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
Qual é a definição de financiamento externo?
Financiamento externo inclui subsídios e outras formas de financiamento de fundações filantrópicas, governos, financiadores bilaterais, multilaterais ou empresariais, e doadores individuais, tanto a nível nacional como internacional. Não inclui recursos gerados autonomamente por grupos, organizações e/ou movimentos, como, por exemplo, quotas de membres, contribuições voluntárias de colaboradores, membres e/ou apoiantes, angariações de fundos comunitários, aluguer de espaços ou venda de serviços. Para facilitar a consulta, estão incluídas no inquérito definições dos diferentes tipos de financiamento e descrições resumidas de diferentes doadores.
Ayant co-fondé le réseau Red de Mujeres Ixiles de Nebaj, une organisation de défense des droits des femmes autochtones, membre de l’Initiative mésoaméricaine des femmes défenseur-e-s des droits humains (IM-Defensoras en espagnol), Juana était actuellement membre de son conseil d’administration.
Elle était également sage-femme et mère de 7 enfants. Juana avait reçu des menaces de mort qui avaient été signalées au bureau du procureur. Juana est la troisième défenseure autochtone assassinée dans la région en 2018. L'Ombudsman pour le Guatemala a signalé qu'au total 20 défenseur-e-s ont été tué-e-s dans le pays cette année.
Juana Ramírez Santiago a été abattue par des assaillants non identifiés alors qu'elle traversait un pont à Nebak, Quiché, au Guatemala. Les enquêtes visant à identifier les auteurs sont en cours.
Snippet FEA Unfair Policies (FR)
LES POLITIQUES INJUSTES
Become a member (homepage block) - French
Pourquoi rejoindre l’AWID ?
Oeuvrez pour le renforcement des mouvements pour les droits des femmes et contribuez aux transformations en faveur des droits humains.
لغتي ليست واحدة من لغات الاستطلاع الرسمية ولدي صعوبة بتعبئته. ماذا يمكن أن أفعل؟
تلتزم جمعية حقوق المرأة في التنمية بالعدالة اللغوية ونأسف على عدم توفر الاستطلاع بلغات أخرى في الوقت الحالي. إن كنتم/ن بحاجة لدعم من مترجم/ة أو أردتم/ن تعبئة الاستطلاع بأي لغة أخرى، الرجاء الكتابة لنا عبر البريد الالكتروني: witm@awid.org
Diakite was actively involved in advocating for women in political and public life in Mali.
She worked to support training of women candidates in elections, and spoke out against the practice of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM). She was a strong proponent of reproductive health and rights.
Snippet FEA Striking against all odds (EN)
Striking against all odds: the story of Solidarity Network’s unprecedented win.
In January 2022, the Solidarity Network organized a strike with 400 workers. Their main demand? To increase wages. The strike was called following months of unsuccessful talks with the Georgian Ministry of Social Affairs as part of a labor dispute.
After weeks of protesting, negotiating, speaking to the media, withstanding backlash, and enduring the blistering cold of Georgian winter, the workers won unprecedented concessions from the government: wage increase, paid maternity leave, the covering of transportation costs, no lay-offs, compensation for strike days, and more.
The strike did not only result in material gains, it also left the workers feeling united and empowered to stand up for themselves and fight for dignified working conditions now and in the future. They became a source of inspiration for all workers across the country.
Expand your boundaries. AWID members increasingly represent a diverse and vibrant cross-section of feminists working on land rights, workers’ rights, sexual rights and bodily autonomy, among other issues. By joining us as a member, you can connect your struggles across movements.
I pray with my family for the first time in six years while wrapped in a keffiyah I scavenged from a dumpster.
Since coming into myself, I have refused to pray in jamaat with my family. Joining in the ranks of hierarchy, “women” behind “men” irks me. It grates my skin and teeth to the degree where I can’t focus, and the standing, bowing, and kneeling feels like a battle against my true being. Each second listening, a betrayal of my nature. Instead, I pray by myself in my own way.
Yet this Ramadan, I feel different. Back in my childhood home after many years, I am choosing to fast. I choose suhoor with my family, and praying together feels like a natural extension of eating together. After eating, my mother, father, brother and I line up for fajr.
I pray behind Baba, but my prayer is my own. I close my eyes, staying with my breath and my body.
My eyes closed, I open my inner sight to a wide open window on a vista of mountains, bright sun spreading over a light mist of clouds. This was the view I had while praying in jamaat at a queer Muslim wedding I attended in the mountains of the South of France last September.
I lined up with the wedding guests, queer and trans folks of North and West African, Arab, and European descent. Folks of all faiths joined while some chose to stand in respect at the sides or behind. The groups did not fall along fault lines of “Muslim” or “non-Muslim,” “religious” or “non religious.” The two lovers marrying each led us in prayer, and so did the Muslim woman officiating the nikkah. Each of the three led us in two rounds of prayers, two raqat.
I showed up as I was, my body uncovered. I had not washed. I only passed my camera to a friend who chose to stand at the side.
In the first sujood, I broke down crying. I wore a jean dress that loves my body, one found at a thrift store my ex-girlfriend pointed me to.
The sobs come through my whole body during the prayer, and I put my head to the earth with my community like a homecoming. A return to the embrace of love both intensely personal and communal, and I am held.
It feels like swimming in the sea with multiple people: joyful togetherness. But when you go beneath the water, it’s just you and the current.
Like a dozen people buried in the same graveyard. Separate, but sharing the same soil. Becoming one with the growing earth.
That was how it felt to pray in communion at a queer Muslim wedding.
I welcomed the light of acceptance while showing up as myself that day, with a group of people who had also chosen to claim all the parts of themselves in love. That light made a home in me, and it illuminates my heart in the dark living room at fajr this Ramadan morning. Though I pray with my birth family who do not accept all of me, I see myself praying in jamaat at that glorious wedding with all of my queer Muslim ancestors, my queer angels, my lineage, my soul family, my queer Muslim family, all standing in prayer. Bowing as one.
My family’s home does not always feel like my own, though I am here now. I take the bukhoor from room to room, barefoot. Smolder from the censer, an incense that says, “Here I am.” Baraka, blessings from the source of all, Allah and the Goddess to each room in the house, bidding good and dispersing the unbidden.
As I write this the sky turns the same royal blue I am familiar with from exiting the club and pulling all-nighters. It is the gradient of morning I step into as I go to sleep.
Word meanings:
Ramadan: the Muslim holy month, traditionally observed with 29 days of fasting without food or water during daylight hours
Keffiyah: a patterned scarf common in the SWANA region. The black and white version referred to here is associated with the Palestinian liberation movement
Pray in jamaat: Islamic ritual prayer in a group. Participants follow one person, traditionally male, who calls the prayer aloud.
Suhoor: the meal before the fast starts at dawn
Fajr: the dawn prayer
Baba: father
Raqat: one round of prayer consisting of standing, bowing, kneeling, and pressing the head to the ground
Sujood:the prayer position when one presses one’s head to the earth
Nikkah: the religious marriage ceremony
Bukhoor: an Arabic incense, woodchips soaked in resin
Pictures of angels in my life, just some women and non-binary people of color hanging out, taking care of themselves and expressing love to each other. It's these simplest moments that are the most empowering.
Andaiye in Swahili means ‘a daughter comes home’. Born Sandra Williams on 11 September 1942 in Georgetown, Guyana, she changed her name to ‘Andaiye’ in 1970 as the Black Power movements swept her country and the wider Caribbean region.
Andaiye was seen as a transformative figure on the frontlines of the struggles for liberation and freedom. She was an early member and active in the leadership of the Working People’s Alliance (WPA), a socialist party in Guyana which fought against authoritarian rule and continued throughout her life to focus on justice for the working-class and rural women’s rights and on bridging ethnic barriers between Indo and Afro-Guyanese women.
Andaiye was a founding member of Red Thread Women, an organization that advocated for women’s care work to be fairly remunerated, worked at the University of the West Indies and with CARICOM. Never afraid to challenge governments, she pointed out gender imbalances in state boards, laws that discriminated against sex workers, called for abortion rights in Jamaica and spoke out against trade agreements such as the Caribbean Single Market and Economy (CSME) that allowed for the free movement of women domestic migrant workers but did not give their children the same rights.
Andaiye published several scholarly essays, wrote newspaper columns and also edited the last books of Walter Rodney, the Guyanese political activist and fellow WPA leader, who was assassinated in 1980. A cancer survivor, Andaiye was one of the founders of the Guyana Cancer Society and the Cancer Survivors’ Action Group. She also served on the executive of the Caribbean Association for Feminist Research and Action (CAFRA), as a Director of Help and Shelter and as Board Member of the Guyana National Commission on Women. She received a number of awards, including the Golden Arrow of Achievement in Guyana (the fourth highest national award).
Andaiye passed away on 31 May 2019 at the age of 77. The subsequent tributes that flowed in from activists, friends and those inspired by her life spoke eloquently to her amazing legacy and her beautiful humanity.
Here are but a few:
“Andaiye had a profound effect on me...she was so many things, an educator, fighter, she taught me to be self-critical, to think more clearly, she taught me about survival, about incredible courage, about compassion, about going beyond external appearances and treating people as people and not being distracted by status, class, race...anything.” - Peggy Antrobus, Feminist Activist, Author, Scholar, Barbados
“The kind of confident idealism Andaiye expressed, this willingness to confront the world and a stubborn belief that you could actually change it... That politics of hope...How else to honour her life, legacy and memory but to keep doing the work ethically and with ongoing self-critique? And to put women’s caring work at the center of it.” - Tonya Haynes, Barbados
“I can hear her quip at our collective keening. So through the tears I can laugh. Deep bows to you beloved Andaiye, thank you for everything. Love and light for your spirit’s journey. Tell Walter and all the ancestors howdy.” - Carol Narcisse, Jamaica
La Organización Sindical de Trabajadoras del Sexo (OTRAS) es el primer sindicato de trabajadoras del sexo de la historia de España. Nació de la necesidad de garantizar los derechos sociales, legales y políticos de las trabajadoras sexuales en un país donde los movimientos de extrema derecha están cada vez más fuertes.
Después de años de luchas contra el sistema legal español y los grupos abolicionistas del trabajo sexual que solicitaron su cierre, OTRAS finalmente obtuvo su estatus legal como sindicato en 2021.
¿Su objetivo? Despenalizar el trabajo sexual y garantizar condiciones y entornos de trabajo dignos para todxs lxs trabajadorxs sexuales.
El sindicato representa a más de 600 trabajadorxs sexualxs, muchxs de lxs cuales son inmigrantes, racializadxs y sexo/genero disidentes.
Our values - bodily autonomy
Autonomía corporal, integridad y libertades
Celebramos el derecho de todas las personas a elegir sus identidades, relaciones, metas, trabajos, sueños y placeres, y lo que hacen con su mente, cuerpo y espíritu. Trabajamos por el acceso a los recursos, a la información, y a ambientes seguros y habilitantes que permitan que esto suceda.
