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.
Related Content
Snippet FEA Union Otras (EN)
UNION OTRAS
The Sex Workers' Trade Union Organisation (Organización de Trabajo Sexual, OTRAS) is the first union of sex workers in the history of Spain. It was born out of the need to ensure social, legal and political rights for sex workers in a country where far-right movements are on the rise.
After years of struggles against the Spanish legal system and anti-sex workers groups who petitioned to shut it down, OTRAS finally obtained its legal status as a union in 2021.
Its goal? To decriminalize sex work and to ensure decent working conditions and environments for all sex workers.
The union represents over 600 professional sex workers, many of whom are migrant, trans, queer and gender-diverse.
« J’ai constaté la discrimination dans la rue, que ce soit par des taquineries ou des agressions verbales qui y ont lieu. Je me suis aussi faite plein d’ami·e·s et j’y ai rencontré plusieurs personnes. Il se peut que ce soit dangereux là-bas, mais je suis une survivante, et pour le moment, c’est là où je suis. » - Sainimili Naival
Sainimili Naivalu était une activiste féministe des droits des personnes handicapées issue du village de Dakuibeqa, sur l’île de Beqa aux Fidji.
Elle a demandé aux responsables et acteurs politiques de fournir des politiques et des services adaptés au handicap, comme la construction de rampes dans les villes et les villages afin d'accroître leur accessibilité. Les barrières physiques n’étaient pas les seules qu’elle aspirait à modifier. Sur la base de sa propre expérience, elle savait que des changements plus difficiles devaient être menés dans les sphères économiques et sociales. Bon nombre des défis avec lesquels sont aux prises les personnes handicapées trouvent leurs racines dans les attitudes discriminantes et stigmatisantes.
Survivante et combattante, Sainimili a contribué à co-créer des réalités féministes qui renforcent l’inclusion et font évoluer les attitudes par rapport à l’égalité des personnes handicapées. Elle a été membre de la Spinal Injury Association of Fiji (SIA) ainsi que participé à la formation « Démarrez votre entreprise » de l’Organisation internationale du Travail à Suva via le projet « Pacific Enable » (le Pacifique rend possible) du Forum Asie-Pacifique sur le handicap. Elle a ainsi pu transformer ses idées en une entreprise qui lui était propre. Elle était commerçante sur l’étal de marché 7 de Suva, offrant des services de manucure, tout en gérant un stand au marché des femmes SIA pour y vendre de l’artisanat, des suls et des objets historiques. Sainimili planifiait d’élargir son commerce et de devenir une employeuse majeure de personnes handicapées.
Outre son activisme, elle était également médaillée de tennis de table et une récente championne.
Avec sa personnalité vive, Sainimili était unique. On savait toujours lorsqu’elle était dans la pièce car ses rires et ses histoires étaient la première chose qu’on pouvait remarquer. - Michelle Reddy
Sainmili est décédée en 2019.
Our values - bodily autonomy
Bodily autonomy, integrity and freedoms<
We celebrate everyone's right to choose their identities, relationships, goals, work, dreams and pleasures, and what they do with their mind, body and spirit. We believe in working towards access to resources, information and safe and enabling environments that allow this to happen.
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.
“But when was the master
ever seduced from power?
When was a system ever broken
by acceptance?
when will the BOSS hand you power with love?
At Jo’Burg, at Cancun or the U.N? – Molara Ogundipe
In an interview at the 2010 Ghana International Book Fair, Molara Ogundipe introduced herself with the words: “...I’m a Nigerian. I’ve lived possibly all over the world except for the Soviet Union and China.”
Across the different continents and countries, Professor Ogundipe taught comparative literature, writing, gender, and English studies using literature as a vehicle for social transformation and re-thinking gender relations.
A feminist thinker, writer, editor, social critic, poet, and activist Molara Ogundipe succeeded in combining theoretical work with creativity and practical action. She is considered to be one of the leading critical voices on African feminism(s), gender studies and literary theory.
Molara famously coined the concept of “stiwanism’ from the acronym STIWA – Social Transformations in Africa Including Women recognizing the need to move “away from defining feminism and feminisms in relation to Euro-America or elsewhere, and from declaiming loyalties or disloyalties.”
In her seminal work ‘Re-creating Ourselves’ in 1994, Molara Ogundipe (published under Molara Ogundipe-Leslie) left behind an immense body of knowledge that decolonized feminist discourse and “re-centered African women in their full, complex narratives...guided by an exploration of economic, political and social liberation of African women and restoration of female agency across different cultures in Africa.”
In speaking about the challenges she faced as a young academic she said:
”When I began talking and writing feminism in the late sixties and seventies, I was seen as a good and admirable girl who had gone astray, a woman whose head has been spoilt by too much learning".
Molara Ogundipe stood out for her leadership in combining activism and academia; in 1977 she was among the founding members of AAWORD, the Association of Women in Research and Development. In 1982 she founded WIN (Women In Nigeria) to advocate for full “economic, social and political rights” for Nigerian women. She then went on to establish and direct the Foundation for International Education and Monitoring and spent many years on the editorial board of The Guardian.
Growing up with the Yoruba people, their traditions, culture, and language she once said :
“I think the celebration of life, of people who pass away after an achieved life is one of the beautiful aspects of Yoruba culture.”
Molara’s Yoruba ‘Oiki’ praise name was Ayike. She was born on 27 December 1940 and at the age of 78, Molara passed away on 18 June 2019 in Ijebu-Igbo, Ogun State, Nigeria.
Membership why page - Angelina Mootoo quote
Al unirme a AWID, espero poder ayudar a la movilización del movimiento feminista. No solo para las mujeres privilegiadas, sino para TODAS las mujeres y activistas feministas.- Angelina Mootoo, feminista interseccional y caribeña, Guyana/EEUU
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.
Я не хочу делиться названием организации и контактной информацией с AWID – могу ли я пройти опрос?
Безусловно, эти вопросы являются необязательными, мы ценим ваше право сохранять конфиденциальность. Пожалуйста, заполните опрос независимо от того, указываете вы название вашей группы, организации и/или движения и контактные данные или нет.
Yamile Guerra fue una conocida abogada, líder comunitaria y activista política de la región colombiana de Santander.
Trabajó activamente para resolver las disputas entre comunidades locales y empresas promotoras, y abogó contra la apropiación ilegal de las tierras. Yamile ocupó varios cargos políticos, entre ellos la Secretaría General del Gobierno de Santander en Bogotá, y se presentó también a la Alcaldía de Bucaramanga. En los últimos años de su vida, Yamile se volvió cada vez más activa en las causas medioambientales contra los desarrollos urbanos, particularmente, en la defensa de los humedales biodiversos de Santurbán contra los desarrollos urbanos, una región que abastece de agua dulce a casi 2 millones de personas .
Según su familia y amigxs, Yamile recibía amenazas de muerte a diario y había pedido protección a las autoridades.
"Ella era muy consciente de este problema [litigio de tierras] y manifestó repetidamente que se sentía insegura". - Alixon Navarro Muñoz, periodista y amigo de la familia Guerra.
El 20 de julio de 2019, Yamile fue asesinada a tiros por dos hombres en Floridablanca, Santander. Acababa de terminar de discutir con ellos por una disputa de tierras. Un sospechoso fue arrestado más tarde por su asesinato y admitió haber recibido un pago por llevar a cabo su asesinato. Según varios informes, o Yamile fue la tercera integrante de su familia en ser asesinada a causa de las disputas por tierras. El padre de Yamile, Hernando Guerra, había sido asesinado también varios años antes.
El asesinato de Yamile forma parte de una ola de violencia y asesinatos sistemáticos contra cientos de activistas sociales y defensorxs de los derechos humanos en Colombia. Según el Instituto de Estudios para el Desarrollo y la Paz (INDEPAZ), en el momento de la muerte de Yamile, más de 700 líderes comunitarios y activistas de derechos humanos habían sido asesinadxs desde que el país firmó un acuerdo de paz en agosto de 2016. La mayoría de ellxs fueron asesinadxs por enfrentar el tráfico ilegal de drogas y las operaciones mineras. Las personas indígenas, afrocolombianas y las mujeres defensoras de derechos humanos son lxs activistas que corren mayor riesgo.
Menos de una semana después de la muerte de Yamile, miles de colombianxs marcharon por pueblos y ciudades sosteniendo fotos en blanco y negro de activistas que habían sido asesinadxs, en las pancartas se podía leer: "Sin líderes no puede haber paz" y "No más derramamientos de sangre".
Yamile Guerra tenía solo 42 años en el momento de su asesinato.
Questions (Forum page)
Des questions ?
Vous avez des questions concernant le Forum de l’AWID ou les activités connexes ? Nous avons des réponses !
“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.
Quando é que os resultados do inquérito estarão disponíveis?
Iremos analisar as respostas ao inquérito para obter informações e tendências, e iremos apresentar os resultados durante o 15.º Fórum Internacional da AWID em Bangkok, e online em dezembro de 2024. Registe-se para participar no Fórum aqui!
