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We all can dance
by Mechthild Möhring (aka serialmel)

How I punt myself at the narrow hard knitting I once retrieved. I'm dancing in the kitchen when I'm alone. Gracile and powerful. When I'm in company I'm clumsy. My body scandalizes, scandalizes the laws of look I feel, scandalizes the words which banished me. "Of course she can dance, it's in her blood as a Black person." "If she is able to dance nicely she is good in bed" they whisper, they murmur, no - they say it openly into my face. They smirk and rub themselves against me and let me move back. I stumble and fall. My feet reject their duty. Bearish I get out of breath. Smiling I place myself out of events and notice how my face freezes into a mask.

Translated into English by Tsepo Bollwinkel
 

Original in German

Tanzen können wir alle
Von Mechthild Möhring (aka serialmel)

Wie ich mich stosse an den engen, harten Maschen, in die ich mich einst zurückgezogen habe. Ich tanze in der Küche, wenn ich allein bin. Grazil und kraftvoll. Wenn ich in Gesellschaft bin, bin ich unbeholfen. Mein Körper eckt an, an die Gesetze des Blicks, den ich spüre, an die Worte, die mich bannten. „Natürlich kann sie tanzen, als Schwarze hat sie das im Blut.“ „Wenn sie gut tanzen kann, dann ist sie auch gut im Bett“ flüstern sie, raunen sie, nein, sie sagen es mir laut ins Gesicht. Sie grinsen und reiben sich an mir und lassen mich zurückweichen. Ich stolpere und falle. Meine Füsse verweigern ihren Dienst. Tollpatschig gerate ich ausser Atem. Lächelnd setze ich mich an den Rand des Geschehens und bemerke, wie mein Gesicht zur Maske erstarrt.

Guadalupe was an environmental activist involved in the fight against crime in Cherán, Mexico.

Guadalupe helped to overthrow the local government in April 2011 and participated in local security patrols including those in municipal forests.  She was among the Indigenous leaders of Cherán, who called on people to defend their forests against illegal and merciless logging. Her work for seniors, children, and workers made her an icon in her community.

She was killed in Chilchota, Mexico about 30 kilometers north of her hometown of Cherá.

Anna grew up in Lewes, Sussex (UK) and, after deciding not to pursue her English degree at Sheffield University, she moved to Bristol and became a plumber.

She spent much of her time defending the marginalised and under-privileged, attending anti-fascist rallies, and offering support to the women of Dale Farm when they were threatened with eviction. A vegan and animal lover, she attended hunt sabotages and her name is honoured on PETA's 'Tree of Life' Memorial. Anna went to Rojava in May 2017 with a strong commitment to women's empowerment, full representation of all ethnicities and protection of the environment.

Anna died on March 15, 2018 when she was hit by a Turkish airstrike in the town of Afrin, northern Syria. Anna was fighting with the Women's Protection Forces (YPJ), when she was killed.

Shireen was an inspiration to many feminists in Fiji and a powerful ally to the women’s movement. She advocated tirelessly for gender equality locally and regionally.

She began her career as a junior gender specialist at the Asian Development Bank and brought about drastic changes to the institution’s gender policies.

Her research, “Rule by the Danda: Domestic violence amongst Indo Fijians” was one of the earliest pieces of research on domestic violence, marriage and women in Fiji. This seminal work has been a catalyst for feminist work in this area.

Shireen’s legacy lives on as many remember her influence, commitment and support to the women’s movement in Fiji and the Pacific.

Born in 1928, Marceline worked as an actress, a screenwriter, and a director.

She directed The Birch-Tree Meadow in 2003, starring Anouk Aimee, as well as several other documentaries. She was also a holocaust survivor. She was just fifteen when she and her father were both arrested and sent to Nazi concentration camps. The three kilometres between her father in Auschwitz and herself in Birkenau were an insurmountable distance, which she writes about in one of her seminal novels “But You Did Not Come Back.”

In talking about her work, she once said: "All I can say is that everything I can write, everything I can unveil — it's my task to do it.”

Yamile Guerra was a well-known lawyer, community leader and political activist in the Santander region of Colombia.

She was actively working to resolve disputes between local communities and developers, advocating against illegal land appropriation. Yamile had occupied various political posts, including as the Secretary General for the Santander government in Bogota and also aspired for the Mayor’s Office of Bucaramanga. In the last few years of her life, Yamile became increasingly active in environmental causes, particularly in the defense of the biodiverse wetlands of Santurbán against development, a region which supplies nearly 2 million people with freshwater.

According to her family and friends, Yamile received daily threats against her life and had asked the authorities for protection. 

“She was very very aware of this issue [land litigation] and she said many times that she felt insecure.” - Alixon Navarro Munoz, journalist and friend of Guerra family

On July 20, 2019 Yamile was shot to death by two men in Floridablanca, Santander. She had just finished discussing a land dispute with them. A suspect was later arrested for her murder and admitted to being paid to carry out her assassination. According to reports, Yamile was the third member of her family to have been killed in relation to land disputes. Her father, Hernando Guerra was murdered several years previously.

Yamile’s assassination is part of a wave of violence and systematic killing of hundreds of social activists and human rights defenders in Colombia. According to the Institute for Development and Peace Studies (INDEPAZ), at the time of Yamile’s death, over 700 community leaders and human rights activists had been killed since the country signed a peace agreement in August 2016. Most were murdered for confronting illegal drug trafficking and mining operations, with indigenous people, Afro-Colombians and women human rights defenders being most at risk. 

Less than a week after Yamile’s death, thousands of Colombians marched all over towns and cities, holding up black and white photos of activists who had been killed, with signs that read: "Without leaders there can be no peace" and "No more bloodshed”.

Yamile Guerra was only 42 years old at the time of her assassination.