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.
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.
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.
Diakite estuvo activamente comprometida con la defensa de las mujeres en la vida política y pública de Mali.
Trabajó para apoyar la capacitación de candidatas electorales y habló en contra de la práctica de la mutilación genital femenina (MGF). Fue una firme defensora de la salud y los derechos reproductivos.
在您計劃將要在論壇上開展的活動時，請同時考慮如何為參加論壇提供資金支持。典型的費用支出包括：住宿、旅行、簽證、論壇註冊費等。
重要的是請注意，該論壇將有很多“開放空間”和學習、交流運動的機會，而正式會議的數量則少很多。（請參閱下面的“在籌款中如何描述我們的論壇”，以瞭解在您的宣傳中可使用的語言。）
首先聯繫您當前的資助者：最好的選擇始終是求助於當前的捐助者。
請確保提前準備：我們建議最晚在2020年初與這些資助方聯繫。許多支持女權組織的資助者為論壇旅行分配了一些預算。其他的資助方也可能將其囊括在續訂補助金中或包含在其他旅行基金裡。
如果貴組織有資助者，請告訴他們您想參加AWID論壇並學習、體驗、交流和建立網絡，即使您的活動還未被選中。為了能夠支持您的參與，您的捐助者需要提前了解此事，因此請立即告訴她們吧！（她們已經在決定將在2020年分配哪些資金）。
如果您目前沒有捐助者的支持或無法獲得論壇旅行的贈款，請考慮與新的捐助者聯繫。
各個資助方的申請截止日期和要求不盡相同，並且撥款審查過程可能需要數月的時間。如果您正在考慮申請新的資金，請盡快開始申請。
女權主義運動長期以來在資助我們自己的行動方面保持著創造力。以下是我們收集的一些想法，用於啟發不同的籌款方式：
想瞭解更多靈感，請參閱AWID正在進行的關於自主資源的系列文章，其中包括有關籌集參會資金的具體想法。(in English)
AWID正在努力使論壇成為一個真正的全球性聚會，保障來自不同運動、地區和年齡層的參會者都可以參與。鑑於此，AWID為參與者調集資源並提供有限數量的機會補助金，以幫助她們支付參加論壇的費用。
AWID的機會補助金將為部分論壇參與者和會議/活動的主持人提供支持。您可以在申請過程中指出是否要申請AWID機會補助金。我們無法保證您能否申請到，所以我們強烈建議您為自己參加會議和論壇尋求其他資助。
即使您已申請了AWID的機會補助金，我們仍鼓勵您繼續探索其他的選擇來資助您參加論壇。機會補助金的申請結果將在2020年6月結束之前得到確認。請記住，這些資源非常有限，我們無法為所有申請人提供支持。
當您與資助方或您自己的網絡聯繫時，這裡的一些示例信息可能會有所幫助。您可以隨時以對您有用的任何方式進行調整！
AWID論壇是一個聯合創建的女權運動空間，可激發參與者自身的行動積極性，並在多種權利和正義運動中加強與他人的聯繫。參與者可以從希望、能量和激進的想像力中汲取靈感，加深共享的分析和學習，建立跨領域的運動團結，以製定更加綜合的議程並推進聯合戰略。
我們的組織正在尋求資金參加論壇，以便與來自世界各地的其他活動家和運動聯繫在一起，加強我們的戰略並分享工作成果。我們受到過往參與者的啟發，她們描述了這場全球女權主義聚會的力量：
“在四天的時間裡……各種聲音交織在一起，形成了關於性別平等狀況的全球視角。當我說“全球”一詞時，我是指同時翻譯成七種不同的語言……”
“它提醒著我們，我們並不孤單。論壇提供了必要的途徑幫助我們將集體力量轉化為運動。無論是何種意識形態、身份或邊界，我們的力量都體現在我們的願景和對彼此的支持中。”
重要的是請注意，該論壇將有很多“開放空間”和學習、交流運動的機會，而正式會議的數量則少很多。儘管很多與會者不會參加正式的會議，但仍有寶貴的空間來學習、制定戰略和體驗女權運動在行動中的集體力量。
在計算花費以及思考需要募集多少款項時，最重要的是要考慮可能出現的成本。以下是要考慮的關鍵項目支出的示例：
該論壇不僅僅是一個四天的會議。它更為女權主義現實實踐的運動增強之旅提供了另一個驛站，該旅程早已開始也將在論壇結束後繼續。
Nous mettrons le site à jour avec les informations pertinantes le moment venu.
We take a position in solidarity with each other and diverse struggles for justice and freedoms. We strive to mobilize and strengthen collective action and practice meaningful ways of working with each other.
Née en 1928, Marceline était actrice, scénariste et réalisatrice.
En 2003, elle avait réalisé « La petite prairie aux bouleaux », mettant en vedette Anouk Aimée, ainsi que plusieurs autres documentaires. Survivante de l'holocauste, elle n'avait que quinze ans lorsque son père et elle furent arrêtés et envoyés dans des camps de concentration nazis. Les trois kilomètres qui la séparaient de son père à Auschwitz alors qu’elle-même était à Birkenau furent une distance insurmontable, décrite dans l’un de ses romans majeurs « Et tu n’es pas revenu ».
En parlant de son travail, elle a un jour déclaré: « Tout ce que je peux dire c’est que tout ce que je peux écrire, tout ce que je peux dévoiler, c’est à moi de le faire. »
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.
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).
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.
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.
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!
我們認為在亞太區域，台北最能讓我們為全球女性主義社群打造一個安全又可「造反」的空間。
即將召開的論壇與會者多元，台北提供了相當穩定與安全的環境。同時也具備穩健的勤務服務能力，方便許多旅客來往（提供國際論壇與會者便利的電子簽證流程）
當地的女性主義運動社群也歡迎論壇到來並積極與全球女性主義者串連。
الوقت المقدّر لتعبئة الاستطلاع هو 30 دقيقة.
Trabajamos por un mundo basado en la justicia social, ambiental y económica; y por la interdependencia, la solidaridad y el respeto. Trabajamos para desmantelar los sistemas de poder opresivo y contra todas sus manifestaciones, incluidos el patriarcado, los fundamentalismos, los militarismos, los fascismos y el poder corporativo que amenazan nuestras vidas y nuestro mundo. Queremos un mundo justo en el que los recursos y el poder sean compartidos en formas que permitan que todas las personas prosperen.
Elle faisait elle-même partie des 32 000 personnes déplacées par Tucuruí, un imposant barrage hydroélectrique, construit au Brésil sous la dictature militaire de 1964-1985.
En 2005, Dilma a été invitée à rejoindre le Mouvement des personnes affectées par les barrages (MAB) au Brésil et, en 2006, elle y a formé un collectif de femmes pour finir ensuite par devenir coordonatrice régionale du mouvement.
Évoquant son activisme, ses collègues racontent :
« Elle se distinguait très rapidement car elle n’avait jamais peur dans la lutte. »
Dilma vivait dans la localité rurale de Salvador Allenda, à 50 kilomètres de Tucuru. Elle a dédié sa vie à mieux protéger les communautés et les territoires affectés par la construction d’énormes projets. Elle était particulièrement préoccupée par l’impact de genre de ce type de projets et plaidait pour les droits des femmes.
Lors d’une réunion d’ordre national du MAB en 2011, Dilma évoqua les femmes affectées par les barrages, soulignant :
« Nous sommes les réelles Marias, guerrières, combattantes ici, nous nous confrontons au défi de la lutte quotidienne. »
Au cours des années suivantes, Dilma a organisé des groupes de terrain du MAB et travaillé avec les communautés pour former des coopératives paysannes qui permirent de mieux distribuer la nourriture au sein des communautés. Ensemble, elles ont amélioré la commercialisation de la pêche et développé un projet de citerne pour un accès à l’eau potable. Elle défendait aussi les agriculteurs·rices dont les terres étaient convoitées par les « grileiros » (personnes qui s’approprient les terres).
Le 22 mars 2019, à l’âge de 48 ans, Dilma, son mari et leur ami·e furent violemment assassiné·e·s. Ces trois meurtres s’inscrivirent dans une vague de violences en Amazonie contre les Movimento dos Trabalhadores Sem (mouvements des travailleurs·ses sans terre) et les activistes écologistes et autochtones.
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.
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?
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.
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
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.
< United against the violence, by Karina Ocampo
Freeing the Church, Decolonizing the Bible for West Papuan Women, by Rode Wanimbo >
Если по какой-либо причине вы хотите, чтобы ваш ответ был отозван и удален, вы имеете на это право. Пожалуйста, свяжитесь с нами через форму здесь, указав «Опрос «Где деньги?»» в качестве заголовка вашего сообщения, и мы удалим ваш ответ.
Le Forum de l’AWID n’est qu’une étape dans l’aventure des Réalités féministes. Parcourons ce chemin ensemble et explorons notre pouvoir en action !
Carol Thomas was a trailblazer for women’s sexual and reproductive rights in South Africa. A gifted gynecologist and founder of the WomenSpace, she practiced and advocated for non-traditional ways of delivering healthcare to women, offering services that were high quality, empathetic and accessible.
“She entered into not only the joy of pregnancies and new babies, but the anxieties of infertility and premature deliveries and female cancers, the heartbreak of miscarriages and stillbirths.” Helen Moffett
Carol thought in new paradigms that centered the needs of women with the least access to services and rights in society:
“The prevailing socio-economic environment that we find ourselves in means that women bear a disproportionate burden of disease and unemployment…As a black, previously disadvantaged woman I have a good sense of what is happening in our communities.” - Carol Thomas
Carol’s innovative and multi-award-winning social venture “iMobiMaMa” used mobile kiosks and interactive technology to connect women directly with antenatal and reproductive health services, information and support in communities all over South Africa.
Carol supported women both in wanted and unwanted pregnancies, mentoring many nurses and doctors during her lifetime.
She was also described as the go-to gynecologist “for trans folks who could have affirming care. She got it right when so many did not have the language or pronouns. Her warm blankets, listening and saying just what you needed to hear was so comforting.” -Marion Lynn Stevens
Carol Thomas was described as being at the height of her professional career when she died on 12 April 2019 of complications following a double lung transplant.
The tributes that poured in following her unexpected death referred to her as many things:
“a role model, warrior woman, innovator, dynamic leader, mould-breaker, dynamo, brilliant scientist, compassionate doctor.”
Undoubtedly, Carol Thomas will be remembered and honored for being all of this and much more.
