WHRDs are self-identified women and lesbian, bisexual, transgender, queer and intersex (LBTQI) people and others who defend rights and are subject to gender-specific risks and threats due to their human rights work and/or as a direct consequence of their gender identity or sexual orientation.
WHRDs are subject to systematic violence and discrimination due to their identities and unyielding struggles for rights, equality and justice.
The WHRD Program collaborates with international and regional partners as well as the AWID membership to raise awareness about these risks and threats, advocate for feminist and holistic measures of protection and safety, and actively promote a culture of self-care and collective well being in our movements.
Risks and threats targeting WHRDs
WHRDs are exposed to the same types of risks that all other defenders who defend human rights, communities, and the environment face. However, they are also exposed to gender-based violence and gender-specific risks because they challenge existing gender norms within their communities and societies.
By defending rights, WHRDs are at risk of:
Physical assault and death
Intimidation and harassment, including in online spaces
Judicial harassment and criminalization
Burnout
A collaborative, holistic approach to safety
We work collaboratively with international and regional networks and our membership
to raise awareness about human rights abuses and violations against WHRDs and the systemic violence and discrimination they experience
to strengthen protection mechanisms and ensure more effective and timely responses to WHRDs at risk
We work to promote a holistic approach to protection which includes:
emphasizing the importance of self-care and collective well being, and recognizing that what care and wellbeing mean may differ across cultures
documenting the violations targeting WHRDs using a feminist intersectional perspective;
promoting the social recognition and celebration of the work and resilience of WHRDs ; and
building civic spaces that are conducive to dismantling structural inequalities without restrictions or obstacles
Our Actions
We aim to contribute to a safer world for WHRDs, their families and communities. We believe that action for rights and justice should not put WHRDs at risk; it should be appreciated and celebrated.
Promoting collaboration and coordination among human rights and women’s rights organizations at the international level to strengthen responses concerning safety and wellbeing of WHRDs.
Supporting regional networks of WHRDs and their organizations, such as the Mesoamerican Initiative for WHRDs and the WHRD Middle East and North Africa Coalition, in promoting and strengthening collective action for protection - emphasizing the establishment of solidarity and protection networks, the promotion of self-care, and advocacy and mobilization for the safety of WHRDs;
Increasing the visibility and recognition of WHRDs and their struggles, as well as the risks that they encounter by documenting the attacks that they face, and researching, producing, and disseminating information on their struggles, strategies, and challenges:
Mobilizing urgent responses of international solidarity for WHRDs at risk through our international and regional networks, and our active membership.
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FRMag - My queer Ramadan
My Queer Ramadan
by Amal Amer
I pray with my family for the first time in six years while wrapped in a keffiyah I scavenged from a dumpster. (...)
Yelena Grigoriyeva, que ses ami·e·s appelaient souvent Lena, était une défenseure connue des droits des personnes LGBT en Russie.
Membre de mouvements démocratiques, pacifistes et LGBT, Yelena était une féroce opposante au président Vladimir Poutine et son administration. Elle a notamment exprimé son opposition à l’annexion de la péninsule ukrainienne de la Crimée par la Russie ainsi que critiqué les mauvais traitements infligés aux détenu·e·s.
Yelena a fait part de sa bisexualité en 2019.
« Sa déclaration m’a surprise et je ne l’approuvais pas. Je lui ai dit : « Écoute, Lena, tu portes déjà une cible sur la poitrine du fait de ton activisme politique. Tu viens de t’en peindre une autre dans le dos », Olga Smirnova, compagne de lutte politique et amie.
Yelena a effectivement reçu plusieurs menaces de mort, et des proches ont déclaré que son nom figurait sur un site Web homophobe qui incitait ses visiteur·euse·s à tuer les personnes LGBT. Elle a fait part de ces menaces à la police, mais l’État russe ne l’a pas protégée.
Mais même dans une société où l’opposition politique, les activistes et les membres de la communauté LGBT, qui se battent pour leurs droits, font face à une violence croissante, Yelena continuait à défendre la justice sociale et l’égalité.
« Elle ne manquait pas une seule action militante. Et ils l’ont arrêtée plus de fois que je n’ai pu en compter », Olga Smirnova.
Yelena a été assassinée le 21 juillet 2019, à proximité de chez elle. Un suspect a été arrêté, mais certaines sources et plusieurs de ses ami·e·s et compagnes et compagnons de lutte pensent que ce suspect sert de bouc émissaire, et qu’en fait, il s’agit d’un assassinat politique ciblé.
Pour la famille et les ami·e·s de Yelena, son assassinat demeure irrésolu, bien que le suspect ait avoué.
En 2013, la Russie a passé une loi interdisant la propagation de ce qu’elle a appelé la « propagande gay ». En 2014, Human Rights Watch a publié un rapport à ce propos (en anglais et en russe).
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.
Rejoignez-nous en prenant part aux conversations#FreezeFascisms!
(#BloquerLesFascismes) !
Alors que nous affrontons de multiples crises dans le monde entier, nos mouvements œuvrent sans relâche à construire une influence qui dépasse les structures de pouvoir traditionnelles. La vague de décrets présidentiels américains vise à nous intimider, mais aucune idéologie fasciste, quelle que soit son ampleur, ne peut effacer notre existence et notre résistance.
Nous vous invitons à rejoindre la campagne de solidarité pour dénoncer et résister aux forces fascistes qui sapent les mouvements féministes et de justice de genre dans vos communautés !
Déclenchez des conversations au sein d’un espace courageux : partagez vos initiatives de lutte et de résistance aux fascismes à votre échelle sur la plateforme de la Communauté AWID. Pas encore membre ? Rejoignez-nous ici.
Soutenez les mouvements qui ont été touchés : relayez les collectes de fonds, les ressources disponibles, les efforts d’entraide en utilisant #FreezeFascisms #BloquerLesFascismes (nous sommes toujours sur X, Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, mais aussi sur Bluesky !)
Mobilisez-vous autour d’alternatives : nous avons créé une communauté de pratiques à adopter pour des alternatives économiques féministes et un financement autonome. Inscrivez-vous pour en faire partie ici(en anglais)
FRMag - Ashawo Work na Work
"Ashawo Work na Work": Cómo lxs jóvenes feministas de Ghana están haciendo realidad los futuros feministas
por Fatima B. Derby
En 2017, la campaña de AWID #PracticaSolidaridad destacó cómo lxs jóvenes feministas podían construir un futuro feminista apoyándose mutuamente, participando en conversaciones interregionales entre ellxs, marchando en solidaridad con otrxs activistas y abriendo canales de colaboración entre los movimientos. (...)
The personal is political - and fiery and courageous Nadyn Jouny personified this feminist mantra. Nadyn experienced firsthand the pain of structural violence in legal systems that strip women of their rights.
When she decided to file for divorce, the religious Shitte courts under the Lebanese Personal Status laws, denied her custody of her young son Karam. Nadyn, like so many other women across Lebanon and other countries, was caught in the impossible pain of leaving an unwanted and abusive relationship and also losing the rights to her child. But Nadyn fought back, as she would until her last day.
She used her media savvy to become an outspoken voice to women fighting discriminatory family laws in Lebanon and internationally. Nadyn co-founded the self-funded group, “Protecting Lebanese Women” (PLW) and banded with many other Lebanese mothers facing similar custody issues. Together, they advocated to raise awareness of the injustices they were facing, protesting in front of the religious courts for their rights and bringing international media attention to extreme injustices they were facing.
Nadyn also worked with ABAAD - Resource Center for Gender Equality, another women’s rights organization in Lebanon, to campaign for women’s rights, equality in family law and custody and against forced and early marriages.
For many of her colleagues, she came to “symbolize a Lebanese mother’s fight against suppression and misogyny of all sorts," using “her personal experiences and her individual journey of empowerment to give hope to others that they can be a catalyst for positive change.”- ABAAD - Resource Centre for Gender Equality, Lebanon
On October 6, 2019 Nadyn was tragically killed in a car accident on her way to protest unfair tax increases in a country already facing spiralling financial crisis. Nadyn Jouny was only 29 years old at the time of her death.
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.
Doris Valenzuela Angulo fue una activista social afrodescendiente, líder y defensora de los derechos humanos, de Buenaventura, Colombia. Fue parte de Comunidades Construyendo Paz en los Territorios (CONPAZ), una red nacional de organizaciones de comunidades afectadas por el conflicto armado que propugnan la no violencia y la justicia socioambiental.
Doris desafiaba la constante violencia paramilitar y las presiones de los megaproyectos para desplazar a su comunidad, así como la complicidad del Estado. Enfrentando uno de los contextos más difíciles de su país, tuvo un rol de liderazgo en una iniciativa de resistencia no violenta sin precedentes llamado «Espacio Humanitario Puente Nayero», una zona urbana para la cohesión comunitaria, la seguridad, la creatividad y la acción colectiva.
Esta singular lucha no violenta de las familias que pertenecían al «Espacio Humanitario Puente Nayero» atrajo la atención y el apoyo de organismos locales e internacionales. Hacia septiembre de 2014, la Comisión Interamericana de Derechos Humanos había establecido medidas cautelares de protección para la comunidad, y había ordenado al Estado colombiano hacer lo necesario para preservar sus vidas y su integridad personal. Sin embargo, las amenazas y la violencia de los paramilitares continuaron. Doris centró sus energías en evitar el reclutamiento forzoso de niñxs y jóvenes por parte de los neo-paramilitares, y siguió haciéndolo a pesar del asesinato de su hijo Cristian Dainer Aragón Valenzuela en julio de 2015. Doris también se convirtió en blanco de ataques, y recibía amenazas por su activismo y el trabajo que realizaba continuamente.
Las persistentes agresiones y amenazas contra su vida forzaron a Doris a abandonar Colombia. Residió en España desde febrero de 2017 hasta febrero de 2018, e integró el Programa de Protección Temporal de Defensores y Defensoras de los Derechos Humanos de Amnistía Internacional para activistas cuyas vidas están en riesgo.
En abril de 2018, Doris fue asesinada por su ex-marido en Murcia, España. Tenía solamente 39 años.
Tributos:
«Doris, pasar un año entero contigo nos ha enseñado cómo una persona puede tener la capacidad de transformar y generar esperanza ante hechos profundamente negativos y devastadores sucedidos durante tu vida...Seguimos con nuestro compromiso en la defensa de todos los derechos humanos. Siempre nos guiará tu valentía y tu luz.» Montserrat Román, Amnistía Internacional Grupo La Palma
Fragmento de «Palabras para Doris Valenzuela Angulo» por Elsa López
«Tú lo sabías. Siempre lo supiste. Y a pesar de todo te levantaste firme contra tantas injusticias, tantas miserias, tanta persecución.Te alzaste, altiva y feroz, contra aquellos que querían hacerte de nuevo abandonar tus esperanzas, humillarte y rendirte. Puesta en pie clamaste por tu libertad y la nuestra que era la tuya. Nada ni nadie paralizó tus esfuerzos por cambiar el mundo y hacerlo más generoso y habitable. Tú, viva entre nosotras, más viva hoy que nunca entre nosotras a pesar de la muerte. Viva siempre por tus gestos, tu valor, tu grandeza al clamar por una tierra prometida que llegaste a invocar con cada uno de tus gritos por todos los desiertos que habitaste. Tú. Siempre viva. Doris Valenzuela Angulo.
Son sólo palabras. Lo sé. Yo también lo sé. Pero las palabras nos unen, nos protegen, nos dan fuerza y aliento para seguir caminando hacia la luz que tanto defendías.»
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.
