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!
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Доступен ли опрос для людей с ограниченными возможностями?
Да, опрос доступен людям с различными нарушениями слуха, зрения, движений и когнитивных способностей.
Madiha fue una destacada profesora de Sociología con activa participación en la sociedad civil como defensora de los derechos de las mujeres en la región árabe.
Presidió la Alianza para las Mujeres Árabes y dentro del Consejo Nacional de Mujeres fue miembro del Comité de la Sociedad Civil y del Comité para el Desarrollo de la Gobernación de Minia. Fue autora de numerosas publicaciones en las que analizó y arrojó luz sobre las desigualdades de género y la discriminación contra las mujeres.
Es recordada con cariño por colegas, estudiantes y amigxs.
Forma parte de una organización feminista de membresía internacional y de una comunidad. Nuestrxs afiliadxs residen en todas las regiones del mundo. Aprenden entre sí y se brindan apoyo mutuo en una red global fundada en la solidaridad.
Considérée par le Guardian comme l'une des icônes nationales de Kiribati, Teresia était une avocate téméraire.
Elle travaillait en étroite collaboration avec des groupes féministes aux îles Fidji. Ses travaux de recherche ont servi à aborder les problèmes du féminisme et de l'égalité de genre dans le Pacifique. Elle était également corédactrice de l’International Feminist Journal of Politics. En Océanie, son influence a traversé les frontières académiques, ainsi que les mouvements pour la justice sociale.
"Nous savons que tout est contre nous et il y a très peu de chances de changer cela. Mais nous croyons en l'intervention et je pense que nous avons une opportunité et nous devrions l'utiliser. C'est pourquoi nous faisons tout ce que nous faisons. Nous sommes prêt·e·s à pousser pour des choses inouïes."
Participez au Forum international de l'AWID - un rassemblement féministe mondial majeur - et bénéficiez de réductions spéciales et de points d'entrée pour le dialogue virtuel réservés aux membres de l'AWID. Co-créé par des mouvements féministes, le Forum est un espace unique de discussion profonde et d'imagination où nous remettons en question et renforçons notre organisation, et joignons nos luttes et nos réalités féministes.
I pray with my family for the first time in six years while wrapped in a keffiyah I scavenged from a dumpster.
Since coming into myself, I have refused to pray in jamaat with my family. Joining in the ranks of hierarchy, “women” behind “men” irks me. It grates my skin and teeth to the degree where I can’t focus, and the standing, bowing, and kneeling feels like a battle against my true being. Each second listening, a betrayal of my nature. Instead, I pray by myself in my own way.
Yet this Ramadan, I feel different. Back in my childhood home after many years, I am choosing to fast. I choose suhoor with my family, and praying together feels like a natural extension of eating together. After eating, my mother, father, brother and I line up for fajr.
I pray behind Baba, but my prayer is my own. I close my eyes, staying with my breath and my body.
My eyes closed, I open my inner sight to a wide open window on a vista of mountains, bright sun spreading over a light mist of clouds. This was the view I had while praying in jamaat at a queer Muslim wedding I attended in the mountains of the South of France last September.
I lined up with the wedding guests, queer and trans folks of North and West African, Arab, and European descent. Folks of all faiths joined while some chose to stand in respect at the sides or behind. The groups did not fall along fault lines of “Muslim” or “non-Muslim,” “religious” or “non religious.” The two lovers marrying each led us in prayer, and so did the Muslim woman officiating the nikkah. Each of the three led us in two rounds of prayers, two raqat.
I showed up as I was, my body uncovered. I had not washed. I only passed my camera to a friend who chose to stand at the side.
In the first sujood, I broke down crying. I wore a jean dress that loves my body, one found at a thrift store my ex-girlfriend pointed me to.
The sobs come through my whole body during the prayer, and I put my head to the earth with my community like a homecoming. A return to the embrace of love both intensely personal and communal, and I am held.
It feels like swimming in the sea with multiple people: joyful togetherness. But when you go beneath the water, it’s just you and the current.
Like a dozen people buried in the same graveyard. Separate, but sharing the same soil. Becoming one with the growing earth.
That was how it felt to pray in communion at a queer Muslim wedding.
I welcomed the light of acceptance while showing up as myself that day, with a group of people who had also chosen to claim all the parts of themselves in love. That light made a home in me, and it illuminates my heart in the dark living room at fajr this Ramadan morning. Though I pray with my birth family who do not accept all of me, I see myself praying in jamaat at that glorious wedding with all of my queer Muslim ancestors, my queer angels, my lineage, my soul family, my queer Muslim family, all standing in prayer. Bowing as one.
My family’s home does not always feel like my own, though I am here now. I take the bukhoor from room to room, barefoot. Smolder from the censer, an incense that says, “Here I am.” Baraka, blessings from the source of all, Allah and the Goddess to each room in the house, bidding good and dispersing the unbidden.
As I write this the sky turns the same royal blue I am familiar with from exiting the club and pulling all-nighters. It is the gradient of morning I step into as I go to sleep.
Word meanings:
Ramadan: the Muslim holy month, traditionally observed with 29 days of fasting without food or water during daylight hours
Keffiyah: a patterned scarf common in the SWANA region. The black and white version referred to here is associated with the Palestinian liberation movement
Pray in jamaat: Islamic ritual prayer in a group. Participants follow one person, traditionally male, who calls the prayer aloud.
Suhoor: the meal before the fast starts at dawn
Fajr: the dawn prayer
Baba: father
Raqat: one round of prayer consisting of standing, bowing, kneeling, and pressing the head to the ground
Sujood:the prayer position when one presses one’s head to the earth
Nikkah: the religious marriage ceremony
Bukhoor: an Arabic incense, woodchips soaked in resin
Pictures of angels in my life, just some women and non-binary people of color hanging out, taking care of themselves and expressing love to each other. It's these simplest moments that are the most empowering.
لا أشعر بالراحة لمشاركة اسمي او اسم مجموعتي، منظمتي و\ أو حركتي مع AWID, هل أستطيع مع ذلك تعبئة الاستطلاع؟
طبعاً! هذه الأسئلة اختيارية. نقدّر جداً حقكم بالسرية. الرجاء تعبئة الاستطلاع دون علاقة بقراركم/ن بمشاركة اسم المجموعة، المنظمة أو الحركة أو تفاصيل التواصل معكم/ن.
Amal was a prominent politician and parliamentarian in Libya. She was a faculty member at Benghazi University from 1995 until her death in 2017.
Amal was a civil society activist and a member of various social and political initiatives. She assisted the families of martyrs and the disappeared, and was a founding member of a youth initiative called ‘’Youth of Benghazi Libya”. In the 2014 parliamentary elections, Amal was elected to the House of Representatives with more than 14,000 votes (the highest number of votes anyone received in the 2014 elections).
Amal will remain in the memories of many as a woman politician working to ensure a better future in one the most difficult and conflict-ridden contexts in the region.
We work towards a world based on social, environmental, and economic justice; and interdependence, solidarity, and respect. We work towards dismantling systems of oppressive power and against all its manifestations, including patriarchy, fundamentalisms, militarisms, fascisms and corporate power that threaten our lives and our world. We want a just world where resources and power are shared in ways that enable everyone to thrive.
