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Protection of the Family

The Issue

Over the past few years, a troubling new trend at the international human rights level is being observed, where discourses on ‘protecting the family’ are being employed to defend violations committed against family members, to bolster and justify impunity, and to restrict equal rights within and to family life.

The campaign to "Protect the Family" is driven by ultra-conservative efforts to impose "traditional" and patriarchal interpretations of the family, and to move rights out of the hands of family members and into the institution of ‘the family’.

“Protection of the Family” efforts stem from:

  • rising traditionalism,
  • rising cultural, social and religious conservatism and
  • sentiment hostile to women’s human rights, sexual rights, child rights and the rights of persons with non-normative gender identities and sexual orientations.

Since 2014, a group of states have been operating as a bloc in human rights spaces under the name “Group of Friends of the Family”, and resolutions on “Protection of the Family” have been successfully passed every year since 2014.

This agenda has spread beyond the Human Rights Council. We have seen regressive language on “the family” being introduced at the Commission on the Status of Women, and attempts made to introduce it in negotiations on the Sustainable Development Goals.


Our Approach

AWID works with partners and allies to jointly resist “Protection of the Family” and other regressive agendas, and to uphold the universality of human rights.

In response to the increased influence of regressive actors in human rights spaces, AWID joined allies to form the Observatory on the Universality of Rights (OURs).  OURs is a collaborative project that monitors, analyzes, and shares information on anti-rights initiatives like  “Protection of the Family”.

Rights at Risk, the first OURs report, charts a map of the actors making up the global anti-rights lobby, identifies their key discourses and strategies, and the effect they are having on our human rights.   

The report outlines “Protection of the Family” as an agenda that has fostered collaboration across a broad range of regressive actors at the UN.  It describes it as: “a strategic framework that houses “multiple patriarchal and anti-rights positions, where the framework, in turn, aims to justify and institutionalize these positions.”

 

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Tendencias anti-derechos en los sistemas regionales de derechos humanos

Chapter 6

En la Comisión Africana y en el Sistema Interamericano, los actores antiderechos impulsan nociones esencialistas de cultura y género para impedir el avance de los derechos y socavar las responsabilidades. Como vemos, los actores anti-derechos están ejerciendo su influencia sobre los sistemas regionales de derechos humanos, así como en los espacios internacionales.

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La Comisión Africana de Derechos Humanos y de los Pueblos ha comenzado a definir a los derechos sexuales y de las mujeres como un menoscabo a su capacidad de ocuparse de los «derechos reales» y como contrarios a los «valores africanos», con lo cual se establece un precedente anti-derechos preocupante. La anulación del estatus de observador de la Coalición de Lesbianas Africanas es un ejemplo de esta tendencia y muestra la forma en que el espacio para el involucramiento feminista panafricanista está siendo restringido.

En la Organización de Estados Americanos (OEA) y en el Sistema Interamericano de Protección de los Derechos Humanos, las estrategias anti-derechos incluyen la oenegización de grupos religiosos, la utilización de discursos seculares, y la cooptación de marcos de discriminación. La influencia antiderechos se ha materializado de diversas maneras, que incluyen la intimidación de activistas trans y la obstrucción de la introducción de lenguaje progresista en las resoluciones.

Índice de contenidos

  • Silenciamiento de feministas en el Sistema Africano de Derechos Humanos
  • Grupos anti-derechos en América Latina: Asamblea General de la Organización de Estados Americanos (OEA) y el Sistema Interamericano de Protección de los Derechos Humanos

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Fahmida Riaz

« Après
Après l’amour la première fois,
Nos corps et nos esprits nus
Une galerie des glaces,
Complètement désarmés, absolument fragiles,
Nous nous couchons dans les bras de l’autre
Respirant attentivement,
Avec la crainte de briser
Ces figurines en cristal. » - Fahmida Riaz

Fahmida Riaz a brisé les tabous sociaux en écrivant sur le désir des femmes dans ses poèmes, créant des récits alternatifs à propos du corps des femmes et de leur sexualité, et établissant de nouveaux standards dans la littérature urdu.

Son travail s’est confronté à de sévères critiques de la part des conservateurs, qui l’ont accusée d’utiliser des expressions érotiques et « pornographiques » dans son langage poétique.  

Fahmida a finalement été mise sur liste noire et accusée de sédition en vertu de l’article 124A du Code pénal pakistanais sous la dictature de Zia-ul-Haq. Forcée à l’exil en 1981, elle a passé presque sept ans en Inde avant de retourner au Pakistan. 

Dans la préface de « Badan Dareeda » (Un corps ravagé), un recueil de poèmes publié en 1974, elle écrit :

Si, en effet, je suis forcée à me tenir aujourd’hui devant ce maqtal et me confronte à la potence, je dois y faire face, la tête haute. Mes poèmes sont la trace d’une tête mutilée : des sons émanant même lorsque suspendue par des cordes… Un corps ravagé a pris la forme de razmia, ou  d’un son de rupture. Et si cette rupture est effectivement choquante pour les gens, c’est que la poète a atteint son intention : elle a réussi à la perturber. (traduction de l’urdu vers l’anglais par Asad Alvi) 

La splendeur de Fahmida résidait dans sa défiance de toute logique ou toute catégorie particulière de genre, nation, religion ou culture. Elle refusait d’être mise dans le rôle d’une « femme poète », brisant les définitions traditionnelles de la poésie féminine, des concepts et des thématiques (variant entre conscience politique, corps, culture, désir, religion, foyer), et renversant les inhibitions assignées à son genre.   

« Il faut que vous compreniez que la culture ne peut avoir d’essence. Les cultures changent, circulent entre elles, formant de nouvelles cultures. La culture est née de cette façon. Il n’y a pas de conflits de cultures. »

Fahmida a écrit plus de 15 livres de poésie et de fiction, dont son poème ‘Taaziyati Qaraardaaden’ («Résolutions de condoléances» en anglais) qui pourrait servir d'hommage approprié à sa vie et à son héritage et de collection de poèmes (Apna Jurm To Saabit He «Mon crime est prouvé») publié en 1988 durant son exil.

Fahmida Riaz est née à Meerut, en Inde, le 28 juillet 1946 et est décédée le 21 novembre 2018 à Lahore, au Pakistan. 

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Queremos agradecer al colectivo Amar.ela de mujeres feministas activistas y creativas que hicieron posible esta serie, y especialmente a Natalia Mallo (el pulpo del equipo) por su apoyo y acompañamiento en este viaje.

También extendemos nuestro más profundo agradecimiento y admiración a todos los colectivos y personas que participaron en este proyecto, y les agradecemos por compartir su tiempo, sabiduría, sueños e ilusiones con nosotrxs. Les agradecemos por hacer de este mundo un mundo más justo, feminista y sostenible.

Esperamos que sus historias inspiren al resto del mundo tanto como nos inspiran a nosotrxs.

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Sylvia Rivera

Sylvia Rivera was a civil rights activist, a transvestite and sex worker.

Known as the New York Drag queen of color, Silvia was fierce and tireless in her advocacy, in defense of those who  were marginalized and excluded as the “gay rights” movement mainstreamed in the United States in the early 1970’s.

In a well-known speech on Christopher Street Day in 1973, Sylvia, shouted through a crowd of LGBT community members: 

“You all tell me, go and hide my tail between my legs.
I will no longer put up with this shit.
I have been beaten.
I have had my nose broken.
I have been thrown in jail.
I have lost my job.
I have lost my apartment.
For gay liberation, and you all treat me this way?
What the fuck’s wrong with you all?
Think about that!” 

In 1969, at age 17, Silvia took part in the iconic Stonewall Riots by allegedly throwing the second Molotov cocktail to protest the police raid of the gay bar in Manhattan. She continued to be a central figure in the uprisings that followed, organizing rallies and fighting back police brutality.

In 1970, Sylvia worked together with Marsha P. Johnson to establish Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (S.T.A.R.), a political collective and organisation that would set up projects of mutual support for trans people living on the streets, those struggling with drug addiction and in prisons and in particular for trans people of color and those living in poverty. 

Defiant of labels, Silvia lived life in a way that challenged people in the gay liberation movement to think differently. She said: 

“I left home at age 10 in 1961. I hustled on 42nd Street. The early 60s was not a good time for drag queens, effeminate boys or boys that wore makeup like we did. Back then we were beat up by the police, by everybody. I didn't really come out as a drag queen until the late 60s. when drag queens were arrested, what degradation there was. I remember the first time I got arrested, I wasn't even in full drag. I was walking down the street and the cops just snatched me. People now want to call me a lesbian because I'm with Julia, and I say, "No. I'm just me. I'm not a lesbian." I'm tired of being labeled. I don't even like the label transgender. I'm tired of living with labels. I just want to be who I am. I am Sylvia Rivera. 

Through her activism and courage, Sylvia offered a mirror that reflected all that was wrong within society, but also the possibility of transformation. Sylvia was born in 1951 and passed away in 2002. 

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Investissement à impact de genre et émergence de fausses solutions :

une analyse pour les mouvements féministes

L'investissement à impact de genre est désormais considéré comme une solution contre les inégalités de genre. Et pourtant, comme le montre notre rapport, il fait partie du problème. Les institutions publiques et privées en font la promotion en tant que moyen pour parvenir à l'égalité de genre et pour accroître les ressources des femmes et des filles.

Mais en aucun cas, ces affirmations ne sont étayées par des preuves.

Au contraire, l’investissement à impact de genre constitue plutôt une nouvelle version de vies et de sociétés soumises à une même logique financière, qui continue de façonner les profondes inégalités de notre monde.

Avec ce rapport, l'AWID offre aux lecteurs·rices - féministes, défenseur·euse·s de la justice de genre et autres parties prenantes de l'investissement à impact de genre - une analyse critique et des preuves étayées pour comprendre l’investissement à impact de genre, ses récits et les implications économiques et politiques qu’il a pour les mouvements féministes.

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Watch the "Where is the Money?" Webinar now.

On July 11, 2024, we had an amazing conversation with great feminists on the state of the funding ecosystem and the power of "Where is the Money?" research.

Special thanks to Cindy Clark (Thousand Currents), Sachini Perera (RESURJ), Vanessa Thomas (Black Feminist Fund), Lisa Mossberg (SIDA), and Althea Anderson (Hewlett Foundation).

Remember, the survey will remain open until August 31st, 2024!

Watch here! 

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A Joy to the World: Six Questions with Naike Ledan

Interviewed by Chinelo Onwualu

Decorative Element


Naike Ledan Portrait

Naike Ledan is a social justice defendant, a committed feminist that brings forward 20 years of experience in human rights and health justice advocacy, women’s empowerment, the fight for universal access to basic services and social inclusion, as well as civil society capacity building. She has built extensive work in Canada, West and southern Africa, as well as in Haiti, in civil rights advocacy, capacity building for CSOs, while emphasising the social determinants of structural exclusion. She values the principles of shared leadership, anticolonial, anti-oppressive, and anti-patriarchal spaces. 

Article Cover for A Joy to the World: Six Questions with Naike Ledan

Chinelo You’re billed as a trans rights activist; I’m curious about how you made that journey.

Naike So, I grew up in Haiti until I was 18, then I lived in Montreal for 19 years. Coming back to Haiti in 2016, I thought I would be coming back home, but the place had changed and I had to readjust. I did not necessarily reconnect in the way that I’d expected to with childhood family and friends. I came back as an expat with a comfortable work situation, and I felt very much like a foreigner for a very long time. And at the same time, I felt very much at home because of the language, the understood silence, the not having to explain when we start singing a commercial – you know, that thing we share, that energy, that space, that spirit.

My return to self-love – I would call “rebirth” – coinciding with giving birth to my first child, giving birth to myself, and falling in love with my queerness or same-gender lovingness. (Photo credit: Naike Ledan)

What helped me was, I loved the work of going into the country and documenting people’s knowledge. So I left the comfort. I became a country director of a regional organisation that was queer as fuck! Most of my work was to find resources and build the capacity of civil society. My strategy was to go into the countryside, look for all these little organizations, help build their capacity, and fund them. I was not interested in politicians and shaking hands and taking pictures . I had a very good ally, Charlot Jeudy – the [queer] activist that got killed three years ago in his house. We got very close after an Afro-queer film festival we were planning got banned in Haiti. But it made a lot of noise and sparked conversations about queerness everywhere, so Charlot introduced me to every little CSO in every little corner of the country. And I would just be there to help organisation[s] with registering legally or building their strategic plan. So it’s been a lot of these kinds of work that made me a queer activist and by extension, a trans activist. Although I don’t call myself that – an activist. It’s such a loaded word, you know? And it’s something people call you. I think I’m just a lover and a fighter .

Chinelo Tell me about the workshop you conducted with AWID for the festival. What was it about and what was the context?

My deep self awareness during my childhood years and my engagement in questioning inequalities and injustice at a very very young age (+/- 4 years old). (Photo credit: Naike Ledan)

Naike International media doesn’t really talk about Haiti, but with a political environment that is as bad as ours, the economic environment is even more catastrophic. Being a more middle class Haitian, speaking different languages, having different passports, I was initially hesitant to take the space. But I often see myself as a bridge more than someone that would talk about themself. That is how I came to invite Semi, who is a brilliant young trans woman from outside Port-au-Prince, to take the space to talk for herself and walk us through the ecosystem of the realities for trans women in Haiti. We ended up building a session about uninclusive feminism – or, I would say, formal feminist spaces – and how trans girls in Haiti do not have spaces where they can contribute to women’s knowledge and sharing of women’s realities. So the AWID festival was the opportunity for me to give the space to the women who should have it. We had a wonderful time; we had wine online while hosting the conversation. My co-facilitator, Semi, shared what it is like to be a trans child/girl/woman at different stages of her life. She also shared the dangers of the street, of poverty, of exclusion, of “not passing,” and her victories as well.

Chinelo What is the relationship of trans women to feminist organizations in Haiti? What has been your experience with that?

Naike It’s been really hard – heartbreaking, actually – the experience of trans women in Haiti. From not existing at all to just being extremely sexualized. The other thing that’s been happening is how they’re being killed, and how those killings have gone unreported in the media. This is how non-existent, how erased trans women are. They’re everywhere but not in job settings, not in feminist settings, not in organizational settings. Not even in LGBT organizations. It’s only recently, and because of a lot of advocacy push, that some of these organization are kind of readjusting, but in feminist spaces, this is still out of the question. We are still having to deal with the old exclusionary discourse of “They’re not women. Of course, if they can pass…” The culture of passing, it’s a risk management conversation – how much you pass and how much you don’t pass and what it means for your body and the violence it inflicts. In the trans-exclusionary realities we live in, which are reproduced in a lot of feminist spaces, those that pass completely may be considered girls, but only to a certain extent. But how about falling in love, how about having a conversation, how about being in the closet, how about wanting a certain aesthetic, or a career? So really, the conversation about hormone therapy becomes about risk reduction, as Semi herself shared at the workshop. But we don’t have the option of hormone therapy, we don’t have the medical framework nor the system to support those who would like to pursue that option.

Chinelo When you talk about the way that trans people and queer people are thought of in society, it sounds like it might be similar to Nigeria, which can be a deeply homophobic environment.

Naike Haiti is a very complex country in a very beautiful way. Nothing is simple, you know, nothing is ever one way. Haitians are very tolerant – and they’re also very homophobic. You’re going to find regions in the countryside where people aren’t that homophobic at all because all the Vodou temples there, and this is a religion that respects life. One basic principle of the Vodou religion is that all children are children. So, there is no right or wrong in the religion. For the longest time, people thought of Haiti as a haven, a place where people are tolerant – we’re talking 70s, 80s, pre-HIV, 90s even. Then you had the earthquake [in 2010] where around 300,000 people died. And then all this money came from the south of the US through the Evangelicals to rebuild the country and find Jesus. So, the homophobia in Haiti is very recent. In the depth, in the heart of the soul of the culture, I cannot really say that it is homophobic. But in the everyday life, it surely lands on the skin of queer people, that violence. And that of women, of poor women, of dark women as well, because colorism runs deep in the Caribbean.

Chinelo How have you managed this? What’s been your strategy for survival?

My return to Haiti as part of my decolonizing process, and choosing to physically position my senses and my family’s senses to magic and blackness uncompromisingly. (Photo credit: Naike Ledan)

Naike I’m really in love with my work. I love working. When I first arrived, I was working with this horrible NGO but I was doing amazing work. I was always in the countryside, conversing and learning from people, from women. And that filled my heart for so long because I’m very much in love with my culture, with black people, with black women – old black women, black babies. It just fills me up in a spiritual way. When we were in Canada my kids were in these all-white schools and tokenized. They did not speak Creole nor French. And now, they’re running free in the yard and starting to fight in Creole. I also found hubs of survival with the people I met. I created bonds with the queers and others who were weirdos like me and it’s been really wonderful. But now I’m struggling because I don’t feel safe in Haiti anymore. We have about 40 kidnappings per week in Port-Au-Prince – and it’s been like that since 2018. I’ve developed anxiety and panic attacks. So It’s time to go, and I’ve been asking myself, “where is home?” I spent 19 years in Montreal but I never felt at home there. When I left, I never missed it so I don’t want to go back. I’ve been crying a lot lately because it feels like entering a second exile.

Chinelo What’s your relationship to pleasure, leisure, and rest?

Naike My relationship with pleasure, leisure, and rest are for me one and the same. It is the lived moment when I indulge in the heat of the sun on my face for example. It is pleasure, leisure, and rest at the same time.

Pleasure: My go-to space, most solely a haven of celebration of myself. I reserve myself the power and the right to be loud or quiet in the enjoyment of the pleasure I experience. All the pleasure I viciously and abundantly indulge in, including and not limited to the pleasure of solitude and silence.

Leisure: biking, music festivals, eating, wine discoveries, dancing in Haitian traditional Vodou dances are amongst many that occur at the moment.

Rest: is what I live for. As an overachiever and a person that is literally in love with work, it is a paradox how lazy I am. No one knows that because all of what the world sees is this: an accomplished overworker. They do not know how I can just, uncompromisingly and profoundly indulge in idleness.

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نصدر النسخة هذه من المجلة بالشراكة مع «كحل: مجلة لأبحاث الجسد والجندر»، وسنستكشف عبرها الحلول والاقتراحات وأنواع الواقع النسوية لتغيير عالمنا الحالي وكذلك أجسادنا وجنسانياتنا.

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