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
Our arepa: Resistance from the Kitchen
by Alejandra Laprea, Caracas, Venezuela (@alejalaprea)
I live in a country of the impossible, where there are no bombs yet we are living in a war.
A war that exists only for those of us living in this territory.
I live in a country no one understands, which few can really see, where various realities co-exist, and where the truth is murdered time and again.
I live in a country where one has to pay for the audacity of thinking for oneself, for taking on the challenge of seeing life another way.
I live in a country of women who have had to invent and reinvent, time and again, how they live and how to get by.
I live in Venezuela, in a time of an unusual and extraordinary threat.
Since 2012 my country has been subjected to an unconventional war. There are no defined armies or fire power. Their objective is to dislocate and distort the economy, affecting all households, daily life, the capacity of a people to dream and build a different kind of politics, an alternative to the patriarchal, bourgeois, capitalist democracy.
Venezuelan women are the primary victims of this economic war. Women who historically and culturally are responsible for providing care, are the most affected and in demand. However, in these years of economic and financial embargo, Venezuelan women have gone from being victims to the protagonists on the front lines defending our territory.
Battles are fought from the barrios, kitchens, and small gardens. We defend the right of girls and boys to go to school, and to be given something so simple as some arepas for breakfast.
Arepas are a kind of corn cake that can be fried, roasted or baked and served sweet or savoury as a side or main dish. It is a staple in the diet of all Venezuelans.
In Venezuela, arepas mean culture, family, food sovereignty, childhood nostalgia, the expert hands of grandmothers molding little balls, the warmth that comforts you when recovering from illness.
Arepas connect us as a people with the pre-Colombian cultures of corn, a resistance that has endured for more than five centuries. They are the Caribbean expressed differently on firm ground.
They are an act of resistance.
When my mother was a girl, they would start grinding the dry corn early in the morning to make arepas. The women would get up and put the kernels of corn in wooden mortars and pound it with heavy mallets to separate the shells. Then they would boil, soak, and grind the corn to make dough, and finally they would mold it into round arepas. The process would take hours and demand a lot of physical effort.
In the mid-20th century a Venezuelan company industrialized the production of corn meal. For an entire generation that seemed like an act of liberation, since there was now a flour that you could simply add water to and have hot arepas in 45 minutes time.
But that also meant that the same generation would lose the traditional knowledge on how to make them from scratch. My grandmother was an expert arepa maker, my mother saw it as a girl, and for me the corn meal came pre-packaged.
In the war with no military, the pre-cooked corn meal came to be wielded as an instrument of war by the same company that invented it, which was not so Venezuelan anymore: today the Polar group of companies is transnational.
We women began to recuperate our knowledge by talking with the eldest among us. We searched in the back of the closets for our grandmothers’ grinders, the ones we hadn’t thrown away out of affection. Some families still prepared the corn in the traditional way for important occasions. In some towns there were still communal grinding stations which had been preserved as part of local history or because small family businesses refused to die. All of these forms of cultural resistance were activated, and we even went so far as to invent new arepas.
Today we know that in order to resist we cannot depend on one food staple. Although corn arepas continue to be everyone’s favourite, we have invented recipes for arepas made of sweet potato, cassava, squash, and celery root.
We have learned that we can use almost any root vegetable to make arepas. Cooperative businesses have developed semi-industrial processes to make pre-cooked corn meal. In other words, we have recuperated our arepas and their preparation as a cultural good that belongs to all.
My artivism aims to decolonize our senses in everyday life. I like to create spaces that communicate how we weave together our different struggles, and that render visible dissident (re)existences, other possible worlds, and living bodies here in the SOUTH.
As we continue to fight in our struggles, let us remember how essential it is that we support each other, believe each other, and love ourselves and our sisters. When this system fucks us over, we must take time to look after our (physical and mental) health, that of our sisters, and to understand that each one of us carries unique stories, making us fighters in resist
Marga RH (@Marga.RH)
Until dignity becomes a habit
These portraits are inspired by the voices of resistance and protest movements in Latin America, especially by the key role that feminised bodies play in these struggles. It is a tribute to the grassroots feminist movements in resistance.
«Yo no planeaba ser una cantante, el canto planeó estar en mí.» - Dorothy Masuka (entrevista de Mail & Guardian)
Dorothy Masuka, nacida en 1935 en Bulawayo (en ese momento Rodesia del Sur, ahora Zimbabue), creció en Sudáfrica, y se convirtió en una reconocida compositora, cantante de jazz, activista, y defensora ferviente de la lucha contra el apartheid. Definida como «una arquitecta del discurso de la música popular africana de liberación», Dorothy a menudo cantaba sobre política en lenguas indígenas africanas y, a través de todo su trabajo, confrontó las políticas racistas del gobierno sudafricano.
Una de estas canciones, titulada «Dr. Malan» (por el político pro-apartheid D.F. Malan) fue prohibida. Luego, en 1961, grabó «Lumumba», una canción sobre el asesinato del líder anticolonial Patrice Lumumba. El trabajo y el activismo de Dorothy atrajeron la atención de la División Especial de la policía sudafricana, y fue forzada a un exilio político que se prolongaría durante tres décadas. Durante ese tiempo, trabajó con grupos independentistas, incluido el Congreso Nacional Africano. En 1992, cuando el apartheid comenzó a desmoronarse y Nelson Mandela fue liberado de prisión, Dorothy regresó a Sudáfrica.
Su trabajo incluye la primera canción que grabó, en 1953, titulada «Hamba Notsokolo», que fue un éxito durante la década de 1950, y hoy es un clásico muy valorado. También escribió «El Yow Phata Phata», una canción que fue adaptada por Miriam Makeba, quien hizo de «Pata, Pata» un hit internacional.
Arraigados en la resistencia, la música y el activismo de Dorothy (popularmente conocida como «Auntie Dot» [«Tía Dot»]) estaban entretejidos, y dejaron un legado magnífico e inspirador.
Dorothy falleció en Johannesburgo el 23 de febrero de 2019 a la edad de 83 años, por problemas de salud.
Mirna Teresa Suazo Martínez faisait partie de la communauté garifuna (afro-descendante et autochtone) Masca et vivait sur la côte nord des Caraïbes du Honduras. Elle était leader de sa communauté et fervente défenseure du territoire autochtone, une terre qui a été violée le jour où l'Institut national agraire du Honduras a accordé des licences territoriales à des personnes extérieures à la communauté.
Ce fait déplorable a été à l'origine de harcèlements, d'abus et de violences répétés contre Masca, où les intérêts économiques de différents groupes se sont heurtés à ceux des forces armées et des autorités honduriennes. Selon l'Organisation fraternelle noire du Honduras (OFRANEH), la stratégie de ces groupes consiste à expulser et exterminer la population autochtone.
« Masca, la communauté garifuna située près de la vallée du Cuyamel, se trouve dans la zone d’influence de l’une des villes présumées modèles, une situation qui a déclenché des pressions territoriales le long de la côte garifuna. » - OFRANEH, 8 septembre 2019
Mirna Teresa, présidente du conseil d'administration de la communauté de Masca à Omoa, avait elle aussi fermement rejeté la construction de deux centrales hydroélectriques sur la rivière Masca, qui porte le même nom que sa communauté.
« La communauté garífuna attribue l'aggravation de la situation dans leur région à son opposition à l'exploitation touristique, à la monoculture de palmiers africains et au trafic de drogue, tandis qu'elle cherche parallèlement à construire une vie alternative au travers de la culture de la noix de coco et d'autres produits d'autoconsommation ». - Voces Feministas, 10 septembre 2019
Mirna Teresa a été assassinée le 8 septembre 2019 dans son restaurant « Champa los Gemelos ».
Elle est l'une des six femmes défenseures garifunas à avoir été assassinées rien qu'entre septembre et octobre 2019. Selon l'OFRANEH, les autorités n'ont pas mené d'enquête sur ces crimes.
« En ce qui concerne les communautés garífuna, une grande partie des homicides sont liés au régime foncier et à la gestion des terres. Cependant, les querelles entre les organisations criminelles ont abouti à des meurtres, à l’instar de ceux ayant eu lieu récemment à Santa Rosa de Aguán ». - OFRANEH, 8 septembre 2019
Meet Sabrina Sanchez, remarkable trans migrant woman, sex worker, organizer, transfeminist and one of the founders of the union OTRAS.
Originally from Mexico City, she migrated to Spain 17 years ago after getting a degree in communications and started working as a sex worker.
It didn’t take long before she became involved with trans activism and sex worker activism in Barcelona. After joining the collective Asociación de Profesionales del Sexo (Association of Sex Workers, Aprosex), she started working in its secretariat and founded the Spanish sex workers union OTRAS.
أكيد. سيتم محي اجوبتك بعد عملية معالجة المعطيات وتحليلها وسيتم استعمالها لأهداف بحثية فقط. لن تتم أبداً مشاركة المعطيات خارج AWID وسيتم معالجتها فقط عن طريق طاقم AWID والمستشارات/ين اللواتي/ اللذين يعملن/وا في مشروع "أين المال" معنا. خصوصيتكم/ن وسرّيتكم/ن هي في أعلى سلم أولوياتنا. سياسة الخصوصية متواجدة هنا.
Upasana Agarwal
Forgotten Song (Chanson Oubliée)Ode to the Moon (Ode à la Lune)Vapour and Fire (Vapeur et Feu)
À propos d’Upasana Agarwal
Upasana est un·e illustrateurice et artiste non binaire basé·e à Kolkata, en Inde. Son travail explore l'identité et les récits personnels en partant d’un vestige visuel ou d’une preuve des contextes avec lesquels iel travaille. Iel est particulièrement attiré·e par les motifs qui, selon Upasana, communiquent des vérités complexes sur le passé, le présent et l'avenir. Quand Upasana n'est pas en train de dessiner, iel organise et dirige un centre d'art communautaire queer et trans dans la ville.
“I do not know a lot about spirituality or what happens when we die, but my crip queer Korean life makes me believe that our earthly bodyminds is but a fraction, and not considering our ancestors is electing only to see a glimpse of who we are.” - Stacey Park Milbern
Stacey Park Milbern was a self-identifying queer disabled woman of colour and a trailblazer. A long-standing and respected organizer and leader in the disability rights and justice movement, she also advocated for the rights of many different communities, not just her own. Stacey’s activism had mighty roots in her experience at the intersections of gender, disability, sexuality and race.
Stacey, along with some friends, co-created the Disability Justice Culture Club, a group working to support various and especially vulnerable communities, including helping homeless people gain access to resources during the COVID-19 pandemic.
She was also a co-producer of an impact campaign for Netflix’s documentary “Crip Camp”, a board member of the WITH Foundation, and led organizations at local, state and national levels. Stacey wrote beautifully and powerfully:
“My ancestors are people torn apart from loves by war and displacement. It’s because of them I know the power of building home with whatever you have, wherever you are, whoever you are with. My ancestors are queers who lived in the American South. It’s because of them I understand the importance of relationships, place and living life big, even if it is dangerous. All of my ancestors know longing. Longing is often our connecting place...” - Stacey Park Milbern
She was born in Seoul, Korea and grew up in North Carolina, later continuing her journey in the San Francisco Bay Area. Stacey passed away of complications from surgery on her 33rd birthday on 19 May 2020.
“She was, a lot of people would say, a leader. She kind of encompassed all of it. You know, sometimes there's like a lead from the front, lead from the middle, lead from the back. And she was just somehow able to do all of that.” - Andraéa LaVant, disability rights activist
“What a blow to lose Stacey when our communities need her leadership more than ever, and at a time when her strength, insight, and grit were receiving increased recognition outside of disability circles, giving her a greater platform to advance her life’s work...We will not have the gift of learning where her charismatic leadership would have taken us. But let there be no doubt: What Stacey gave us, in a relatively short time, will continue benefiting others for years to come.” - Disability Rights Education and Defense Fund (DREDF)
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