Organizing creatively, facing an increasing threat
Young feminist activists play a critical role in women’s rights organizations and movements worldwide by bringing up new issues that feminists face today. Their strength, creativity and adaptability are vital to the sustainability of feminist organizing.
At the same time, they face specific impediments to their activism such as limited access to funding and support, lack of capacity-building opportunities, and a significant increase of attacks on young women human rights defenders. This creates a lack of visibility that makes more difficult their inclusion and effective participation within women’s rights movements.
A multigenerational approach
AWID’s young feminist activism program was created to make sure the voices of young women are heard and reflected in feminist discourse. We want to ensure that young feminists have better access to funding, capacity-building opportunities and international processes. In addition to supporting young feminists directly, we are also working with women’s rights activists of all ages on practical models and strategies for effective multigenerational organizing.
Our Actions
We want young feminist activists to play a role in decision-making affecting their rights by:
Fostering community and sharing information through the Young Feminist Wire. Recognizing the importance of online media for the work of young feminists, our team launched the Young Feminist Wire in May 2010 to share information, build capacity through online webinars and e-discussions, and encourage community building.
Researching and building knowledge on young feminist activism, to increase the visibility and impact of young feminist activism within and across women’s rights movements and other key actors such as donors.
Promoting more effective multigenerational organizing, exploring better ways to work together.
Supporting young feminists to engage in global development processes such as those within the United Nations
Collaboration across all of AWID’s priority areas, including the Forum, to ensure young feminists’ key contributions, perspectives, needs and activism are reflected in debates, policies and programs affecting them.
Binta Sarr was an activist for social, economic, cultural and political justice, and a hydraulic engineer in Senegal. After 13 years in civil service, she left this path to work with rural and marginalized women.
Out of this engagement grew the Association for the Advancement of Senegalese Women (APROFES), a grassroots movement and organization Binta founded in 1987. One of her main approaches was leadership training, relating not only to economic activities but also to women's rights and access to positions of decision-making.
“Grassroots populations must organize, mobilize, assume citizen control and demand democratic governance in all sectors of public space. The priority of social movements must go beyond the fight against poverty and must be focused on articulated and coherent development programs in line with human rights principles, while taking into account their needs and concerns both at the national and sub-regional levels and from a perspective of African and global integration.” - Binta Sarr
Rooted in Binta’s conviction that fundamental change in women’s status requires transformation in male attitudes, APROFES took an interdisciplinary approach, using radio, seminars and popular theatre, as well as providing innovative public education and cultural support for awareness-raising actions. Its popular theatre troupe performed original pieces on the caste system in Senegal, alcoholism, and conjugal violence. Binta and her team also looked at the crucial connection between the community and the broader world.
“For APROFES, it is a question of studying and taking into account the interactions between the micro and the macro, the local and the global and also, the different facets of development. From slavery to colonization, neocolonialism and the commodification of human development, most of the resources of Africa and the Third World (oil, gold, minerals and other natural resources) are still under the control of financial cartels and other multinationals that dominate this globalized world.” - Binta Sarr
Binta was one of the founding members of the female section of the Cultural and Sports Association Magg Daan. She received commendations from the Regional Governor and the Minister of Hydrology for her "devotion to rural people."
Born in 1954 in Guiguineo, a small rural town, Binta passed away in September 2019.
Tributes:
“The loss is immeasurable, the pain is heavy and deep but we will resist so as not to mourn Binta; we will not mourn Binta, we will keep the image of her broad smile in all circumstances, to resist and be inspired by her, maintain, consolidate and develop her work…” - Aprofes Facebook page, September 24, 2019
"Farewell Binta! We believe your immense heritage will be preserved." - Elimane FALL, president of ACS Magg-Daan
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.
La communauté AWID est une plateforme en ligne de réseautage social conçue tout spécialement pour l’AWID. Espace féministe ayant vocation à connecter, résister et célébrer, c’est un endroit où les conversations féministes critiques, le pouvoir et la puissance du collectif et la solidarité sont à l’œuvre. Cet espace est également ouvert pour dialoguer après les différents événements, pour penser, assimiler, digérer les apprentissages politiques difficiles, et pour prendre soin de la communauté.
Devenez membre de l’AWID pour pouvoir faire partie de la Communauté AWID dès aujourd’hui.
Laurie Carlos fue una actriz, directora, bailarina, dramaturga y poeta estadounidense, una artista y visionaria extraordinaria que tenía un poderoso don para hacer surgir el arte en otras personas.
«Laurie entraba en una habitación (cualquier habitación/todas las habitaciones ) con clarividencia arremolinada, con genio artístico, rigor corporizado, con un realismo feroz— y con la determinación de ser libre... y de liberar a otrxs. Una hacedora de magia. Una vidente. Alguien que cambiaba de formas. Laurie me dijo una vez que entraba en los cuerpos de las personas para descubrir qué necesitaban.» - Sharon Bridgforth
Combinaba estilos de actuación tales como gestos rítmicos y texto. Laurie era mentora de nuevxs actorxs, performers y escritorxs, y ayudaba a difundir su trabajo a través de «Naked Stages», una beca para artistas emergentes. Integraba el Penumbra Theater, con el que colaboraba mediante guiones que produjeran identificaciones, a fin de «traer más voces femeninas al teatro». Laurie integraba también Urban Bush Women, una compañía de danza contemporánea prestigiosa que relata historias sobre mujeres de la diáspora africana.
En 1976, como Lady in Blue, hizo su debut en Broadway, en la producción original galardonada del drama poético de Ntozake Shange For colored girls who have considered suicide / when the rainbow is enuf. La obra de Laurie incluye White Chocolate, The Cooking Show y Organdy Falsetto.
«Cuento las historias en el movimiento (las danzas internas que surgen espontáneamente, como en la vida), la música y el texto. Si escribo una línea, no necesariamente tiene que ser una línea que es hablada; puede ser una línea que es movida. Una línea a partir de la cual se crea música. El gesto se convierte en la oración. Gran parte de quienes somos como mujeres, como personas, tiene que ver con los gestos que hacemos entre nosotrxs todo el tiempo, y en particular, durante momentos emotivos. El gesto se convierte en una oración o una declaración de hechos. Si pongo en un guión “cuatro gestos”, eso no quiere decir que no estoy diciendo nada; significa que lo he abierto para que algo sea dicho físicamente.» - Laurie Carlos
Laurie nació y creció en la ciudad de Nueva York, trabajó y vivió en Twin Cities. Falleció el 29 de diciembre de 2016 a la edad de 67 años, luego de una batalla contra el cáncer de colon.
Tributos:
«Creo que esa era exactamente la intención de Laurie. Salvarnos. De la mediocridad. Del ego. De la pereza. De la producción de arte a medias. De estar paralizadxs por el miedo. Laurie quería ayudarnos a Brillar plenamente. En nuestra producción artística. En nuestras Vidas.» - Sharon Bridgforth para Pillsbury House Theatre
«Nadie que conociera a Laurie dejaría de definirla como una persona original. Era su propia persona. Era su propia persona, su propia artista; ponía en escena el mundo tal como lo conocía, con verdadero estilo y comprensión, y vivía su arte.» - Lou Bellamy, fundador de Penumbra Theater Company, para Star Tribune
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.
Snippet FEA Principles of work Education and Learning (ES)
Las Realidades Feministas son una invitación cálida y afectuosa, una suerte de acto de cuidado y preservación colectivo (en oposición al autocuidado), una invitación a atesorar, a hacer inventario de toda la labor realizada para que no desaparezca. (...)
Join us through the #FreezeFascisms conversations!
As we navigate the global polycrisis, movements are tirelessly building power beyond traditional power structures. The wave of US presidential executive orders is intended to scare us, but no amount of fascist ideology can erase our existence and resistance.
We invite you to be a part of the solidarity-building campaign to expose and resist fascist forces undermining feminist and gender justice movements in your contexts!
Spark conversations in a brave space: Share stories of struggles and resistance to fascisms in your contexts on the AWID Community Platform. Not a member yet? Join here
Support movements that have been impacted: Amplify fundraisers, resourcing opportunities, mutual aid efforts using the #FreezeFascisms (we’re still on X, Instagram, LinkedIN, and we’re also on Bluesky)
Organize around alternatives: We’ve been building our community of practice on feminist economic alternatives & autonomous resourcing. Sign up to be part of it here.
Fadila M. était une activiste “tribale” Soulaliyate d’Azrou, dans la province marocaine d’Ifrane. Elle s'est battue contre une forme spécifique de discrimination à l'égard des femmes “tribales” liée à la propriété foncière.
Dans le cadre du Mouvement en faveur des droits fonciers des femmes Soulaliyates, elle a travaillé pour la révision de la législation-cadre relative à la gestion des biens communautaires, avec l'adoption en 2019 de trois projets de lois garantissant l'égalité des femmes et des hommes.
Selon le droit coutumier en vigueur, les femmes n'avaient pas le droit de bénéficier de la terre, surtout celles qui étaient célibataires, veuves ou divorcées. Au Maroc, les droits à la terre collective se transmettaient traditionnellement entre les membres masculins de plus de 16 ans issus d’une même famille. Depuis 2007, Fadila M. faisait partie du mouvement des femmes, à savoir la première mobilisation populaire nationale de revendication de leurs droits fonciers. Parmi leurs victoires, citons le fait qu'en 2012, les femmes Soulaliyates ont pu, pour la première fois, s'inscrire sur les listes de bénéficiaires et disposer d'une indemnisation liée à la cession des terres. Le mouvement a également réussi à faire modifier le dahir de 1919 (décret du roi du Maroc) de façon à garantir aux femmes le droit à l'égalité.
Fadila M. s’est éteinte le 27 septembre 2018. Les circonstances de sa mort, survenue alors qu’elle participait à une marche de protestation sur la question des terres collectives, ne sont pas claires. Si les autorités déclarent que sa mort est accidentelle et qu'elle a fait un arrêt cardiaque sur le chemin de l'hôpital, la section locale de l'Association marocaine des droits de l'homme (AMDH), affirme quant à elle que Fadila a été étouffée par un membre des forces policières arborant un drapeau marocain. Sa famille a demandé qu’une enquête soit menée mais les résultats de l'autopsie n'ont pas été communiqués.
Veuillez noter: Nous n'avons pu trouver aucune photo de Fadima M. C'est pourquoi cette illustration (au lieu d'un portrait) représente ce pour quoi elle s'est battue et a travaillé : la terre et le droit d'y vivre et d'avoir accès à cette terre et ce qui y pousse.
“Forgotten Song” [«Canción Olvidada»]“Ode to the Moon” [Oda a la Luna»]“Vapour and Fire” [«Vapor y Fuego»]
Sobre Upasana Agarwal
Upasana es unx ilustradorx y artista no binarie de Calcuta, India. Su obra explora narrativas identitarias y personales, que empean restos o evidencias visuales de los contextos con los que trabaja. Le atraen especialmente los diseños en patrones que, para ellx, comunican verdades complejas sobre el pasado, el presente y el futuro. Cuando Upasana no está ilustrando, organiza y dirige un centro de arte comunitario queer y trans de la ciudad.
