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.
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.
We work collaboratively with international and regional networks and our membership
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.
Diakite s'est activement impliquée dans la défense des femmes dans la vie politique et publique au Mali.
Elle a travaillé pour soutenir la formation des candidates aux élections et s'est élevée contre les mutilations génitales féminines (MGF). Elle était un ardente défenseure de la santé et des droits reproductifs.
As you plan the activity you would like to do at the Forum, please also consider how you will fund your participation. Typical Costs include: accommodation, travel, visa, forum registration fees, etc.
It is important to note that this Forum will have many ‘open spaces’ and moments for movements to learn and exchange, but fewer formal sessions. (See “Ways to describe the Forum in your fundraising” below for language to use in your outreach.)
Reach out to your current donors first : Your best option is always a current funder that you have.
Make sure to do it in advance : We recommend contacting them by early 2020 at the latest. Many funders who support feminist organizations have some budget allocated for Forum travel. Others may be able to include it in renewal grants or through other travel funds.
If your group has funders, tell them that you want to attend the AWID Forum to learn, experience, exchange and network- even if your activity does not get selected for the final program. In order to be able to support your participation, your donors will need to know about it well in advance so tell them right away! (they are already deciding which funds they will distribute in 2020).
If you do not currently have donor support or are not able to secure grants for Forum travel, consider reaching out to new donors.
Deadlines and requirements vary by funder, and a grant review process can take many months. If you’re considering applying for new grants, do so as soon as possible.
Feminist movements have long gotten creative with funding our own activism. Here are some ideas that we have gathered to inspire alternative ways of fundraising:
For more inspiration, see AWID’s ongoing series on autonomous resourcing, including specific ideas for conference raising participation funds.
AWID strives to make the Forum a truly global gathering with participation from diverse movements, regions and generations. To this end, AWID mobilizes resources for a limited Access Fund (AF) to assist Forum participants with the costs of attending the Forum.
AWID’s Access Fund will provide support to a limited number of Forum participants and session/activity facilitators. You can indicate in your application if you would like to apply to the AWID Access Fund. This is not guaranteed, and we strongly encourage you to seek alternative funding for your participation and travel to the Forum.
Even if you apply for the AWID Access Fund, we encourage you to continue to explore other options to fund your participation in the Forum. Access Fund decisions will be confirmed by the end of June 2020. Please remember that these resources are very limited, and we will be unable to support all applicants.
As you reach out to funders or your own networks, here is some sample messaging that may be helpful. Feel free to adapt it in whatever way is useful for you!
The AWID Forum is a co-created feminist movement space that energizes participants in their own activism, and strengthens connections with others across multiple rights and justice movements. Participants get to draw from wells of hope, energy and radical imagination, as well as deepen shared analysis, learning, and build cross-movement solidarity to develop more integrated agendas and advance joint strategies.
Our organization is seeking funds to attend the Forum in order to connect with other activists and movements from around the world, strengthen our strategies, and share our work. We are inspired by past participants, who have described the power of this global feminist gathering:
“Over four days … voices weaved together into a global perspective on the state of gender equality. And when I say global, I mean simultaneous translation into seven languages kind of global ....”
“It was reminding us that we are not alone. The Forum provided a means of translating collectivity into our movements. Whether across ideologies, identities or borders, our strength is in our vision and our support of one another.”
It is important to note that this Forum will have many ‘open spaces’ and moments for movements to learn and exchange, but fewer formal sessions. While many attendees will not be presenting in formal sessions, there will be invaluable space to learn, strategize, and experience feminist movements’ collective power in action.
When calculating your costs and how much you need to raise, it is important to factor in costs that may come up. Here’s an example of key items to consider:
The AWID Forum will now take place 11-14 January 2021 in Taipei .
It is more than a four-day convening. It is one more stop on a movement strengthening journey around Feminist Realities that has already begun and will continue well beyond the Forum dates.
É claro que sim. As suas respostas serão eliminadas no final do processamento e da análise dos dados, e só serão usadas para fins de investigação. Os dados NUNCA serão divulgados fora da AWID e serão processados apenas por colaboradores e consultores da AWID que trabalham no projeto WITM connosco. Damos prioridade à sua privacidade e ao seu anonimato. Consulte a nossa política de privacidade detalhada aqui.
Perçue comme une figure transformatrice sur les fronts de la lutte pour la libération et pour la liberté, Andaiye a été l’une des premières membres de l’Alliance du peuple travailleur (WPA), un parti socialiste en Guyane de lutte contre le régime autoritaire et participait activement à sa direction. Tout au long de sa vie, Andaiye a placé la justice pour la classe ouvrière et les droits des femmes vivant en milieu rural au centre de son action militante, et s’est battue pour l’élimination des obstacles ethniques entre les femmes indo-guyaniennes et celles afro-guyaniennes.
Andaiye fut l’une des membres fondatrices des Red Thread Women, une organisation de défense pour la juste rémunération du travail en soins réalisé par les femmes, en plus d’avoir travaillé à l’Université des Indes occidentales et avec l’organisation CARICOM. N’hésitant jamais à défier les gouvernements, elle a pointé du doigt les déséquilibres en matière de genre dans les conseils de l’État, les lois discriminatoires à l’égard des travailleur·euse·s du sexe, réclamé le droit à l’avortement en Jamaïque et s’est érigée contre les accords commerciaux, tels que le Marché unique des Caraïbes (CSME) qui permettait la libre circulation des travailleuses domestiques migrantes mais n’octroyait pas ce même droit à leurs enfants.
Elle a publié plusieurs essais universitaires, rédigé des articles d’opinion et révisé les derniers ouvrages de Walter Rodney, l’activiste politique guyanien et coleader du WPA assassiné en 1980. Survivante du cancer, Andaiye a été l’une des fondatrices de la Ligue guyanienne contre le cancer et du Groupe d’action des survivant·e·s du cancer. Elle a également siégé au conseil exécutif de l’Association caribéenne pour la recherche et l’action féministes (CAFRA), dirigé le Help and Shelter et été membre du conseil de la Commission nationale guyanienne pour les femmes. Elle a par ailleurs reçu de nombreux prix, dont le prestigieux Golden Arrow of Achievement (quatrième prix le plus important du Guyana).
Andaiye est décédée le 31 mai 2019, à l’âge de 77 ans. Les nombreux hommages que lui ont rendus des activistes, ami·e·s et celles et ceux que sa vie aura inspiré·e·s ont parlé avec éloquence de son incroyable héritage et de la grandeur de son humanité.
En voici quelques-uns :
“« Andaiye m’a profondément marquée... elle représenttait tellement de choses pour moi : une éducatrice, une combattante, elle m’a appris l’autocritique, à réfléchir plus clairement, elle m’a enseigné la survie, ce qu’est le courage sans limite, la compassion, à dépasser les apparences et traiter les gens comme des gens, sans se laisser impressionner par le statut, la classe, la race... rien de tout ça. » Peggy Antrobus, activiste féministe, auteure, universitaire, La Barbade
« Le genre d’idéalisme confiant que démontrait Andaiye, cette disposition à affronter le monde et une croyance tenace qu’on pouvait vraiment le changer... Cette politique de l’espoir... Comment honorer sa vie, son héritage et sa mémoire autrement qu’en poursuivant le travail éthiquement et en continuant à s’autocritiquer? Et de faire en sorte de placer le travail de soins des femmes au centre. » - Tonya Haynes, La Barbade
« Je peux l’entendre se moquer de notre engouement collectif. Donc, je ris tout en pleurant. Chapeau bas, chère Andaiye, et merci pour tout. Que le voyage de ton esprit soit aimant et lumineux. Passe le bonjour à Walter et aux ancêtres. » - Carol Narcisse, La Jamaïque
Sobre la base de una investigación documental inicial y de consultas con aliadxs (que nos llevaron a eliminar muchas otras opciones de la región), organizamos una serie de visitas exhaustivas a Nepal, Malasia, Sri Lanka, Tailandia, Indonesia y, más tarde, Taiwán.
Cada visita incluyó, no solo la evaluación de la infraestructura logística, sino también encuentros con grupos y activistas feministas locales para entender mejor el contexto y conocer su percepción de las oportunidades y los riesgos potenciales de organizar un Foro de AWID en sus contextos.
Estos movimientos expresaron, en varias ocasiones, sentimientos encontrados respecto de las oportunidades y los riesgos que podría acarrearles la visibilidad de un evento como el Foro. En una de las visitas, durante los primeros treinta minutos de la reunión, escuchamos a lxs activistas presentes decir, en forma unánime, que un Foro de AWID sufriría una enorme reacción, que los derechos LGBTQ son un asunto particularmente candente, y que los grupos fundamentalistas aparecerían con toda su fuerza a interrumpir el evento.
Cuando respondimos, «De acuerdo, entonces ustedes no creen que sea una buena idea», nuevamente la respuesta unánime fue «Por supuesto que es una buena idea, ¡queremos cambiar la narrativa!». En algunos de estos lugares nos resultó difícil oír y ver que muchxs activistas feministas querían aprovechar la oportunidad de un evento grande y visible, y que estaban preparadxs a enfrentar los riesgos locales; pero nuestras consideraciones, como anfitrionxs de casi dos mil personas de todo el mundo, nos imponen un cálculo distinto del riesgo y la factibilidad.
También tuvimos que analizar qué significa organizar un foro feminista que a sea coherente con los principios de inclusión, reciprocidad y autodeterminación, en aquellos casos en que la política y la práctica de Estado son, en general, contrarias a estos principios (aunque lxs funcionarixs de los ministerios de turismo hayan trabajado arduamente para atenuar estas características).
En muchos de estos lugares, monitorear el contexto nos resultó un ejercicio pendular: de un momento abierto y seguro para los debates feministas podíamos pasar a otro de brutal represión y xenofobia, capaz de sacrificar las prioridades feministas como piezas de negociación política para tranquilizar a las fuerzas antiderechos del ala derechista.
Nuestras dificultades en la región Asia-Pacífico nos llevaron a preguntarnos si no sería más fácil mover el Foro a una región distinta. Sin embargo, hoy en día no podríamos organizar un Foro de AWID en Estambul como lo hicimos en 2012, ni podríamos hacerlo en Brasil como lo hicimos en 2016.
Al organizar el Foro de AWID, estamos tratando de construir y sostener, de la mejor manera posible, un espacio para las diversas expresiones de solidaridad, indignación, esperanza e inspiración que son el núcleo de los movimientos feministas.
En este momento, creemos que Taipéi es la sede, dentro de la región Asia-Pacífico, que mejor nos permitirá construir ese espacio seguro y rebelde para nuestra comunidad feminista global.
De hecho, en el mundo contemporáneo no existe una ubicación ideal para un Foro centrado en las Realidades Feministas. Donde sea que vayamos, ¡debemos construir ese espacio juntxs!
نهدف للوصول الى 2000 رد، وهذا تقريباً ضعف الردود التي جمعناها من استطلاع "أين المال" الأخير عام 2021.
She was part of democratic, anti-war and LGBT movements. In her activism, Yelena was a fierce critic of President Vladimir Putin and his administration, expressing her opposition against Russia’s annexation of Ukraine’s Crimea peninsula and the ill-treatment of prisoners.
Yelena came out as bisexual earlier in 2019.
"Her coming out was a surprise to me, and I didn't approve of it. I told her 'Listen, Lena, you already have a target painted on you because of your political activity. You've just pinned another to your chest."
- Olga Smirnova
Yelena did receive multiple death threats and according to some of her acquaintances, was listed on a homophobic website that called on its visitors to hunt down LGBT persons. She reported the threats to the police, however the Russian state failed to provide protection.
But even in a society where political opposition, as well as members of the LGBT community and advocates for their rights, face continuous and increasing violence, Yelena kept campaigning for social justice and equality.
“She did not miss a single action. And they detained her so often that I already lost count,”
- Olga Smirnova (fellow opposition activist and friend).
Yelena was murdered on 21 July 2019, not far from home. A suspect was arrested but according to some sources, many friends and fellow activists believe that the suspect is a scapegoat and that this was a targeted political killing.
For Yelena’s relatives and friends, her case remains unsolved even though the suspect confessed.
In 2013, Russia passed legislation banning the spreading of what it described as ‘gay propaganda’. In 2014, Human Rights Watch published a report relating to this.
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.
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?
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.
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
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.
< United against the violence, by Karina Ocampo
Freeing the Church, Decolonizing the Bible for West Papuan Women, by Rode Wanimbo >
AWID Community is an online social networking platform for specifically for AWID members. It’s a feminist space for connection, resistance and celebration. A space for critical feminist conversations, collective power and solidarity. It is also a space for post-event dialogues, navigating difficult political learnings and community care
Meet the Solidarity Network, a health and service union mostly led by women. Emerging as a response to increasing precarity, severe underpayment and hostile work environments faced by workers in Georgia, Solidarity Network fights for dignified compensation and work places.
Its goal? To create a national worker’s democratic movement. To do so, it has been branching out, organizing and teaming up with other local and regional unions and slowly creating a network of unions and empowering women workers to become union leaders.
Its political approach is a holistic one. For Solidarity Network, labor rights issues are directly connected to broader national political and economic agendas and reforms. That’s why they are pushing for tax justice, women and LGBTQIA+ rights, and fighting against the dismantling of the Georgian welfare state.
The Solidarity Network is also part of Transnational Social Strike (TSS), a political platform and infrastructure inspired by migrant, women and essential worker organizing that works to build connections between labor movements across borders and nurture global solidarity.
Magaly Quintana era conocida por muchxs en Nicaragua como 'La Maga'. Fue una historiadora feminista, activista y defensora inquebrantable de los derechos de las mujeres que exigía justicia para las víctimas de femicidio.
Magaly se comprometió a documentar y elaborar estadísticas sobre las mujeres y niñas que fueron asesinadas como resultado de la violencia sexual en el país.
Magaly también criticó al gobierno por la reforma de la Ley 779 que trata la violencia contra las mujeres. Como resultado del arduo trabajo de los movimientos de mujeres nicaragüenses, esta ley, antes de su reforma, incluía importantes disposiciones para penalizar el femicidio. Magaly argumentó que estas reformas legislativas debilitaban la ley, y limitaban la definición de los femicidios a homicidios, invisibilizando, como resultado, los delitos violentos contra las mujeres.
La organización feminista de Magaly se fundó a principios de los ‘80. Fue la directora de Mujeres Católicas por el Derecho a Decidir, que defiende el derecho al aborto terapéutico tras su prohibición en 2006. En 2018, apoyó las protestas contra el gobierno de Daniel Ortega.
Magaly nació en mayo de 1952 y falleció en mayo de 2019.
"Hasta luego, mi querida Magaly Quintana. Muchas gracias, gracias por tu legado. Te veremos de nuevo, tan fuerte y poderosa como siempre."- Erika Guevara Rosas (Directora Americana de Amnistía Internacional).
Ressources en soutien aux mouvements féministes, aux décideur·euse·s et aux allié·e·s pour résister aux tendances antidroits.
