Organizing creatively, facing an increasing threat
Young feminist activists play a critical role in women’s rights organizations and movements worldwide by bringing up new issues that feminists face today. Their strength, creativity and adaptability are vital to the sustainability of feminist organizing.
At the same time, they face specific impediments to their activism such as limited access to funding and support, lack of capacity-building opportunities, and a significant increase of attacks on young women human rights defenders. This creates a lack of visibility that makes more difficult their inclusion and effective participation within women’s rights movements.
A multigenerational approach
AWID’s young feminist activism program was created to make sure the voices of young women are heard and reflected in feminist discourse. We want to ensure that young feminists have better access to funding, capacity-building opportunities and international processes. In addition to supporting young feminists directly, we are also working with women’s rights activists of all ages on practical models and strategies for effective multigenerational organizing.
Our Actions
We want young feminist activists to play a role in decision-making affecting their rights by:
Fostering community and sharing information through the Young Feminist Wire. Recognizing the importance of online media for the work of young feminists, our team launched the Young Feminist Wire in May 2010 to share information, build capacity through online webinars and e-discussions, and encourage community building.
Researching and building knowledge on young feminist activism, to increase the visibility and impact of young feminist activism within and across women’s rights movements and other key actors such as donors.
Promoting more effective multigenerational organizing, exploring better ways to work together.
Supporting young feminists to engage in global development processes such as those within the United Nations
Collaboration across all of AWID’s priority areas, including the Forum, to ensure young feminists’ key contributions, perspectives, needs and activism are reflected in debates, policies and programs affecting them.
Lorena Borjas, femme trans et activiste latino-américaine, travaillait et vivait dans le quartier de Jackson Heights dans le Queens, à New York. Dans ces rues, pendant des années, elle s’est occupée de sa communauté à plaider en faveur des droits des personnes trans et immigrées, soutenir les individus ayant survécu à la traite des êtres humains et à la maltraitance et défendre les droits des travailleures du sexe et des personnes vivant avec le VIH et le sida.
Lorena se battait avec force, sans relâche, afin d’aider, de défendre et de soutenir les personnes les plus marginalisées et discriminées par la transphobie, la misogynie et le racisme.
« Elle nous a poussé·e·s à briller avec authenticité, à devenir le cri subversif qui affirme “ je suis là et je mérite moi aussi d’être heureux·se ” » - Cecilia Gentili, activiste trans et ami·e de Lorena
Ayant elle-même fait face à de nombreux traumatismes et difficultés en tant qu'immigrée transgenre et victime de la traite des êtres humains, Lorena a puisé dans le puits de ses expériences des connaissances et d’une mémoire émotionnelle afin d'aider à construire et à renforcer la communauté dont elle faisait partie, et qui faisait partie d'elle. Pour ce faire, elle a notamment organisé et mobilisé des aides allant de la fourniture de préservatifs à la mise en relation de femmes trans avec différents services, en passant par la création d'une clinique de dépistage du VIH à son propre domicile.
« C’était une si belle âme qui aidait les autres alors que son parcours d’immigrée, et d’immigrée trans, était difficile et douloureux. Elle était convaincue que la communauté trans avait besoin d’amour, d’acceptation et de compassion, et elle a tout donné. » - Luchia Dragosh, superviseuse de production chez QPTV dans le cadre d’un documentaire sur Lorena
En plus de 25 ans d'activisme, elle a également fondé le Fonds communautaire Lorena Borjas avec Chase Strangio (avocat et activiste des droits des trans), qui aide les nombreux·ses membres de sa communauté (et en particulier les personnes trans) confronté·e·s aux problèmes d'immigration à éviter le cycle arrestation-prison-expulsion.
Lorena est décédée en mars 2020 des suites de complications liées à la COVID-19.
Son oeuvre, gigantesque et merveilleuse, sera poursuivie dans les rues du Queens par le réseau et la communauté qu’elle a cocréés.
« Nous reprendrons son travail là où elle l’a laissé, travail essentiel au bien-être de ses “ pajaras ” (oiselles), comme elle aimait appeler les filles trans du Queens qu’elle avait prises sous son aile. » - Cecilia Gentili
Hommages :
« Lorena nous a apporté de la lumière alors que nous vivions une période très sombre ici à New York. Elle nous a apporté sa lumière alors que nous faisions face à l’ ”épidémie de crack ”, à la crise du sida, aux changements dans les politiques d’immigration. » - Cristina Herrera, fondatrice et directrice générale de Translatina Network et amie de Lorena
« Lorena a fait plus que quiconque pour faire la lumière sur l’épidémie de traite dans les communautés transgenres et permettre à d’autres femmes trans d’échapper à l’exploitation. » - Lynly Egyes (a représenté Borjas pour le compte du Transgender Law Center)
AWID dedicó casi dos años al trabajo de identificar una sede para el Foro en la región Asia-Pacífico (la ubicación del Foro rota entre las distintas regiones).
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.
En nuestras visitas encontramos movimientos feministas locales impresionantemente vibrantes y diversos.
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).
Sopesamos las consideraciones de infraestructura con la oportunidad potencial de impulsar algunas agendas feministas a nivel nacional, y el contexto político nacional.
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.
El proceso ha sido una reflexión aleccionadora sobre el contexto increíblemente complicado para el activismo por los derechos de las mujeres y la justicia de género en todo el mundo.
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.
Teniendo en cuenta toda esta complejidad, AWID seleccionó Taipéi como ubicación para el Foro porque:
ofrece un cierto grado de estabilidad y seguridad para la diversidad de participantes que convocamos al Foro;
tiene también un alto nivel de capacidad logística, y resulta accesible para muchxs viajerxs (con la facilitación de un trámite de visa electrónico para conferencias internacionales); y
el Foro es bien recibido por el movimiento feminista local, que está muy interesado en interactuar con feministas de todo el mundo.
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!
Our values - esponsibility, Accountability, and Integrity
Responsibility, Accountability, and Integrity
We strive for transparency, responsible use of our resources, fairness in our collaborations and accountability and integrity with our members, partners, funders and the movements with(in) which we work. We are committed to reflecting on our experiences, sharing our learnings openly, and striving to change our practices accordingly.
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Voulez-vous vous inspirer des stratégies de résistance créatives des féministes du monde entier ? Souhaitez-vous découvrir des initiatives féministes qui nous montrent comment nous pouvons tou.te.s vivre dans un monde plus juste ? Voulez-vous en savoir plus sur les modèles de soins et de guérison féministes à apporter à votre propre communauté ? Est-ce un oui retentissant que nous entendons ? OUI!
Alors consultez Crear | Résister | Transform : un festival pour les mouvements féministes. Ce festival s'est déroulé virtuellement tout au long du mois de septembre 2021 sur toutes les plateformes de l'AWID, et vous pouvez désormais en faire l'expérience à votre rythme.
Les sessions ci-dessous sont pour vous et tou.te.s les incroyables militant.e.s féministes et de justice sociale que vous connaissez. Rassemblons-nous pour partager nos stratégies de résistance, co-créer de la magie féministe et transformer ce monde ensemble.
Rosane Santiago Silveira was affectionately known as Rô Conceição. A Brazilian environmental and human rights activist, she fervently fought to protect the environment where it was most threatened.
This included defending it on the island of Barra Velha, where it was endangered by oil exploration, as well as safeguarding it by campaigning against land-grabbing and expansion of eucalyptus plantations in Bahia State, where Rosane was a member of the Cassurubá Extractivist Reserve Council.
“Extractive Reserve is a protected area where resident families make their living off natural products extracted from the forest. These activities help maintain the forest integrity.” - Global Justice Ecology Project (original source: Rede Brasil Atual)
She was part of trade union activities, human rights and cultural movements. Rosane dedicated much of herself to causes that were not only close to her but are also of concern to land, forests, rivers, and communities whose rights and lives are continuously at risk.
She was tortured and murdered on 29 January 2019 in Nova Viçosa, a city in southern Bahia.
“Unfortunately, today there is a feeling of total insecurity, because of the State’s absence in prosecuting these crimes. We were with her at Christmas, and everyone realised that she was worried and now we know that she had received three death threats,” - Tuian, Rosane’s son in an interview with Rádio Brasil Atual (original source: Rede Brasil Atual)
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.
«Soy una maravilla... ¡Por lo tanto, he nacido de una madre! Cuando comienzo a balbucear, Mi vida ha sido como ninguna otra...» - Ayanda Denge (lee el poema completo más abajo)
Ayanda Denge fue unx mujer trans, trabajadorx sexual, activista, poeta. Era una xhosa de Puerto Elizabeth, en el Cabo Oriental de Sudáfrica. Después de viajar por diferentes ciudades del país, se mudó a Ciudad del Cabo.
Como comprometida y ferviente activista por la justicia social, luchó por los derechos de lxs trabajadorxs sexuales, de las personas trans y de quienes viven con VIH y SIDA. Era también conferencista motivacional para concientizar sobre el cáncer, y hacía campaña por viviendas sociales económicas, en especial, para la gente pobre y de clase trabajadora. Ayanda se erguía, alta como una montaña, contra los distintos y, a menudo, abusivos rostros de la discriminación.
«Ser transgénero no es una dosis doble, sino una dosis triple de estigmatización y discriminación. Te discriminan por tu identidad sexual, te discriminan por tu trabajo, y te discriminan por tu estatus de VIH.» - Ayanda Denge, 2016
Ayanda presidía la organización Sex Workers Education and Advocacy Taskforce (SWEAT) [ Grupo de Trabajo para la Educación y la Defensa de Trabajadorxs Sexuales], y trabajaba también como coordinadora de promoción comunitaria en Sisonke, un movimiento nacional de trabajadorxs sexuales de Sudáfrica.
«Desde nosotrxs, desde nuestra sede regional, hasta SWEAT, de la que integro la Junta Directiva, o hasta Sisonke, un movimiento de trabajadorxs sexuales de Ciudad del Cabo, todxs nos amalgamamos, tenemos un solo grito y es un grito que ha sido reconocido internacionalmente por lxs trabajadorxs sexuales internacionales. Queremos la descriminalización del trabajo sexual.» - Ayanda Denge, 2016
Vivía en la Ahmed Kathrada House, que estaba siendo ocupada por la campaña Reclaim the City [Recuperar la Ciudad] en favor de las viviendas sociales. En 2018, Ayanda fue elegida líder de la casa. El 24 de marzo de 2019 fue apuñalada en su habitación. El año anterior, otrx residente había sido asesinadx.
Reclaim the City señala una conexión entre la seguridad de lxs residentes de la casa, el corte del servicio de electricidad por parte del gobierno provincial, y el derecho humano al agua:
«No podemos separar la seguridad de las mujeres y de las personas LGBTQI que están viviendo en la casa ocupada de la negativa a reestablecer los servicios de electricidad y agua en la Ahmed Kathrada House por parte del gobierno de la Provincia del Cabo Occidental.
De noche, la casa está completamente oscura. Necesitamos luces para protegernos unxs a otrxs. Es como si la Provincia quisiera castigar a la gente pobre y de clase trabajadora, cuyo único crimen es necesitar un hogar. Si bien pueden estar en desacuerdo con nuestros motivos por ocuparla, deberían avergonzarse de priorizar la política en detrimento de la seguridad y la dignidad de lxs residentes de esta ciudad.
Descansa en paz, camarada Ayanda Denge. Te recordaremos mientras mantenemos viva la llama de la lucha por una vivienda decente y bien ubicada.»
Poema de Ayanda:
Soy una maravilla…
¡Por lo tanto, nací de una madre!
Cuando comienzo a balbucear,
Mi vida ha sido como ninguna otra.
Nacida en el dolor
Nutrida por la lluvia
Para mí ganar
Era vivir en un desagüe.
Mientras se me cae una lágrima
Me pongo de pie y empuño mi lanza.
Las voces hacen eco, no temas
Habrá desafíos dentro del año,
Desafíos de daño se ciernen sobre mí;
La comunidad aplaude porque asume que he ganado mi carrera;
Pero en realidad mi trabajo avanza a paso de tortuga;
De rodillas me inclino y pido gracia.
Porque el Señor
Es mi espada
Para recordar a la humanidad
Que Él brinda cordura.
¿Por qué Señor soy esta maravilla?
El Señor me responde con la lluvia y el trueno,
Por cuestionar a mi padre
Que tiene en el libro de los corderos
Un nombre llamado Ayanda.
Desde las calles mi vida nunca fue dulce
La gente que tenía que encontrar;
A veces yo nunca saludaba,
Aun a pesar de que tenía que comer;
Optaba por inclinarme
En lugar de sentarme
«Porque mi vida representa la de una flor de loto, ya que de las turbias y turbulentas aguas florecí para ser hermosa y fuerte...» - Ayanda Denge, mira y escucha
Tributos:
«Ayanda, quiero decirte que todavía eres una sobreviviente, en nuestros corazones y nuestras mentes. Te has ido, pero estás en todas partes, porque eres amor. Qué hermoso es ser amadx, y dar amor. Y Ayanda, ese es el regalo que nos has dado. Gracias por todo el amor, verdaderamente te necesitábamos. De ahora en adelante, te prometo que todxs nos comprometeremos a continuar la lucha a la que tanta energía y tiempo dedicaste. Y nos comprometeremos a buscar justicia por este horrible final de tu vida.» - transcripción de un mensaje en un tributo de despedida a Ayanda
«Ayanda era una activista por naturaleza. Sabía cuáles eran sus derechos y no le importaba pelear por los derechos de otrxs. Para mí, no fue una sorpresa que se involucrara en muchas organizaciones, y era sabido que era una persona de la gente. Ella representaba no solo los derechos de las personas LGBTI, representaba los derechos de todxs.» - hermana de Ayanda
Principles of Engagement
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.
“Where is the Money for Women’s Rights?" AWID’s WITM Toolkit (landing page intro) FR
Une nouvelle édition de la recherche Où est l'argent ? est en cours.
L’AWID propose la Boîte à outils « Où est l’argent pour les droits des femmes? » (« Where Is The Money for Women's Rights? », WITM) pour soutenir les individus et les organisations qui souhaitent mener leur propre recherche sur les tendances de financement en adaptant la méthodologie de recherche de l’AWID à une région, une question ou une population spécifique.
La Boîte à outils WITM de l’AWID est le produit de dix ans de recherches. La rméthologie WITM de l’AWID proposent une démonstration politique et pratique des ressources et des étapes qu’exige une solide recherche-action.
L’équipe 'Ressources des mouvements féministes' offre également un soutien technique et politique, avant et pendant le processus de recherche. Parcourez la boîte à outils et contactez fundher@awid.org si vous souhaitez plus de renseignements.
Является ли мое участие конфиденциальным?
Да. Ваши ответы будут удалены по окончании обработки и анализа данных и будут использованы исключительно в исследовательских целях. Данные НИКОГДА не будут переданы за пределы AWID и будут обрабатываться только сотрудниками AWID и консультантками(-тами), работающими с нами над проектом «Где деньги?». Для нас ваша конфиденциальность и безопасность– приоритет. С нашей политикой конфиденциальности можно подробно ознакомиться здесь.
