Interviewed by Chinelo Onwualu

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.

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.

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?

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?

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.

Feminist Solidarity Space

✉️ By registration for larger groups. Drop-ins for smaller groups. Register here

📅 Wednesday, March 12, 2025
🕒 2.00-4.00pm EST
🏢 Chef's Kitchen Loft with Terrace, 216 East 45th St 13th Floor New York 

Organizer: AWID

Anunciamos la fecha y el lugar del Foro AWID

Notre tout premier programme du Club de cinéma féministe est désormais accessible : « La tendresse est la plus tranchante des résistances » fait référence à une série de films sur les réalités féministes d’Asie et du Pacifique, sélectionnés par Jess X Snow.

Regardez

ترجمة رولا علاء الدين

كلمة العدد فقدان الكلام
	غوى صايغ	تشينيلو أونوالو

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«لمّا نكون مُستَقتِلين للتغيير، لِكوننا في حالة مرضٍ وتمرّدٍ في آنٍ واحد، تخلو لغتنا من التعقيد وتنصقل لتعكس أبسط ركائزها. (...) لكن، ومع استمرار المرض والثورة، تصبح اللغة المُصاغة في هذه الحالة وعنها أكثرَ عمقاً وأكثرَ تعبيراً عن الفوارق الدقيقة، وتكون منغمسة انغماساً شديداً في التجربة الإنسانية التي يواجه فيها المرءُ حدودَه عند نهاية العالم».
  - جوانا هيدفا 

 

بدأنا التخطيط لعدد المجلّة هذا مع نانا داركوا قُبيل مهرجان «ابدعي، قاومي، غيٍّري: مهرجان للحراكات النسوية» لجمعية «حقوق المرأة في التنمية» AWID، وانطلقنا وقتها من سؤالٍ هو بالأحرى ملاحظة حول حالة العالم، ورغبة في تغيير الاعتقادات السائدة: لماذا لا تزال جنسانيّاتنا وملذّاتنا تخضع للترويض والتجريم مع أنّه يتمّ تذكيرنا مراراً وتكراراً بأنّها لا تأتي بأيّ قيمة أو تطوّر؟ واستنتجنا أنّ جنسانيّاتنا، لمّا تتجسّد، فيها ما يتعارض مع النظام العالمي الذي ما زال يتجلّى من خلال ضوابط الحدود، والتمييز العنصري في توزيع اللقاح، والاستعمار الاستيطاني، والتطهير العرقي، والرأسمالية المُستشرية. هل يمكننا إذاً القول إنّ لجنسانيّاتنا قدرةٌ تعطيليّة؟ وهل يصحّ هذا القول عندما ننظر إلى واقع حركاتنا التي يتمّ الاستيلاء عليها ومأسستها في سعيها للتزوّد بالموارد؟

عندما يصبح عملنا المتجسّد مادةً ربحية في أيدي الأنظمة التي نسعى إلى إزالتها فلا عجب أنّ جنسانيّاتنا وملذّاتنا توضَع جانباً من جديد، لا سيّما أنّها ليست مُربِحة بما فيه الكفاية. لقد تساءلنا، في مواقف عدّة خلال إنتاج هذا العدد، ما الذي سيحدث إذا رفضنا مراعاة خدمات الرأسمالية الأساسية؟ لكن هل نجرؤ على هذا التساؤل وقد أنهكنا العالم؟ ربما يتمّ تجاهل جنسانيّاتنا بهذه السهولة لأنها لا تُعتَبَر أشكالاً من أشكال الرعاية. ربما ما نحتاجه هو أن نعيد تصوّر الملذّة كشكلٍ من أشكال الرعاية الجذرية، تكون أيضاً مناهضة للرأسمالية وللمؤسساتية.

بدأنا العام الثاني على التوالي لحالة الجائحة العالمية وكان لا بدّ أن تركّز مقاربتنا للتجسيدات العابرة للحدود القومية على ملاحظة سياسيّة واحدة: أنّ الرعاية هي شكل من أشكال التجسيد. وبما أنّ جزءاً كبيراً من عملنا يتمّ حالياً من دون أيّ اعتبار للحدود بيننا وفينا فنحن جميعاً متجسّدون بشكلٍ عابرٍ للحدود القومية، ونحن جميعاً نفشل. نحن نفشل في رعاية ذاتنا، والأهمّ أننا نفشل في رعاية الآخرين. 

هذا الفشل ليس من صنع أيدينا.

إنّ الكثير من أهالينا اعتبروا العملَ مقايضةً، أي أنّه شيءٌ يُعطى مقابل أجرٍ وضمانة بالحصول على الرعاية. صحيحٌ أنّه تمّ الإخلال بهذه المقايضة أحياناً، لكنّ أهالينا ما كانوا يأملون أنّ عملهم سيوفّر لهم الرِضا الذاتي، وكانوا يعتمدون لهذا الغرض على نشاطهم الترفيهي وهواياتهم ومجتمعاتهم. أمّا اليوم، فنحن، أولادهم الذين تمّت تهيأتنا لنعتبر العمل متشابكاً مع الشغف، توقّعاتنا مختلفة تماماً. نحن لا نفرّق بين العمل والترفيه ونعتبرهما عنصراً واحداً، وبالنسبة للكثيرين بيننا، العمل بات يجسّد الذات بكاملها.

إنّ الرأسمالية القائمة على الأبويّة والمغايَرة الجنسية لا ترى لنا أيّ قيمة، ناهيك عن عملنا وجنسانيّاتنا. إنّه نظامٌ سيستمر في طلب المزيد والمزيد منك إلى يوم مماتك، وبعدها سيستبدلك بشخصٍ آخر. يُنتَظَر منّا أن نكون على اتصال بالإنترنت في كلّ الأوقات، ما يعني أنّه لا يمكننا الانصراف عن العمل حتى لو شئنا ذلك. إنّ هذا التَتْجير للعمل وفصله تماماً عن الشخص قد تسلّل إلى كلّ ناحية من نواحي حياتنا، ويتمّ ترسيخ هذا التَتْجير حتى في الأوساط الأكثر نسويّة والأكثر تمرّداً وتشدّداً.

لطالما حمَلَت تطلّعات الرأسمالية ضرراً كبيراً بالأجساد التي لا تتوافق مع النموذج المثالي، وأولئك الذين يسعون إلى ترسيخ سلطتهم استغّلوا الجائحة كفرصة لاستهداف النساء والأقلّيات الجنسية وكلّ مَن يعتبرونه دون المستوى.

تمّ إعداد هذا العدد الخاص بفعل هذا الواقع، وطبعاً، رغماً عن هذا الواقع.

لقد قدّم المساهمون/ المساهمات والعاملون/ العاملات كلّهم تقريباً مجهوداً يفوق طاقاتهم، وكلٌّ من الأعمال الواردة هنا هو نتاجُ سعيٍ شغوف ولكن أيضاً نتاج حالة إنهاكٍ شديد. 

يشكّل هذا العدد، بطريقة غايةً في الواقعية، تجسيداً للعمل العابر للحدود القومية، علماً أنّ أيّ عمل في عصرنا الرقمي أصبحَ عابراً لتلك الحدود. وفيما فُرِضَ علينا تقبّل حدود جديدة، وهي حدود لا تخالف النظام القائم سابقاً بل تعزّزه، اختبرنا مباشرةً، إلى جانب مساهمينا، كيف تستنزف الرأسمالية طاقاتنا القصوى – كيف يصبح من الصعب بناء الحجج المتماسكة لا سيّما حينما تكون خاضعة لموعد التسليم. إننا نعاني بشكلٍ جَماعي من فقدان الكلام لأننا أساساً نعاني من فقدان العوالم.

الشعور بالضياع والوحدة في عالم الرأسمالية القائمة على الأبوية والمغايَرة الجنسية هو بالتحديد ما يجعل من الضروري أن نعيد تقييم أنظمة الرعاية التي نتّبعها وأن نُعيد النظر فيها. لقد حوّلنا هذا العدد بوسائل عدّة إلى مهمّة لإيجاد الملذّة في الرعاية. فبما أنّه بات من الصعب بناء الحجج المتماسكة، برزت الوسائط البصرية والمبتكرة وقد لجأ كثرٌ ممن اعتادوا الكتابة إلى هذه الوسائط كطرقٍ لإنتاج المعرفة واختراق الضباب الفكريّ الذي أحاط بنا. لقد ضمّينا في هذا العدد أصواتاً أخرى، بالإضافة إلى أصواتٍ عدّة استمعتم إليها في المهرجان، كوسيلة لإطلاق حوارات جديدة وتوسيع آفاقنا.

بما أنّ كلماتنا قد سُرِقَت منّا، يقضي واجبنا السياسي بأن نستمر في إيجاد الوسائل للحفاظ على أنفسنا والآخرين والاهتمام بأنفسنا وبالآخرين. بالتالي، يصبح تجسّدنا نوعاً من المقاومة إذ هو بداية إيجادنا لسبيل الخروج من الذات ودخولها.
 

Les mouvements féministes ont énormément évolué et se sont adaptés depuis la dernière fois que nous nous sommes rencontrées de cette manière. Pour nous rappeler pourquoi les Forums de l’AWID sont importants, nous avons demandé à des activistes du monde entier de réfléchir et de partager leurs histoires, leurs impressions et leurs souvenirs. Voici ce que nous avons appris.

Pour en savoir plus sur les histoires des Forums 

As part of AWID’s Feminist Realities journey, we invite you to explore our newly launched Feminist Film Club: a collection of short and feature films selected by feminist curators and storytellers from around the world, including Jess X. Snow (Asia/Pacific), Gabrielle Tesfaye (Africa/African Diaspora), and Esra Ozban (South West Asia, North Africa). Alejandra Laprea is curating the Latin & Central American program, which we’ll launch in September during AWID’s Crear, Résister, Transform: A Festival for Feminist Movements. In the meantime, look out for announcements on special films screenings and conversations with filmmakers!

By Michel’le Donnelly 

The Crear | Resister | Transform Feminist Festival in September was such a breath of fresh air in these uncertain, turbulent and painful times.

The space created by this festival has been so necessary. Necessary for the souls of those who are seeking comfort during these bleakest of times. Necessary for those craving community in what feels like an increasingly isolating world and above all, necessary for those fighting against the very systems that have brought many of us to our knees, especially over the past two years.

“Crisis is not new to feminist and social movements, we have a long history of surviving in the face of oppression and building our communities and our own realities.”

Advocating for alternative visions and alternative realities to the one we are currently living in is a fundamental building block of the feminist agenda. So many amazing people are doing the work of exploring different ways for us to exist in this world. These alternatives are people-centred. They are equitable and just. These worlds are filled with love, tenderness and care. The visions outlined are almost too beautiful to imagine, yet we must force ourselves to imagine because this is the only way we can continue.

Over the past 10 months, I have been incredibly fortunate to be working with a feminist collective that is not just imagining an alternative reality but actively living it. We are inspired by the work of so many other feminist movements across the globe who have not let the white supremacist, capitalist patriarchy deter their visions. This collective has held me together when all I wanted to do was fall apart. Much like the story shared by Maria Bonita on Day 4 of the festival, the liberation I have found in feminist movements is far too great to only be experienced by me. This is something we need to share, that we need to shout from the rooftops as we invite others to join.

Day 4 of the festival brought with it a captivating conversation between Felogene Anumo, Dr Dilar Dirik, Nana Akosua Hanson and Vandana Shiva who encouraged festival attendees to believe that not only is an alternative future possible - but that it is indeed urgent. Feminists have been talking about alternative worlds for so many years and hearing about these from the panellists was not just eye-opening but also comforting. Comforting in the sense that it made me feel safe to know that there are indeed strong, global feminist networks working across international and national borders, seeking to decolonise the established frameworks of our current realities.

What does an alternative reality look like?

During the session, Dr Dirik highlighted the fact that belief, sacrifice and patience are most needed to abolish the oppressive systems we currently live in. Collaboration, partnership, creativity, solidarity and autonomy. These are key pillars to building a global feminist society and they should be embraced by all feminist movements around the world. 

Practical examples of these realities can be found across the globe, including the Soulaliyate Women's Land-Use Rights Movement. Referring to the tribal women in Morocco who live on collective land, the Soulalyate Women’s Movement is the first grassroots nationwide mobilisation for land rights in Morocco. Whilst initially the movement was quite small, it grew into a nationwide agenda that challenged the gendered nature of laws regulating land in the country. In 2019, the group contributed to overhauling the national framework legislation on the management of community property through the adoption of three sets of laws guaranteeing the equality of women and men. 

Another practical example is Zuleymi Trans House in Peru. Operating since 2016, the house is a refuge for migrant trans women, girls and teens who the state has left behind. It has provided safe shelter for 76 migrant trans women from Venezuela, along with 232 from jungle areas, Indigenous communities and the north coast of Peru.

Knowing about these feminist movements who are doing the work to make alternative futures a reality is incredibly inspiring and just what is needed, especially as I struggle to grapple with the neverending stream of bad news that seems to flow uninterrupted.

“Capitalist patriarchy is like a cancer. It doesn’t know when to stop growing” - Dr Vandana Shiva

AWID has always been a movement inspired by the feminist realities that we can live in. Through their festivals, as well as feminist realities magazine and toolkit, we have been shown a different way of doing things. We can imagine a world where care is prioritised, where feminist economies and gender justice are the norm. Creating alternative futures is how we fight back, it’s how we resist the violence that is perpetrated against our bodies every day.

The Crear | Resister | Transform Festival has allowed me to feel so connected to a global community, many of whom I will never meet. Knowing that we are all working towards and claiming another world has lit a fire in my soul and I cannot wait to see what the next festival will have in store.

If you missed it, make sure to watch the: "She is on her way: Alternatives, feminisms and another world" session from Day 4 of the festival below. And remember, as Dr Shiva said so eloquently: “Women’s energies will continue life on earth. We will not be defeated.”

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Carta de amor al feminismo

Por Marianne Mesfin Asfaw

Tengo muchos recuerdos queridos de mi recorridofeminista, pero hay uno en particular que se destaca. Fue durante mi época en la escuela de posgrado, una conferencia a la que asistí como parte de un curso de Teoría Feminista. La conferencia trataba sobre feminismo africano y, en ella, la profesora habló de la historia del panafricanismo, de su carácter patriarcal, centrado en los hombres, y de cómo los estudiosos panafricanistas perpetuaban el borramiento de las mujeres africanas. La conferencista señaló que las contribuciones de las mujeres africanas a las luchas anticoloniales y descoloniales en el continente rara vez, o nunca, se analizany no se les da el debido crédito. Leímos acerca de las académicas feministas africanas que desafían ese borramiento y dan a conocer  activamente las historias de los movimientos y los esfuerzos de resistencia liderados por mujeres africanas. Parecetan sencillo, pero lo que más me llamó la atención fue que alguien juntara las palabras africana y feminista. Mejor aún: descubrir que había muchas más de nosotras ahí afuera, luchando contra las complicaciones de la historia, la política y las normas sociales en distintos rincones del continente, y que todas estábamos utilizando una perspectiva feminista para hacerlo. Salí de esa conferencia conmovida y completamente alucinada. res de mis amigas (todas feministas africanas) y yo nos quedamos un rato comentando fuera del aula. Todas estábamos impresionadas por la genialidad de la conferencia y su contenido pero, sobre todo, sentimos que estábamos siendo tenidas en cuenta. Ese sentimiento fue el que más me llamó la atención.

Enamorarse del feminismo fue electrizante. Fue como sentir que por fin puedes hablar con la persona que te gusta desde hace mucho tiempo y descubres que también le gustas. Lo llamo mi enamoramiento porque durante la escuela secundaria me consideraba feminista pero sentía que no sabía lo suficiente sobre el tema. ¿Había una forma correcta de ser feminista? ¿Y si no lo estaba haciendo bien? Cuando asistí a mi primera conferencia de Estudios de las Mujeres obtuve respuestas para algunas de estas preguntas. Fue emocionante conocer historias de resistencia feminista y de desmantelamiento del patriarcado. Me sentí muy afirmada y validada, pero también sentí que algo me faltaba.

Profundizar mi relación con el feminismo a través de la academia en una institución en la que el estudiantado y el personal docente eran en su mayoría blancx, significó que, durante esos primeros años, me diera cuenta de que rara vez hablábamos sobre cómo la raza y la antinegritud se ponen en juego en los movimientos feministas hegemónicos. En la mayoría de las asignaturas teníamos tal vez una semana, o peor aún, una clase, dedicada a la raza donde por lo general leíamos algo de bell hooks, el trabajo de Kimberly Crenshaw sobre interseccionalidad, y tal vez, a Patricia Hill Collins. A la semana siguiente volvíamos a dejar de lado el tema. Lidié con todo esto dándole un lugar central a la raza y al feminismo negro en casi todas mis tareas, escribiendo sobre el pelo negro y las políticas de respetabilidad, la hipersexualización de los cuerpos de las mujeres negras, y mucho más. Con el tiempo me di cuenta de que intentaba llenar un vacío, pero no sabía muy bien cuál era.

Para mí, el feminismo es la antítesis de la apatía social y política. También significa que una vez que adoptas una perspectiva feminista, nada puede ser igual. Con mis amigas solíamos decir que era como ponerse unos anteojos que nunca te puedes quitar porque ahora ves el mundo tal y como es, con todos sus desastres. Desastres que no puedes ignorar ni dejar de lado. Es por eso que mi compromiso con el movimiento feminista es no dejar nunca de aprender, seguir ampliando el alcance de mi empatía y no vivir nunca de forma pasiva. Dedicar más tiempo y espacio en mi vida a los movimientos feministas, y seguir amplificando, celebrando, documentando y citando el trabajo de las feministas africanas. También me comprometo a darle un lugar central al cuidado y a dar prioridad al placer en este recorrido feminista porque no podemos sostener nuestros movimientos sin esto.

In 2023, feminist and 
women's rights organizations 
had a median annual budget of

In contrast, over $1 billion went 
to three anti-rights groups in 2021-2022, 
with funding for anti-gender networks still rising.

AWID no ofrece descuentos para grupos, pero sí ofrece descuentos en la inscripción a sus afiliadxs. (Haz clic aquí para obtener más información sobre cómo sumarte a la membresía)

Chapter 6
Anti-Rights Trends in Regional Human Rights Systems

In the African Commission and the Inter-American System, anti-rights actors push essentialist notions of culture and gender to hamper progress on rights and undermine accountability. As we see, anti-rights actors are exerting influence in regional human rights systems, as well as international spaces.

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