas de color comparten experiencias de discriminación por motivos de discapacidad con otras personas discapacitadas, experiencias de sexismo con otras mujeres, y experiencias de racismo con otras personas de color, estas experiencias interactúan y no pueden ser separadas: las mujeres discapacitadas de color experimentan una discriminación singular como mujeres discapacitadas de color. 

Si bien las Triple Cripples reconocen que las ideas anticuadas y superficiales sobre la diversidad no se transformarán, como por arte de magia, en espacios inclusivos de un día para otro, siguen confiando en que sus pequeños hachazos finalmente lograrán derribar los grandes robles que las prácticas discriminatorias representan para ellas.

«Bloomed» [En flor] 

de Titash Sen, Kolkata, India (@unzeroed)

La alegría de aceptarse y crecer al calor de esa luz.

“Asignado Nderentendei Al Nacer”

de Bastión Moral, Asunción, Paraguay (@basti0nmoral)

La mujeridad obligatoria es un dispositivo colonial heterocispatriarcal de violencia hacia cuerpos asignados femeninos al nacer. Los cuerpos trans seguimos resistiendo a pesar de la invisibilización y apagamiento histórico. No soy mujer, me asignaron un género a partir de mis genitales.  

أبقي رغبتك في خوض تجارب جديدة على جمر ملتهب!

أنا: هل سبق أن ثبتّ شيئاً بقضيب؟
هو: لا، لم أفعل
أنا: تمَعَّن بالعمليّة الآن، لأنني سأُريك شخصيًا، كيف تضع الرأسمالية قضيب
استغلالها في أجساد العمّال

Dear feminist movements, 

Love is what keeps our feminist fire burning. Along with care for our communities, anger and rage in the face of injustice, and the courage to take action. 

In September 2022, we stepped with great excitement into our leadership roles at AWID, as Co-Executive Directors. We felt the warmth and embrace of the feminist sisterhood as you welcomed us. 

Reflecting on our most precious memories as feminists, we recall powerful moments of togetherness at street protests, sharp analysis, and brave voices shaking the status quo at gatherings. We held those intimate conversations into the night, laughed for hours, and danced at parties together.

We understand the desire to change the world as an essential ingredient of feminist organizing. We can never forget that we are the ones we have been waiting for, in building alternatives and shaping our future. Yet, vibrant feminist energy cannot be taken for granted and must be safeguarded in many ways. In this, we will continue to be vigilant. Greater and equal access to care and wellbeing, to healing and pleasure, are not only instruments to prevent burnout and sustain our movements, though that is an important function; first and foremost, they are the way in which we hope to live our lives.

We are thrilled to roll up our sleeves and work with you. AWID’s new strategic plan “Fierce Feminisms: Together We Rise” reflects our conviction that now is the time for us to be fierce and unapologetic in our agendas while making an effort to connect across movements and truly get to know each other’s realities, so that we may rise together - because, for us, this is the only way.

Our plans include the long-awaited AWID Forum! We look forward to meeting you all in person and online in 2024. We are hearing from you the need to connect and recharge, to rest and heal, to be challenged and inspired, to share good food, and to laugh and dance together. Few things in this world are as powerful and transformative, as feminists from all parts of the world coming together, and we truly hold our breath for this moment, because we know the magic that we can create together. 

Our membership engagement has taken on a life of its own through the AWID Community (our online platform for members), and our focus on building connection and solidarity resonates with many of you. Please join and connect with us and others in feminist movements around the world. We know the importance of connection in a time and space where the rules are not made for us, and we hold close our community, where each of us matters.

Together with our fantastic AWID colleagues, we promise to do our best to support feminist movements, as is the mission and purpose of AWID. Please hold us to account.

For the past 40 years, you - feminist movements - have shaped AWID’s history, and pushed us to be braver, creative, and radical. 40 is a fabulous age, and we look forward to another 40 years with you all. We are looking forward to the partnerships, calls to justice, collaboration, policy influencing, and badass feminist power that you all bring in navigating the ever-increasing backlash on gender, racial and environmental justice. We have so much to learn from you and from each other, as we collectively build the worlds we believe in.

Cindy Clark and Hakima Abbas, thank you for paving the way for us and preparing us to fill your enormous shoes. We always appreciate all those on whose shoulders we stood and continue to stand. We understand ourselves to be part of a broader movement landscape, feminist histories, presents, and daring futures. 

AWID’s Board of Directors, we are grateful to you for the support and feminist love you show us, and for your commitment to Global South leadership and the co-leadership model. We send our love and respect to each and every AWID colleague, we feel honoured to be working with such an exceptional feminist team of dedicated professionals.

This is our first time writing a love letter together, how could we conclude it without expressing love, care, and respect for each other? It’s a pretty intense relationship we’ve stepped into! We both bring our different and diverse perspectives and skills to our work, and as individuals, we also bring our lived experiences and authentic selves. 

Together with you all, we are a story in the making, a part of a beautiful woven - and often beautifully challenging - tapestry that continues into the future. We had fun starting this journey together with each other and with you, and we very much hope to keep the romance alive.

In solidarity, with love and care 
Inna and Faye 
 

Save the date!

21 February 2023, Member Mixer 5 on Feminist Politics with Faye and Inna.

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