United against the violence

by Karina Ocampo

In a hidden corner of Chiapas, Mexico, women and sexual dissidents have come to organize our actions. (...)

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< artwork by Sonia Carolina Madrigal Loyola

Encuentro feminista: Citas rápidas para feministas

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📅 Martes 11 de marzo de 2025
🕒 De 06:00 a 08:00 p. m.,
🏢 Chef's Kitchen Loft with Terrace, 216 East 45th St 13th Floor New York

Organiza: AWID

Incluso en tiempos de crisis climática, los gobiernos continúan alentando el crecimiento de las industrias agrícolas a gran escala. Estas actividades envenenan la tierra, amenazan la biodiversidad y destruyen la producción de alimentos y los medios de vida locales. Mientras tanto, aunque las mujeres producen la mayoría de nuestros alimentos en el mundo, casi no poseen tierra.

¿Qué pasaría si percibiéramos la tierra y la Naturaleza no como una propiedad privada para ser explotada, sino como una totalidad con la cual aprender y coexistir en armonía? ¿Y si repararíamos nuestras relaciones con la tierra y adoptaríamos alternativas más sostenibles que nutran tanto al planeta como a sus comunidades?

Nous Sommes la Solution (Somos la Solución, NSS) es uno de los muchos movimientos liderados por mujeres que se esfuerzan por lograr este objetivo.

Esta es su historia.

Nuestra arepa: Cocina en resistencia

por Alejandra Laprea

Vivo en un país de lo imposible, donde no caen bombas pero padecemos una guerra. (...)

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Sur le financement féministe aujourd’hui

• Répondre au quiz « Où est l’argent? » ici 
• Our Resource (en anglais)
• Ressources autonomes : comment les activistes peuvent apporter des ressources à notre propre activisme?
• Ce que nous pouvons apprendre des féministes qui se financent elles-mêmes

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Tshegofatso Senne is a Black, chronically-ill, genderqueer feminist who does the most. Much of their work is rooted in pleasure, community, and dreaming, while being informed by somatic abolitionism and disability, healing, and transformative justices. Writing, researching, and speaking on issues concerning feminism, community, sexual and reproductive justice, consent, rape culture, and justice, Tshegofatso has 8 years of experience theorising on the ways in which these topics intersect with pleasure. They run their own business, Thembekile Stationery, and their community platform Hedone brings people together to explore and understand the power of trauma-awareness and pleasure in their daily lives. Tshegofatso believes deeply in the individual and collective potential of regenerative and sustainable change, pleasure, and care work.

The body. The most permanent home we have.

The body, not the thinking brain, is where we experience most of our pain, pleasure, and joy, and where we process most of what happens to us. It is also where we do most of our healing, including our emotional and psychological healing. And it is where we experience resilience and a sense of flow.

These words, said by Resmaa Menakem in his book My Grandmother’s Hands, have stayed with me.

The body; it holds our experiences. Our memories. Our resilience. And as Menakem has written, the body also holds our traumas. It responds with spontaneous protective mechanisms to stop or prevent more damage. That is the power of the body. Trauma is not the event; it is how our bodies respond to events that feel dangerous to us. It is often left stuck in the body, until we address it. There’s no talking our body out of this response – it just is.

Using Ling Tan’s Digital Superpower app, I tracked how my body felt as I travelled around different parts of my city, Johannesburg, South Africa. The app is a gesture-driven online platform that allows you to trace your perceptions as you move through locations by logging and recording the data. I used it to track my psychosomatic symptoms – physical reactions connected to a mental cause. Whether that be flashbacks. Panic attacks. Tightness in the chest. A fast heartbeat. Tension headaches. Muscle pain. Insomnia. Struggling to breathe. I tracked these symptoms as I walked and travelled to different areas in Johannesburg. And I asked myself.

Where can we be safe? Can we be safe?

Psychosomatic responses can be caused by a number of things, and some are not as severe as others. After experiencing any kind of trauma you may feel intense distress in similar events or situations. I tracked my sensations, ranked on a scale of 1-5, where 1 were the instances I barely felt any of these symptoms – I felt at ease rather than on-guard and jumpy, my breath and heart rate were stable, I was not looking over my shoulder – and number 5 being the opposite – symptoms that had me close to a panic attack.

As a Black person. As a queer person. As a genderqueer person who could be perceived as a woman, depending on what my gender expression is that day.

I asked myself.
Where can we be safe?

Even in neighbourhoods one might consider “safe,” I felt constantly panicked. Looking around me to make sure I wasn’t being followed, adjusting the way my T-shirt sat so my breasts wouldn’t show up as much, looking around to make sure I knew multiple routes to get out of the place I was should I sense danger. An empty road brings anxiety. A packed one does too. Being in an Uber does. Walking on a public road does. Being in my apartment does. So does picking up a delivery from the front of the building.

Can we be safe? 

Pumla Dineo Gqola speaks of the Female Fear Factory. It may or may not be familiar, but if you’re someone socialised as a woman, you’ll know this feeling well. The feeling that has you planning every step you take, whether you’re going to work, school, or just running an errand. The feeling that you have to watch how you dress, act, speak in public and private spaces. The feeling in the pit of your stomach if you have to travel at night, get a delivery, or deal with any person who continues to socialise as a cis man. Harassed on the street, always with the threat of violence. Us existing in any space comes with an innate fear.

Fear is both an individual and a socio-political phenomenon. At an individual level, fear can be present as part of a healthy well developing warning system […] When we think about fear, it is important to hold both notions of individual emotional experience and the political ways in which fear has been used in different epochs for control.
- Pumla Dineo Gqola, in her book Rape: A South African Nightmare

South African women, femmes, and queers know that every step we take outside – steps to do ordinary things: a walk to the shops, a taxi to work, an Uber from a party – all of these acts are a negotiation with violence. This fear, is part of the trauma. To cope with the trauma we carry in our bodies, we develop responses to detect danger – watching the emotional responses of those around us, reading for “friendliness.” We’re constantly on guard.

Day after day. Year after year. Life after life. Generation after generation.

On the additional challenge of this learned defence system, author of The Body Keeps Score, Bessel Van Der Kolk, has said

It disrupts this ability to accurately read others, rendering the trauma survivor either less able to detect danger or more likely to misperceive danger where there is none. It takes tremendous energy to keep functioning while carrying the memory of terror, and the shame of utter weakness and vulnerability.

As Resmaa Menakem has said, trauma is in everything; it infiltrates the air we breathe, the water we drink, the foods we eat. It is in the systems that govern us, the institutions that teach and also traumatise us, and within the social contracts we enter into with each other. Most importantly, we take it with us everywhere we go, in our bodies, exhausting us and eroding our health and happiness. We carry that truth in our bodies. Generations of us have.

So, as I walk around my city, whether an area is considered “safe” or not, I carry the traumas of generations whose responses are embedded in my body. My heart palpitates, it becomes difficult to breathe, my chest tightens – because my body feels as though the trauma is happening in that very moment. I live hyper vigilant. To the point where one is either too on-guard to mindfully enjoy their life, or too numb to absorb new experiences.

For us to begin to heal, we need to acknowledge these truths.

These truths that live in our bodies.

This trauma is what keeps many of us from living the lives we want. Ask any femme or queer person what safety looks like to them and they’ll mostly share examples that are simple tasks – being able to simply live joyful lives, without the constant threat of violence. 
Feelings of safety, of comfort and ease, are spatial. When we embody our trauma, it affects the ways we perceive our own safety, affects the ways we interact with the world, and alters the ways we are able to experience and embody anything pleasurable and joyful.

We have to refuse this burdensome responsibility and fight for a safe world for all of us. Walking wounded as many of us are, we are fighters. Patriarchy may terrorise and brutalise us, but we will not give up the fight. As we repeatedly take to the streets, defying the fear in spectacular and seemingly insignificant ways, we defend ourselves and speak in our own name. 
- Pumla Dineo Gqola, in her book Rape: A South African Nightmare

Where can we be safe? How do we begin to defend ourselves, not just in the physical sense, but in the emotional, psychological, and spiritual senses? 

“Trauma makes weapons out of us all,” adrienne maree brown has said in an interview conducted by Justin Scott Campbell. And her work, Pleasure Activism, offers us multiple methodologies to heal that trauma and ground ourselves in the understanding that healing, justice, and liberation can also be pleasurable experiences. Especially those of us who are the most marginalised, who may have been raised to equate suffering with “The Work.” The Work that so many of us have gone into as activists, community builders and workers, those serving the most marginalised, The Work that we struggle in order to do, burning ourselves out and rarely caring for our minds and bodies. The alternative is becoming more informed about our trauma, able to identify our own needs, and becoming deeply embodied. That embodiment means we are simply more able to experience the world through the senses and sensations in our bodies, acknowledging what they tell us rather than suppressing and ignoring the information it is communicating with us.

Being constantly in conversation with our living body and intentionally practising those conversations connects us to embodiment more deeply; it allows us to make tangible the emotions we feel as we interact with the world, befriend our bodies, and understand all that they try to teach us. When understanding trauma and embodiment paired, we can begin to start the healing and access pleasure more holistically, healthily, and in our daily lives without shame and guilt. We can begin to access pleasure as a tool for individual and social change, tapping into the power of the erotic as Audre Lorde described it. A power that allows us to share the joy we access and experience, expanding our capacity for happiness and understanding that we are deserving of it, even with our trauma. 

Tapping into pleasure and embodying the erotic gives us the expansion of being deliberately alive, feeling grounded and stable and understanding our nervous systems. It allows us to understand and shed the generational baggage we’ve been carrying without realising; we can be empowered with the knowledge that even as traumatised as we are, as traumatised as we potentially could be in the future, we are still deserving of pleasurable and joyful lives, that we can share that power with our people. It is the community aspect that is missing from the ways we care for ourselves; self-care cannot exist without community care. We are able to feel a deeper internal trust, safety, and power of ourselves, especially in the face of future traumas that will trigger us, knowing how to soothe and stabilise ourselves. All this understanding leads us to a deep internal power that is resourced to meet any challenges that come your way.

As those living with deep generational traumas, we have come to distrust and perhaps think we are incapable of containing and accessing the power we have. In “Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power,” Lorde teaches us that the erotic offers a source of replenishment, a way to demand better for ourselves and our lives. 

For the erotic is not a question only of what we do; it is a question of how acutely and fully we can feel in the doing. Once we know the extent to which we are capable of feeling that sense of satisfaction and completion, we can then observe which of our various life endeavours brings us closest to that fullness.

I don’t say any of this lightly – I know that this is easier said than done. I know that many of us are prevented from understanding these truths, from internalising or even healing them. Resistance comes with acts of feeling unsafe, but is not impossible. Resisting power structures that keep the most powerful safe will always endanger those of us shoved to the margins. Acknowledging the traumas you’ve faced is a reclamation of your lived experiences, those that have passed and those that will follow; it is resistance that embodies that knowledge that we are deserving of more than the breadcrumbs these systems have forced us to lap up. It is a resistance that understands that pleasure is complicated by trauma, but it can be accessed in arbitrary and powerful ways. It is a resistance that acknowledges that our trauma is a resource that connects us to each other, and can allow us to keep each other safe. It is a resistance that understands that even with pleasure and joy, this is not a utopia; we will still harm and be harmed, but we will be better equipped for survival and thrive in a community of diverse care and kindness. A resistance that makes way for healing and connecting to our full human selves.

Healing will never be an easy and rosy journey, but it begins with the acknowledgment of the possibility. When oppression makes us believe that pleasure is not something that we all have equal access to, one of the ways that we start doing the work of reclaiming our full selves — our whole liberated, free selves — is by reclaiming our access to pleasure.

Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha has said in her article in Pleasure Activism (to which she contributed), 

I know that for most people, the words “care” and “pleasure” can’t even be in the same sentence. We’re all soaking in ableism’s hatred of bodies that have needs, and we’re given a really shitty choice: either have no needs and get to have autonomy, dignity, and control over your life or admit you need care and lose all of the above.

The power that this has? We understand our traumas, so we understand those of others; we embody the sensations we experience and tend to them rather than distract and avoid. We access pleasure in ways that make us want to share that joy with those in our communities. When we are trauma-informed, we give ourselves more room to experience all this and give ourselves, and others, permission to heal. Imagine, a community in which everyone has access, resources, and time to live pleasurable lives, in whichever way they want and deserve. In which spatial traumas are lessened because the people that occupy them are trauma-aware, are filled with a tender care. Isn’t that healing? Is that not working through generational traumas? Does that not build and sustain healthier futures for us all?

It is time we reconnected with the ancestral knowledge that we deserve to live full lives. We need to get back in touch with our natural right to joy and existing for ourselves. To feel pleasure simply for the sake of it. To not live lives of terror. It sounds radical; it feels radical. In a world where we have been socialised and traumatised to numb, to fear, to feel and remain powerless, to be greedy and live with structural issues that lead to mental illness, what a gift and wonder it is to begin to feel, to be in community with those who feel, to be healthily interdependent in, to love each other boldly. Feeling is radical. Pleasure is radical. Healing is radical. 

You have permission to feel pleasure. You have permission to dance, create, make love to yourself and others, celebrate and cultivate joy. You are encouraged to do so. You have permission to heal. Don’t bottle it up inside, don’t try to move through this time alone. You have permission to grieve. And you have permission to live.
- adrienne maree brown, “You Have Permission”

Somatic embodiment allows us to explore our trauma, work through it and make meaningful connections to ourselves and the collective. Doing this over time sustains our healing; just like trauma, healing is not a one-time only event. This healing helps move us toward individual and collective liberation. 

In “A Queer Politics of Pleasure,” Andy Johnson speaks about the ways in which the queering of pleasure offers us sources of healing, acceptance, release, playfulness, wholeness, defiance, subversion, and freedom. How expansive! When we embody pleasure in ways that are this holistic, this queer, we are able to acknowledge the limitation.

Queering pleasure also asks us the questions that intersect our dreaming with our lived realities. 

Who is free or deemed worthy enough to feel pleasure? When is one allowed to feel pleasure or pleased? With whom can one experience pleasure? What kind of pleasure is accessible? What limits one from accessing their full erotic and pleased potential?
- Andy Johnson, “A Queer Politics 
of Pleasure”

When our trauma-informed pleasure practices are grounded in community care, we begin to answer some of these questions. We begin to understand the liberating potential. As pleasure activists, this is the reality we ground ourselves within. The reality that says, my pleasure may be fractal, but it has the potential to heal not only me and my community, but future bloodlines.

I am a whole system; we are whole systems. We are not just our pains, not just our fears, and not just our thoughts. We are entire systems wired for pleasure, and we can learn how to say yes from the inside out.
- Prentis Hemphill, interviewed by Shar Jossell

There’s a world of pleasure that allows us to begin to understand ourselves holistically, in ways that give us room to rebuild the realities that affirm that we are capable and deserving of daily pleasure. BDSM, one of my deepest pleasures, allows me a glimpse into these realities where I can both feel and heal my trauma, as well as feel immeasurable opportunities to say yes from the inside out. While trauma keeps me stuck in a cycle of fight or flight, bondage, kneeling, impact, and breath play encourage me to stay grounded and connected, reconnecting to restoration. Pleasure that is playful allows me to heal, to identify where traumatic energy is stored in my body and focus my energy there. It allows me to express the sensations my body feels through screams of pain and delight, to express my no with no fear and revel in the fuck yes. With a safety plan, aftercare, and a deeper understanding of trauma, kink offers a place of pleasure and healing that is invaluable. 

So whether your pleasure looks like cooking a meal at your leisure, engaging in sex, having bed days with your people, participating in disability care collectives, having someone spit in your mouth, going on accessible outings, having cuddle dates, attending an online dance party, spending time in your garden, being choked out in a dungeon, 

I hope you take pleasure with you wherever you go. I hope it heals you and your people.

Recognising the power of the erotic within our lives can give us the energy to pursue genuine change within our world. 
- Audre Lorde, “Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power”

Gender Impact Investing & The Rise of False Solutions:

An Analysis for Feminist Movements

Gender Impact Investing (GII) is now trending as a solution to gender inequality. Yet, as our report indicates, it is actually part of the problem. Public and private institutions marketing GII equate it with promotion of gender equality and with increased resources for women and girls.

Neither claim is evidence-based.

Rather, GII is another expression of subjecting our lives and societies to the same financial logic that has shaped, and continues shaping, the profound inequalities in our world.

With this report, AWID offers the readers - feminists, gender justice advocates and stakeholders in gender impact investing - a critical analysis and substantiated evidence to understand GII, its narratives, and economic and political implications for feminist movements.

Arménien·ne·s, le féminisme est notre passé et notre avenir

par Sophia Armen 

Que cela vous plaise ou non, les ungerhouis font partie intégrante de nos histoires de résistance et elles ne disparaîtront pas de sitôt.  (...)

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If you’re looking to have an impact through your work in feminist, social justice and other non-profit organizations, we hope this page provides a start.

Here you will find open vacancies and call for applications from AWID and the Alliance for Feminist Movements, when available. Follow us on social media to be in the loop.

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Sin palabras
	Chinelo Onwualu	Ghiwa Sayegh

«Cuando estamos desesperadxs por el cambio, como sucede tanto en la enfermedad como en la insurrección, nuestro lenguaje se vacía de complejidad, se queda con sus componentes más esenciales… Sin embargo, a medida que la enfermedad y la revolución persisten, el lenguaje que se hizo en ellas y sobre ellas se profundiza, admite más matices, inmerso en la aguda experiencia humana de encontrar los propios límites en el lugar del fin del mundo».

Johanna Hedva

Cuando comenzamos a delinear este número con Nana Darkoa, antes de Crear | Résister | Transform: un festival para movimientos feministas! de AWID, partimos de una pregunta que es más bien una observación sobre el estado del mundo, un deseo de cambiar el terreno: ¿por qué nuestras sexualidades y placeres siguen siendo domesticados y criminalizados incluso cuando nos dicen, una y otra vez, que no tienen valor ni contribuyen al progreso? Llegamos a la conclusión de que cuando se corporizan, hay algo en nuestras sexualidades que opera contra un orden del mundo que sigue manifestándose en los controles fronterizos, los apartheids en relación a las vacunas, el colonialismo de asentamiento, la limpieza étnica, y el capitalismo descontrolado. ¿Podemos hablar, entonces, del potencial disruptivo de nuestras sexualidades? ¿Podemos seguir haciendo eso cuando, para poder obtener recursos, nuestros movimientos deben ser cooptados e institucionalizados?

Cuando el trabajo de nuestros cuerpos se convierte en ganancias en las manos de los sistemas que buscamos desmantelar, no sorprende que nuestras sexualidades y placeres queden relegados una vez más a las márgenes, especialmente cuando no son lo suficientemente rentables. En muchos momentos durante la producción de este número, nos preguntamos qué sucedería si nos negáramos a dar cabida a los servicios esenciales del capitalismo. Pero ¿podemos atrevernos a hacer esa pregunta cuando estamos agotadxs por el mundo? Quizás nuestras sexualidades son desestimadas con tanta facilidad porque no son vistas como formas de cuidado. Quizás lo que necesitemos sea reimaginar el placer como una forma radical de cuidado, una que también es anticapitalista y anti-institucional.

Estamos entrando en nuestro segundo año completo de pandemia global y nuestro abordaje de la corporalidad transnacional ha tenido que concentrarse en un único descubrimiento político: que cuidar es una forma de habitar la corporalidad. Y como ahora tanto de nuestro trabajo se hace sin tomar en cuenta los límites entre y dentro de nosotrxs, todxs somos Corporalidades Transnacionales, y eso a todxs nos sale mal. Estamos fallando en cuanto a cuidarnos y, lo que es más grave, en cuidar a lxs otrxs. 

Ese fracaso no es producto de nuestras acciones. 

Muchxs de nuestras madres y padres pensaban que el trabajo era transaccional, algo que debía darse a cambio de una compensación y una garantía de cuidado. Y si bien ese intercambio no siempre se cumplió, nuestrxs madres y padres no esperaban que su trabajo les diera satisfacción. Para eso tenían su ocio, sus pasatiempos, y sus comunidades. Hoy, nosotrxs, sus hijxs, que hemos sido condicionadxs para pensar en nuestro trabajo como entrelazado con nuestra pasión, no tenemos esas expectativas. Pensamos el trabajo y el ocio como una sola y misma cosa. Para demasiadas personas, el trabajo ha llegado a encarnar todo lo que somos. 

Sin embargo, el capitalismo heteropatriarcal no nos valora, ni hablar de que valore nuestro trabajo o nuestras sexualidades. Este es un sistema que solo te exigirá más y más hasta que mueras. Y cuando mueras, te reemplazará por otra persona. Que se espere que estemos en línea todo el día significa que simplemente no podemos tomar distancia del trabajo, ni siquiera cuando queremos hacerlo. Esta comercialización del trabajo, divorciándolo de la persona, ha permeado cada aspecto de nuestras vidas y está siendo perpetuado incluso en los círculos más feministas, más radicales y más revolucionarios. 

Las expectativas capitalistas siempre han sido particularmente dañinas para los cuerpos que no se ajustan a su ideal. Y quienes buscan consolidar sus poderes han utilizado la pandemia como una oportunidad para concentrar sus ataques en las mujeres, las minorías sexuales y cualquier otrx a quien subestimen. 

Este número especial existe debido a eso y ciertamente a pesar de eso. 

Casi todxs lxs colaboradorxs e integrantes del equipo se estaban presionando para ir más allá de su capacidad. Cada una de las colaboraciones fue producida desde un lugar de pasión, pero también de un increíble agotamiento. De una forma muy real, este número encarna el trabajo transnacional y, en el mundo digital en el cual vivimos, todo trabajo se ha convertido en trabajo transnacional. A medida que nos enfrentamos a nuevas fronteras que no han roto un viejo orden sino que lo reifican, experimentamos de primera mano, junto a nuestrxs colaboradorxs, cómo el capitalismo vacía nuestros límites, cómo se hace difícil construir argumentos coherentes, especialmente cuando tenemos una fecha límite para hacerlo. Nos quedamos colectivamente sin palabras, porque nos quedamos sin mundos. 

Es precisamente porque nos sentimos perdidxs y solxs en el mundo del capitalismo heteropatriarcal que tenemos que reevaluar y repensar nuestros sistemas de cuidado. En muchos sentidos, hicimos de este número una misión de encontrar placer en el cuidado. Porque se ha vuelto más difícil construir argumentos coherentes, los medios visuales y creativos han pasado al primer plano. Muchas personas que solían escribir se han volcado a estos medios como una vía para producir conocimiento y atravesar la niebla mental que nos ha envuelto a todxs. Trajimos otras voces a este número, además de muchxs a quienes ya escucharon en el Festival, como una manera de abrir nuevas conversaciones y ampliar nuestros horizontes. 

Dado que nos roban nuestras palabras, es nuestro deber político seguir encontrando maneras de mantenernos y cuidarnos a nosotrxs mismxs y a lxs otrxs. Muchas de nuestras realidades actuales están tratando de borrarnos y desplazarnos, mientras que siguen explotando nuestro trabajo. Nuestra corporización, por lo tanto, se convierte en una forma de resistencia; es el comienzo de que encontremos nuestro camino hacia afuera y hacia nosotrxs mismxs. 

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Dieula and the Black Dolls

by Ana María Belique

The Naranjo Batey community is far from the city, but it’s full of hard-working people brimming with enthusiasm. A girl named Dieula lived there. (...)

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< artwork: “Fury” by Diana Manilla Arroyo

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Por Michel’le Donnelly

El Festival Feminista Crear | Resister | Transform de septiembre fue una bocanada de aire fresco en estos tiempos tan inciertos, turbulentos y dolorosos.

El espacio que creó este festival era muy necesario. Necesario para el alma de quienes buscamos consuelo en estas horas sombrías. Necesario para esas ansias de comunidad en un mundo que se siente cada vez más aislado y, sobre todo, necesario para quienes luchamos contra los mismos sistemas que nos han puesto a muchxs de nosotrxs de rodillas, en especial durante los últimos dos años.

«Las crisis no son un fenómeno nuevo para los movimientos feministas y sociales; tenemos una dilatada historia de supervivencia ante la opresión y de construcción de nuestras comunidades y de nuestras propias realidades». 

Defender visiones alternativas y realidades alternativas a la que estamos viviendo ahora es la piedra basal de la agenda feminista. Hay muchísimas personas maravillosas que están abocadas a explorar distintas formas de existencia para nosotrxs en el mundo. Son alternativas centradas en las personas. Son equitativas y justas. Son mundos colmados de amor, ternura y cuidados. Las visiones descritas son prácticamente demasiado bellas para imaginar, pero debemos forzarnos a imaginar porque es la única forma de seguir. 

Durante los últimos 10 años, he tenido la increíble fortuna de trabajar con un colectivo feminista que no solo está imaginando una realidad alternativa, sino que está viviendo en ella activamente. Nos inspira la labor de tantos otros movimientos feministas de todo el globo que no han permitido que el patriarcado blanco supremacista y capitalista los disuadan de su visión. Este colectivo me mantuvo en pie cuando todo lo que deseaba era desmoronarme. Muy similar a la historia que relató María Bonita el cuarto día del festival; la liberación que he encontrado en los movimientos feministas es demasiado potente como para que solo yo la experimente. Es algo para compartir, algo que tenemos que gritarlo a los cuatro vientos para invitar a otras personas a sumarse. 

El cuarto día del festival nos trajo una conversación cautivante entre Felogene Anumo, la Dra. Dilar Dirik, Nana Akosua Hanson y Vandana Shiva, quienes alentaron a quienes asistimos al festival a creer no solo que un futuro alternativo es posible, sino que se hace imperiosamente necesario. Los feminismos venimos hablando de mundos alternativos desde hace muchos años, y escuchar hablar sobre ellos en el panel no solo nos abrió los ojos, sino que además nos reconfortó. Cuando digo que nos reconfortó quiero decir que me hizo sentir seguridad al saber que ciertamente existen sólidas redes feministas globales que trabajan en las fronteras nacionales e internacionales para descolonizar los marcos establecidos de nuestras realidades actuales. 

¿En qué consiste una realidad alternativa? 

Durante la sesión, la Dra. Dirik destacó el hecho de que la convicción, el sacrificio y la paciencia son lo más necesario para abolir los sistemas opresivos en los que vivimos hoy. La colaboración, el compañerismo, la creatividad, la solidaridad y la autonomía. Estos son los pilares fundamentales para erigir una sociedad global feminista a los que todos los movimientos feministas del mundo deberíamos aferrarnos. 

En todo el globo se pueden encontrar varios ejemplos prácticos de estas realidades, incluido el Movimiento Soulaliyate para los Derechos de las Mujeres al Uso de la Tierra. En referencia a las mujeres tribales de Marruecos que viven en tierras colectivas, el Movimiento de Mujeres Soulalyate es la primera movilización nacional de base por los derechos a la tierra de ese país. Si bien, en un principio, el movimiento era bastante pequeño, este creció hasta convertirse en una agenda de orden nacional que desafió la naturaleza de género de las leyes que rigen el uso de la tierra en Marruecos. En 2019, el grupo contribuyó a modificar el marco legislativo nacional sobre la gestión de los bienes comunitarios a través de la adopción de tres conjuntos de leyes que garantizan la igualdad entre mujeres y hombres. 

Otro ejemplo práctico es el de Casa Trans Zuleymi de Perú. La casa, que funciona desde 2016, es un refugio para mujeres, niñas y adolescentes migrantes trans a quienes el Estado ha dejado atrás. Ha brindado albergue seguro a 76 mujeres migrantes trans de Venezuela, junto a 232 de zonas selváticas, comunidades indígenas y la costa norte de Perú. 

Saber de estos movimientos feministas que están haciendo su parte para convertir en realidad los futuros alternativos es sumamente inspirador y necesario, en especial cuando me cuesta tanto lidiar con la sucesión interminable de malas noticias que parecen fluir sin interrupción. 

«El patriarcado capitalista es como un cáncer. No se sabe cuándo para de crecer». Dra. Vandana Shiva 

Desde siempre, AWID ha sido un movimiento inspirado en las realidades feministas que podemos vivir. Con sus festivales, así como con la revista y la caja de herramientas sobre las realidades feministas, nos ha mostrado otro modo de hacer las cosas. Podemos imaginar un mundo donde el cuidado sea prioridad, donde las economías feministas y la justicia de género sean la norma. La creación de futuros alternativos es nuestra forma de devolver el golpe, es nuestra forma de resistir a la violencia que se perpetra contra nuestros cuerpos todos los días. 

El Festival Crear | Resister | Transform me permitió sentirme muy conectada con una comunidad global, a muchxs de lxs cuales nunca voy a conocer. Saber que todxs estamos reclamando y trabajando en pos de otro mundo encendió una llama en mi alma y no veo la hora de conocer qué nos traerá el próximo festival. 

Si te lo perdiste, cerciórate de ver la sesión «Otro mundo está en camino: alternativas, feminismos y otro mundo» celebrada el cuarto día del festival. Y recuerda, como expresó la Dra. Shiva de modo tan elocuente: «La energía de las mujeres mantendrá la vida en la tierra. No nos vencerán».