
Suzette Jordan

L’hommage se présente sous forme d’une exposition de portraits d’activistes du monde entier qui ne sont plus parmi nous qui ont lutté pour les droits des femmes et la justice sociale.
Cette année, tout en continuant à convoquer la mémoire de celleux qui ne sont plus parmi nous, nous souhaitons célébrer leur héritage et souligner les manières par lesquelles leur travail continue à avoir un impact sur nos réalités vécues aujourd’hui.
49 nouveaux portraits de féministes et de défenseur·e·s viennent compléter la gallerie. Bien que de nombreuses des personnes que nous honorons dans cet hommage sont décédé·e·s du fait de leur âge ou de la maladie, beaucoup trop d’entre iels ont été tué·e·s à cause de leur travail et de qui iels étaient.
Visiter notre exposition virtuelle
Les portraits de l'édition 2020 ont été illustrés par Louisa Bertman, artiste et animatrice qui a reçu plusieurs prix.
L’AWID tient à remercier nos membres, les familles, les organisations et les partenaires qui ont contribué à cette commémoration. Nous nous engageons auprès d’elleux à poursuivre le travail remarquable de ces féministes et défenseur·e·s et nous ne ménagerons aucun effort pour que justice soit faite dans les cas qui demeurent impunis.
« Ils ont essayé de nous enterrer. Ils ne savaient pas que nous étions des graines » - Proverbe mexicain
Le premier hommage aux défenseur-e-s des droits humains a pris la forme d’une exposition de portraits et de biographies de féministes et d’activistes disparu·e·s lors du 12e Forum international de l’AWID en Turquie. Il se présente maintenant comme une gallerie en ligne, mise à jour chaque année.
Depuis, 467 féministes et défenseur-e-s des droits humains ont été mis·es à l'honneur.
الهدف الأساسي من وراء استطلاع "أين المال" هو تسليط الضوء على على وقائع التمويل المتنوّعة والمركّبة للحركات النسوية، حركات النساء، حركات العدالة الجندرية وحركات مجتمع الميم - عين والحركات الحليفة لها على المستوى العالمي. بناءاً على هذا، وبناءً على ذلك - تعزيز قضية تحويل أموال أكثر وأفضل وتحويل السلطة باتجاه الحركات النسوية.
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.
Apprenez-en davantage sur le Mouvement en faveur des droits fonciers des femmes Soulaliyates
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.
As you plan the activity you would like to do at the Forum, please also consider how you will fund your participation. Typical Costs include: accommodation, travel, visa, forum registration fees, etc.
It is important to note that this Forum will have many ‘open spaces’ and moments for movements to learn and exchange, but fewer formal sessions. (See “Ways to describe the Forum in your fundraising” below for language to use in your outreach.)
Reach out to your current donors first : Your best option is always a current funder that you have.
Make sure to do it in advance : We recommend contacting them by early 2020 at the latest. Many funders who support feminist organizations have some budget allocated for Forum travel. Others may be able to include it in renewal grants or through other travel funds.
If your group has funders, tell them that you want to attend the AWID Forum to learn, experience, exchange and network- even if your activity does not get selected for the final program. In order to be able to support your participation, your donors will need to know about it well in advance so tell them right away! (they are already deciding which funds they will distribute in 2020).
If you do not currently have donor support or are not able to secure grants for Forum travel, consider reaching out to new donors.
Deadlines and requirements vary by funder, and a grant review process can take many months. If you’re considering applying for new grants, do so as soon as possible.
Feminist movements have long gotten creative with funding our own activism. Here are some ideas that we have gathered to inspire alternative ways of fundraising:
For more inspiration, see AWID’s ongoing series on autonomous resourcing, including specific ideas for conference raising participation funds.
AWID strives to make the Forum a truly global gathering with participation from diverse movements, regions and generations. To this end, AWID mobilizes resources for a limited Access Fund (AF) to assist Forum participants with the costs of attending the Forum.
AWID’s Access Fund will provide support to a limited number of Forum participants and session/activity facilitators. You can indicate in your application if you would like to apply to the AWID Access Fund. This is not guaranteed, and we strongly encourage you to seek alternative funding for your participation and travel to the Forum.
Even if you apply for the AWID Access Fund, we encourage you to continue to explore other options to fund your participation in the Forum. Access Fund decisions will be confirmed by the end of June 2020. Please remember that these resources are very limited, and we will be unable to support all applicants.
As you reach out to funders or your own networks, here is some sample messaging that may be helpful. Feel free to adapt it in whatever way is useful for you!
The AWID Forum is a co-created feminist movement space that energizes participants in their own activism, and strengthens connections with others across multiple rights and justice movements. Participants get to draw from wells of hope, energy and radical imagination, as well as deepen shared analysis, learning, and build cross-movement solidarity to develop more integrated agendas and advance joint strategies.
Our organization is seeking funds to attend the Forum in order to connect with other activists and movements from around the world, strengthen our strategies, and share our work. We are inspired by past participants, who have described the power of this global feminist gathering:
“Over four days … voices weaved together into a global perspective on the state of gender equality. And when I say global, I mean simultaneous translation into seven languages kind of global ....”
“It was reminding us that we are not alone. The Forum provided a means of translating collectivity into our movements. Whether across ideologies, identities or borders, our strength is in our vision and our support of one another.”
It is important to note that this Forum will have many ‘open spaces’ and moments for movements to learn and exchange, but fewer formal sessions. While many attendees will not be presenting in formal sessions, there will be invaluable space to learn, strategize, and experience feminist movements’ collective power in action.
When calculating your costs and how much you need to raise, it is important to factor in costs that may come up. Here’s an example of key items to consider:
The AWID Forum will now take place 11-14 January 2021 in Taipei .
It is more than a four-day convening. It is one more stop on a movement strengthening journey around Feminist Realities that has already begun and will continue well beyond the Forum dates.
Нет, мы просим только один заполненный опрос от каждой группы.
By joining AWID, you are becoming part of worldwide feminist organizing, a collective power that is rooted in working across movements and is based on solidarity.
Rosa Candida Mayorga Muñoz was a Guatemalan social worker, union leader and labor rights defender. She was affectionately called Rosita and she inspired change.
In the 1980’s, Rosa became the first female member of the Executive Committee of the Union of Workers of the Institute of National Electrification (STINDE), a union she first joined to advocate for women’s labor rights. For her, this meant fighting for equal opportunities in a company where many women faced a discriminatory and violent system created by company authorities. Rosa had also suffered sexual harassment in her workplace, both by co-workers and managers. She was not to be kept quiet though.
Rosa continued fighting and was part of the effort to mould the struggle into a more specific form, that of the INDE-STINDE Collective Pact of Working conditions. This pact was a pioneer, the first in Guatemala to typify the concept of (sexual) harassment. It serves as a reference for the Guatemalan legislation on labor matters and is an encouragement for other unions.
“She had no fighting tools other than her own ideals... Many times she was intimidated, harassed to put the fight aside, but her courage generated the image of hope for grassroots unionists. Rosita created an image of respect, not only within her union, but before the authorities of the institution, before the women's movement; she was recognized as a pioneer of the trade union women's movement, in a space that had been more dominated by men.” - Maritza Velasquez, ATRAHDOM
Rosa passed away on 4 April 2018 at the age of 77.
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.
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).
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.
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.
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!
Somente no caso de problemas de acessibilidade e/ou se realizar o inquérito noutro idioma; caso contrário, encorajamo-lo a utilizar o KOBO para a recolha e análise padronizadas de dados do WITM.
Tenemos el placer de presentarte a Sopo Japaridze, feminista feroz, líder sindical y presidenta del sindicato independiente de servicios Red de Solidaridad.
Dejó el país cuando era muy joven para ir a los Estados Unidos, donde se volvió políticamente muy activa como organizadora laboral. Siempre mantuvo a Georgia en su mente todo ese tiempo, hasta que un día, dos décadas después, decidió regresar.
La confederación sindical georgiana existente en este momento era menos que ideal. Entonces, equipada con sus habilidades, conocimientos y experiencia en organización laboral, Sopo regresó a Georgia y formó su propio sindicato.
También es una apasionada investigadora y escritora. Estudia relaciones laborales y sociales, escribe para varias publicaciones y es una de lxs editorxs de Left East, una plataforma analítica de Europa del Este. También cofundó la iniciativa y el podcast de historia política, Reimaginando la Georgia soviética, donde explora las complejidades y los matices de las experiencias del país bajo la Unión Soviética, para entender mejor su pasado y construir un futuro mejor.
Piensa en grande. Gracias a nuestro alcance internacional, podemos combinar el trabajo analítico con herramientas políticas y prácticas para la incidencia y la transformación, con el objeto de promover la causa de los movimientos feministas en todos los ámbitos.
Mirna Teresa Suazo Martínez era parte de la comunidad garífuna (afrodescendiente e indígena) de Masca, en la costa norte del Caribe de Honduras. Era una líder comunitaria, y una ferviente defensora del territorio indígena, tierra que fue vulnerada cuando el Instituto Nacional Agrario de Honduras otorgó licencias territoriales a gente ajena a la comunidad.
Este acto deplorable derivó en repetidos acosos, abusos y violencia contra la comunidad de Masca, dado que los intereses económicos de diferentes grupos se unieron a los de las fuerzas armadas y las autoridades hondureñas. Según la Organización Fraternal Negra Hondureña (OFRANEH), la estrategia de estos grupos es expulsar y exterminar a la población indígena.
«Masca, la comunidad Garífuna localizada junto al valle del Cuyamel, forma parte de la zona de influencia de una de las supuestas ciudades modelo, situación que ha disparado las presiones territoriales a lo largo de la costa Garífuna.» - OFRANEH, 8 de septiembre de 2019
Mirna Teresa, presidenta del Patronato de la comunidad de Masca en Omoa, también rechazaba con firmeza la construcción de dos plantas hidroeléctricas sobre el río que lleva el mismo nombre que su comunidad, Masca.
«La comunidad garífuna atribuye el agravamiento de la situación en su región a su oposición contra la explotación turística, el monocultivo de palma africana y el narcotráfico, al mismo tiempo que busca construir una vida alternativa a través del cultivo del coco y de otros productos de autoconsumo.» - Voces Feministas, 10 de septiembre de 2019
Mirna Teresa fue asesinada el 8 de septiembre de 2019 en su restaurante «Champa los Gemelos».
Fue una de las seis defensoras garífunas asesinadas solo entre septiembre y octubre de 2019. Según OFRANEH, las autoridades no han investigado estos crímenes.
«En el caso de las comunidades Garífunas, buena parte de los homicidios están relacionados con la tenencia y el manejo de la tierra. No obstante, las rencillas entre el crimen organizado han tenido como resultado asesinatos, como los recientemente ocurridos en Santa Rosa de Aguán.» - OFRANEH, 8 de septiembre de 2019
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.
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?
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.
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
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.
< United against the violence, by Karina Ocampo
Freeing the Church, Decolonizing the Bible for West Papuan Women, by Rode Wanimbo >