Women human rights defenders (WHRDs) worldwide defend their lands, livelihoods and communities from extractive industries and corporate power. They stand against powerful economic and political interests driving land theft, displacement of communities, loss of livelihoods, and environmental degradation.
Why resist extractive industries?
Extractivism is an economic and political model of development that commodifies nature and prioritizes profit over human rights and the environment. Rooted in colonial history, it reinforces social and economic inequalities locally and globally. Often, Black, rural and Indigenous women are the most affected by extractivism, and are largely excluded from decision-making. Defying these patriarchal and neo-colonial forces, women rise in defense of rights, lands, people and nature.
Critical risks and gender-specific violence
WHRDs confronting extractive industries experience a range of risks, threats and violations, including criminalization, stigmatization, violence and intimidation. Their stories reveal a strong aspect of gendered and sexualized violence. Perpetrators include state and local authorities, corporations, police, military, paramilitary and private security forces, and at times their own communities.
Acting together
AWID and the Women Human Rights Defenders International Coalition (WHRD-IC) are pleased to announce “Women Human Rights Defenders Confronting Extractivism and Corporate Power”; a cross-regional research project documenting the lived experiences of WHRDs from Asia, Africa and Latin America.
We encourage activists, members of social movements, organized civil society, donors and policy makers to read and use these products for advocacy, education and inspiration.
AWID acknowledges with gratitude the invaluable input of every Woman Human Rights Defender who participated in this project. This project was made possible thanks to your willingness to generously and openly share your experiences and learnings. Your courage, creativity and resilience is an inspiration for us all. Thank you!
Binta Sarr était une activiste pour la justice sociale, économique, culturelle et politique, en plus d’avoir occupé le poste d’ingénieure hydraulique au Sénégal. Après 13 années de service, celle-ci a choisi de quitter le fonctionnariat pour travailler auprès de femmes rurales et marginalisées.
Cet engagement a donné lieu à la création de l’Association pour la promotion des femmes sénégalaises (APROFES), un mouvement de base auquel est venu se greffer une organisation fondée par Binta en 1987. L’une de ses approches était la formation au leadership, non seulement dans le cadre d’activités économiques mais également en lien avec les droits des femmes et leur accès à des fonctions décisionnelles.
“« Les populations à la base doivent s’organiser, se mobiliser, assumer le contrôle citoyen et exiger une gouvernance démocratique dans tous les secteurs de l’espace public. La priorité des mouvements sociaux doit aller au-delà de la lutte contre la pauvreté et être axée sur des programmes de développement articulés et cohérents en adéquation avec les principes des droits humains, tout en prenant en compte leurs besoins et leurs préoccupations tant au niveau national, sous régional que dans une perspective d’intégration africaine et mondiale. » – Binta Sarr
Ancrée dans la conviction de Binta, à savoir que les changements essentiels dans le statut des femmes nécessitent la transformation des attitudes masculines, APROFES a adopté une approche interdisciplinaire et s’est appuyée sur la radio, les séminaires et le théâtre populaire, offert une éducation publique innovante et apporté un soutien culturel aux actions de sensibilisation. Sa troupe de théâtre populaire a créé des pièces sur le thème des castes dans la société sénégalaise, de l’alcoolisme et de la violence conjugale. Binta et son équipe ont également pris en compte l’interconnexion essentielle entre la communauté et le monde élargi.
« Pour APROFES, il s’agit d’étudier et de prendre en compte les interactions entre le micro et le macro, le local et le mondial, ainsi que les différentes facettes du développement. De l’esclavage à la colonisation, le néo-colonialisme et la marchandisation du développement humain, qui représentent la majeure partie des ressources d’Afrique et du Tiers-Monde (pétrole, or, minéraux et autres ressources naturelles), demeurent sous le contrôle des cartels financiers et autres multinationales qui dominent ce monde mondialisé. » – Binta Sarr
Binta était également l’une des membres fondatrices de la section féminine de l’Association culturelle et sportive Magg Daan, et a reçu des mentions élogieuses de la part du gouverneur régional et du ministre de l’Hydrologie pour sa « dévotion aux populations rurales ».
Née en 1954 dans la petite ville de Guiguineo, Binta est décédée en septembre 2019.
Hommages:
« La perte est incommensurable, la douleur est lourde et profonde mais nous allons résister pour ne pas pleurer Binta; nous allons garder l’image de son large sourire en toutes circonstances, pour résister et nous inspirer d’elle, maintenir, consolider et développer son œuvre... » – Page Facebook de l’APROFES, 24 septembre 2019
« Adieu, Binta! Nul doute que ton immense héritage sera préservé. » – Elimane FALL, président de l’ACS Magg-Daan
Snippet - Intro CSW69_EN
#FreezeFascisms
In the 30 years since the adoption of the Beijing Declaration & Platform for Action, a rising tide of fascisms is exerting significant power and influence within multilateral spaces, backpedalling gender justice gains and human rights protections globally.
Around CSW69, we're co-organizing horizontal, brave spaces on-ground and online, to share strategies and build feminist power beyond Beijing+30. Our collective presence disrupts institutional practices of exclusion in such spaces while supporting movements to organize around feminist alternatives to systems of oppression.
Join the conversations from March 10-21, 2025, as we collectively transform CSW69 into spaces for and about resistance and solidarity.
Snippet FEA Union Otras Photo 1 (FR)
¿Por qué AWID eligió Taipéi como sede del Foro?
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 - Justice and systemic change
Justice et changement systémique
Nous œuvrons en faveur d’un monde fondé sur la justice sociale, environnementale et économique, ainsi que sur l'interdépendance, la solidarité et le respect. Nous travaillons au démantèlement des systèmes de pouvoir oppressif et contre toutes ses manifestations, y compris tout forme de patriarcat, de fondamentalisme, de militarisme et de fascisme, et le pouvoir des entreprises qui menacent nos vies et notre monde. Nous voulons un monde juste où le partage des ressources et celui du pouvoir permettront à chacun·e de s'épanouir.
Maritza Quiroz Leiva was an Afro Colombian social activist, a community leader and women human rights defender. Among the 7.7 million Colombians internally displaced by 50 years of armed conflict, Maritza dedicated her advocacy work to supporting the rights of others, particularly in the Afro Colombian community who suffered similar violations and displacement.
Maritza was the deputy leader of the Santa Marta Victim's Committee, and an important voice for those seeking justice in her community, demanding reparations for the torture, kidnapping, displacement, and sexual violence that victims experienced during the armed conflict. She was also active in movement for land redistribution and land justice in the country.
On 5 January 2019, Maritza was killed by two armed individuals who broke into her home. She was 60 years old.
Maritza joined five other Colombian social activists and leaders who had been murdered just in the first week of 2019. A total of 107 human rights defenders were killed that year in the country.
Snippet - CSW69 - Feminist Solidarity Space - ES
Espacio de solidaridad feminista
✉️ Requiere inscripción previa para grandes grupos. Entrada libre para grupos reducidos. Reserven aquí
📅Martes 11 de marzo de 2025
🕒 de 12:00 a 02:00 p.m. y de 04:00 a 06:00 p.m., EST
🏢 Chef's Kitchen Loft with Terrace, 216 East 45th St 13th Floor New York
Organiza: AWID
Snippet FEA Sabrina Sanchez Bio (EN)
Meet Sabrina Sanchez, remarkable trans migrant woman, sex worker, organizer, transfeminist and one of the founders of the union OTRAS.
Originally from Mexico City, she migrated to Spain 17 years ago after getting a degree in communications and started working as a sex worker.
It didn’t take long before she became involved with trans activism and sex worker activism in Barcelona. After joining the collective Asociación de Profesionales del Sexo (Association of Sex Workers, Aprosex), she started working in its secretariat and founded the Spanish sex workers union OTRAS.
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.
Roxana Reyes Rivas, filósofa, feminista, lesbiana, poeta, política y activista por los derechos humanos de las mujeres y las personas LGBTI en Costa Rica. Dueña de una pluma afilada y un humor agudo, con la risa a flor de piel. Nació en 1960 y creció en San Ramón de Alajuela, cuando era una zona rural, y su vida entera rompería con los mandatos de lo que significaba ser mujer.
Desde El Reguero (grupo de lesbianas en Costa Rica) organizó festivales lésbicos por más de 10 años, espacios lúdico-formativos de encuentro en momentos donde el gobierno y la sociedad costarricense perseguía y criminalizaba la existencia lésbica. Para cientos de mujeres los festivales lésbicos eran el único lugar donde podían ser ellas mismas y encontrarse con otras como ellas.
Roxana decía que fundar partidos políticos era uno de sus pasatiempos. “Es importante que en Costa Rica la gente entienda que hay otras formas de hacer política, que muchos temas es necesario resolverlos colectivamente”. Fue una de lxs fundadores de los partidos Nueva Liga Feminista y VAMOS, un partido centrado en los derechos humanos.
“El oficio de la filosofía es meter la puya, ayudar a que la gente empiece a preguntarse cosas. La filósofa que no irrita a nadie, no está haciendo bien su trabajo”. Durante 30 años, Roxana fue profesora de filosofía en universidades públicas costarricenses. De su mano generaciones enteras de estudiantes reflexionaron sobre los dilemas éticos en la ciencia y la tecnología.
La herramienta favorita de Roxana era el humor, ella creó el premio del Chiverre Incandescente, un reconocimiento a la estupidez que otorgaba vía redes sociales a diferentes figuras públicas, ridiculizando sus exabruptos y afirmaciones anti-derechos.
Un cáncer agresivo se llevó a Roxana a fines del 2019, antes de que alcanzara a publicar la compilación de sus poemas, un último regalo de la mente creativa de una feminista que siempre levantó la voz para denunciar la injusticia.
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Recursos para movilizarnos durante la CSW69
Snippet FEA Principles of Work Antiracism (ES)
ANTI RACISMO
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.
Publications - Homepage - es
Publicaciones
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