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Justice et changement systémique

Nous œuvrons en faveur d’un monde fondé sur la justice sociale, environnementale et économique, ainsi que sur l'interdépendance, la solidarité et le respect. Nous travaillons au démantèlement des systèmes de pouvoir oppressif et contre toutes ses manifestations, y compris tout forme de patriarcat, de fondamentalisme, de militarisme et de fascisme, et le pouvoir des entreprises qui menacent nos vies et notre monde. Nous voulons un monde juste où le partage des ressources et celui du pouvoir permettront à chacun·e de s'épanouir.

Maryum Saifee (@msaifee), New York, USA    

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.

 “Dreams”

by Neesa Sunar (@neesasunar), Queens, USA

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 >

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.

She currently lives in Amsterdam where she works as the coordinator of the European Sex Workers’ Alliance.

Fun fact: she’s also a car mechanic and serious runner!

By Alejandra Laprea

What a difficult task, that of condensing all the power and diversity of voices being raised in Latin America to tell the other stories emerging in this vast territory, to speak of the feminist realities we are building in our movement and other community-based organizations.

I spent a long time trying to establish parameters for the search and selection of these films, with the idea that they  would enable you to get a little closer to so many dreams and projects that are slowly coming into being in the territories Nuestroamericanos, of our Americas, as we like to call them ourselves. It was a tough job trying to establish parameters, such as geographic location, linguistic justice, and representation of diverse communities — Indigenous, Afro-descendants, migrants  — and the many causes and claims for which they raise their voices. I arrived at the conclusion that making such a compilation would be the work of years, one of those projects always under construction.

And so I decided to search for works that have emerged out of organizing and activism, as well as films that will perhaps spark major debates that we are yet to have.

In this selection of films you will find the voices of filmmakers who are not content with simply recording the feminist realities that palpitate in every corner of this vast and diverse territory. These are works that from their very conceptualization are questioning for what, by whom, and how films and videos are made. They understand film to be an instrument of struggle,  something more than images to be enjoyed on a screen. These are individual or collective filmmakers who see film and video making as an instrument to promote discussion, open a debate, and thus serve as a resource for popular and feminist pedagogies.

Seen in this light, this small film selection is a journeythrough feminist realities on two levels; on one level are the stories you will see, and on another level, there is the experimentation of filmmakers who are seeking and creating other feminist realities through the ways in which they are making films and telling stories. 

Enjoy this journey through films that Resist, Create, and Transform.

Lima is Burning

Direction: Giovana García Soto
Docu-fiction
Spanish with English subtitles

In Lima is Burning our work plays with documentary and fiction to take us into the life of Gía, a non-binary person, who uses performance art as a tool to denounce and transgress, as a vital manifesto against transfobia in every space, including gays spaces. With Gía we also take a look at transfeminism as a safe community in which Gía feels embraced, where she shares feelings and affections. 

Giovana Garcia Sojo is a young peruvian audiovisual producer, specialized in low-budget production, creation for children and adolescents in cinema and cinematographic script by the International School of Cinema and Television - EICTV in San Antonio de Baños - Cuba. Giovana has developed her path as a director towards women and feminized identities, Lima is Burning is one of her first works.  

Yo, Imposible / Being Impossible 

Director: Patricia Ortega
Fiction
Spanish with English subtitles

Patricia Ortega, director of «Yo, Imposible» [“Being Impossible”] explores through the character of Ariel, a young girl whose  intersex body was surgically violated as a child, the many ways that society attempts to normalize sexual and gender diversity.

The film tells the story of how Ariel discovers she was born intersex and subjected to several surgeries to normalize her genitals. This discovery leads the character to rediscover her body and reconstruct her identity. The audience is led to question a society dominated by heteronormativity which renders others invisible and condemns them to a life of unhappiness. 

Patricia Ortega is a Venezuelan filmmaker living in Argentina who studied at the International School of Film and Television in Cuba, where she specialized in film directing. Patricia uses fiction to address extreme situations that women or feminized bodies go through, and how they overcome them.

«Yo, Imposible»' takes a position vis-à-vis the dominant conception of a world in which only the masculine and feminine exist, which makes others invisible. “They are not sick. They are just genetically different. Interventions are done on their genitals and bodies through hormones without their consent, which is a violation of their human rights and identity, forcing them to fit into established categories'' - Patricia Ortega

Cubanas, mujeres en revolución [Cuban Women in Revolution]

Director: Maria Torrellas Liebana
Documentary
Spanish with English subtitles

María Torrellas narrates the story of the Cuban Revolution through the women who brought it to life, Vilma Espín, Celia Sánchez, and Haydee Santamaría, among others.

For women, telling the story of the Cuban Revolution is not something of the past, but a daily struggle that Torrellas shows through the voices of Cuban rural women, professionals, students, and workers in the present. In “Cuban Women in Revolution” we encounter the current challenges facing Cuban women such as the persistence of old prejudices, new forms of violence, and the constant challenge of creating new feminist realities for themselves and the next generations in a territory besieged by USA imperialism for more than 70 years.

Maíia Torrellas

María Torrellas is a journalist and documentary filmmaker. She has a long trajectory of filmmaking and has won, among others, the Santiago Alvarez in Memoriam award for her documentary “Memoria de una hija de Oshun” [Memory of a Daughter of Oshun].

“In the documentary I have woven together the struggles of yesterday’s heroines with those of today’s women. The women tell their own stories and also describe those whose struggles they most admire. It made an impression on me to hear the words ‘The Revolution gave us everything’ or ‘What would have become of my family without the Revolution?’ from voices of compañeras who are poor, rural, or Black.” - María Torrellas

Serie documental Cuidanderas [Mini documentary series Women Healers/Carers]

Directors: Gabriela Arnal and Marzel Ávila for Fondo de Acción Urgente - LAC
Ecuador 2019
Spanish with English subtitles

CUIDANDERAS joins the words cuidar (to care for) and curanderas (women healers) synthesizing the identities of a series of women in Latin American territories, women who put their bodies and all their energy into protecting the Commons, what Pachamama gives us, with the commitment that we use it as wisely as the rest of living beings doThis mini series of documentary films presents the stories of three collectives of Latin American women who are committed to caring for their territories, healing their bodies, and confronting extractivist and racist projects in Ecuador, Colombia, and Bolivia.

GUARDIANAS DE LA AMAZONIA [GUARDIANS OF THE AMAZON]

Province of Orellana, Ecuador. For centuries the Waorani women have been engaged in a struggle for their territory in the Amazon and the preservation of their Indigenous culture. Today they confront threats by the oil industry and their death-production model. From the jungle, leaders from the Waorani Women’s Association of the Ecuadoran Amazon (AMWAE, in Spanish) share the motivation behind their resistance and show their greatest power: their inexhaustible joy.

COMADRES DEL PACÍFICO COLOMBIANO [BLACK SISTERHOOD OF THE PACIFIC]

Buenaventura, Colombia. In the largest and most violent port city in Colombia, plagued by decades of armed conflict, racism, and machismo, a group of women refuse to give in to fear and continue to resist in the face of adversity. The Butterflies with New Wings network is made up of Black women from the Pacific coast of Colombia who work together to protect their territory, recuperate their ancestral traditions, and heal the wounds of systematic and structural violence.

HERMANAS DEL ALTIPLANO [SISTERS OF THE HIGHLANDS]

Indigenous, rural, and regantes (women in charge of irrigation) in Bolivia are calling for the care and protection of bodies-earth-territories, as they are faced with an extractive production model which threatens their lives, health, physical and sexual integrity, and the survival of their communities and territories. The Network of Defenders of Mother Earth is made up of women from 12 Indigenous communities who are defending the right to water and denouncing mining companies’ violations of human rights and the rights of Nature while working to recuperate their ancestral ways of knowledge and practices of collective care.

“CUIDANDERAS, a combination of the words cuidar (to care for) and curanderas (women healers), presents the stories of Latin American women defenders who are caring for their territories and healing their bodies. The collective power of these women has changed the history of their communities in Ecuador, Colombia, and Bolivia as they confront extractivist and racist production models.”

Yo aborto, tú abortas, todxs callamos [I abort, you abort, we all keep silent]

Director: Carolina Reynoso
Argentina 2013
Spanish

If there is one thing that has marked feminist movements across the continent of Latin America that is the call for abortion to be made available, safe, and free. From North to South feminist movements are rising up and taking to the streets fighting for the liberation of our first territory, our bodies, which is why this selection must include a documentary on abortion to fully understand the power of the women of Nuestramérica.

Yo aborto, Tu Abortas, Todxs Callamos [I abort, you abort, we all keep silent] presents the stories of seven women from different social classes, including the director of the documentary herself, who reflect on something they have all experienced in their own bodies: clandestine abortion.  

Through their stories, the film aims to bust myths regarding the voluntary interruption of pregnancy, de-stigmatize the topic, and show one of the most common forms of violence in the Americas in a new light.

Carolina Reynoso

Director, researcher, and producer of feminist films. She is also a feminist activist who organizes workshops on screenwriting from a gender perspective so that more films are made showing other counterhegemonic realities and stories. Carolina Reynoso strikes a balance between activism and creation in each one of her works.

“We are a group of filmmakers who make documentaries in order to continue fighting to make abortion available, safe, and free in Argentina. The film presents the testimonies of seven women from different social classes, including the director of the documentary herself, who reflect on something they have all experienced in their own bodies: clandestine abortion.” -The filmmaking team

Historias Urgentes: Resistencia en ollas Comunes [Urgent Stories: Resistance in the Soup Kitchens]

Nosotras Audiovisuales, collective of Chilean women filmmakers
Chile 2020
Spanish

“Urgent Stories” is a series created by women to make their needs and important experiences visible to the people living in the territories that today comprise Chile. This film series aims to keep alive the flame ignited by the social uprising of October 2019, the flame ofChile in all its diversity that woke up and said, ‘Enough!’

«Resistencia en ollas comunes» [Resistance in the Soup Kitchens] is the first of these “Urgent Stories.” Through the voices of four women from Iquique, Valparaiso, Chillan and Santiago, it shows how by collectively assuming care work they are on the front lines of resistance, creating other feminist realities for themselves and the communities where Latin American women live.

Nosotras audiovisuales

This organization was formed in 2017 to link together women involved in the Chilean filmmaking scene. It helps women filmmakers to network, collaborate, and share information along with their works and perspectives on the field.

Nosotras Audiovisuales contributes to the Chilean uprising by documenting it and collectively generating new material.

Se trata de Mujeres [It’s about Women]

Micol Metzner
Argentina 2019
Spanish

Based on her personal experience, director Micol Metzner presents a film mixing documentary with fiction, aligning her filmmaker’s voice with that of thousands of women who have been victims of trafficking across the continent and showing how solidarity among women is the best form of protection.

Micol Metzner

Filmmaker trained at the Instituto de Arte Cinematográfico de Avellaneda [Avellaneda Institute of Film Arts]. Art director and editor. Metzner belongs to the Video Cluster of the City of Buenos Aires, a community space and multisectorial cooperative for independent projects.

She facilitates filmmaking workshops in working class neighbourhoods and spaces of enclosure (youth group homes and women’s prisons). She is a member of the film production house MVM.

“The production house MVM was born out of the necessity to express a lot of things that we regularly protest on the streets about while also doing it in a creative way through drawing, film, and photography.The production house MVM is a place that interrogates language, image, film from a feminist perspective. It is also a place for processing everything we have gone through and using art to make things sometimes to heal, sometimes to generate public debate as happened with this short film…I didn’t imagine that was going to happen, but when we showed  it,  a lot of things were set  in motion. Discussions happen that are even more enriching than the short film itself. That this can happen based on something we made is so good…” - Micol Metzner

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Bourse d'emploi communautaire

Êtes-vous à la recherche d'un emploi? L'un des avantages de rejoindre la Communauté de l'AWID est d'avoir accès à notre tableau d'offres d'emploi organisé par la communauté. Vous aurez l'occasion d'explorer de nouvelles opportunités et vous aurez également la possibilité de partager des postes vacants et des appels à propositions avec tous les membres.

Deseamos agradecer a las personas que hicieron aportes y fueron consultadas para la elaboración de este Manual:

• Angelika Arutyunova
• Cindy Clark
• Kamardip Singh
• Martin Redfern
• Pei Yao Chen
• Srilatha Batliwala
• Veronica Vidal

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  Descargar el manual en PDF

En Indonesia, la bunga [flor] está a menudo asociada a las mujeres. Esto significa que una flor también puede ser asociada a las mujeres transgénero, porque  las mujeres transgénero son mujeres. Son igual de bellas, igual de fuertes, y tanto las flores como las mujeres trans no viven solo esperando ser «recogidas», sino que crecen y florecen y mueren como quieren. Esta obra es un tributo a mis amigas mujeres transgénero, en el Día Internacional de la Visibilidad Transgénero.

Sobre Ika Vantiani