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Priority Areas

Supporting feminist, women’s rights and gender justice movements to thrive, to be a driving force in challenging systems of oppression, and to co-create feminist realities.

Resourcing Feminist Movements

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The “Where is the Money?” #WITM survey is now live! Dive in and share your experience with funding your organizing with feminists around the world.

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Around the world, feminist, women’s rights, and allied movements are confronting power and reimagining a politics of liberation. The contributions that fuel this work come in many forms, from financial and political resources to daily acts of resistance and survival.


AWID’s Resourcing Feminist Movements (RFM) Initiative shines a light on the current funding ecosystem, which range from self-generated models of resourcing to more formal funding streams.

Through our research and analysis, we examine how funding practices can better serve our movements. We critically explore the contradictions in “funding” social transformation, especially in the face of increasing political repression, anti-rights agendas, and rising corporate power. Above all, we build collective strategies that support thriving, robust, and resilient movements.


Our Actions

Recognizing the richness of our movements and responding to the current moment, we:

  • Create and amplify alternatives: We amplify funding practices that center activists’ own priorities and engage a diverse range of funders and activists in crafting new, dynamic models  for resourcing feminist movements, particularly in the context of closing civil society space.

  • Build knowledge: We explore, exchange, and strengthen knowledge about how movements are attracting, organizing, and using the resources they need to accomplish meaningful change.

  • Advocate: We work in partnerships, such as the Count Me In! Consortium, to influence funding agendas and open space for feminist movements to be in direct dialogue to shift power and money.

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Anti-Rights Tactics, Strategies, and Impacts

Chapter 5

Anti-rights actors adopt a double strategy. As well as launching outright attacks on the multilateral system, anti-rights actors also undermine human rights from within. Anti-rights actors engage with the aim of co-opting processes, entrenching regressive norms, and undermining accountability.

Photo-OP // the first anniversary of the EU signature to the Council of Europe Convention to prevent and combat gender-based violence and domestic violence, the so-called Istanbul Convention
© ALDE Group/Flickr
Photo-OP // the first anniversary of the EU signature to the Council of Europe Convention to prevent and combat gender-based violence and domestic violence, the so-called Istanbul Convention

Anti-rights actors’ engagement in international human rights spaces has a principal purpose: to undermine the system and its ability to respect, protect and fulfill human rights for all people, and to hold member states accountable for violations. Some anti-rights tactics operate from outside the UN and include delegitimization and political pressure to defund the UN, or to withdraw from international human rights agreements.  In recent years, anti-rights actors have also gained increasing influence inside the UN. Their inside tactics include training of delegates, distortion of human rights frameworks, watering down human rights agreements, infiltrating NGO committees, applying for ECOSOC status under neutral names, infiltrating youth spaces, and lobbying to place anti-rights actors in key positions.

Table of Contents

  • Institutionalization of Anti-rights Actors in UN Mechanisms
  • Opting-out and Delegitimization
  • Lowering HR Standards
  • Co-optation - Building a Parallel HR Framework
  • Exercise: Yes, they are strong, but so are we!
  • Exercise: Holding Governments Accountable
     

Read Full Chapter >

Barin Kobane

Barin was a member of the all-women fighting unit of the Kurdish People’s Protection Unit (YPG)

She was killed while on active duty.

Lebanese journalist Hifaa Zuaiter wrote: “Barin represents everything we have heard about the courage of the Kurdish female fighters, and her death is far more than the killing of a rival, or the result of a political or ethnic struggle. The horror of displaying her body only because she is a woman stems from the fact that she dared to threaten male hegemony by becoming a female fighter on a battlefield meant for men”.


 

Barin Kobane, Kurdistan

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Embodying Trauma-Informed Pleasure

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Tshegofatso Senne Portrait

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.

Cover for EMBODYING TRAUMA-INFORMED PLEASURE

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”


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Cover image for Communicating Desire
 
Explore Transnational Embodiments

This journal edition in partnership with Kohl: a Journal for Body and Gender Research, will explore feminist solutions, proposals and realities for transforming our current world, our bodies and our sexualities.

Explore

Cover image, woman biting a fruit
 

التجسيدات العابرة للحدود

نصدر النسخة هذه من المجلة بالشراكة مع «كحل: مجلة لأبحاث الجسد والجندر»، وسنستكشف عبرها الحلول والاقتراحات وأنواع الواقع النسوية لتغيير عالمنا الحالي وكذلك أجسادنا وجنسانياتنا.

استكشف المجلة

Riham Al-Bader

Riham was a lawyer and activist committed to monitoring rights violations in Yemen.

She worked with other activists to supply civilians trapped by Houthi militias in the outskirts of the city of Taiz with food and water.

Riham was killed in February 2018 and it is unconfirmed whether she was killed by a sniper or hit by an aircraft. Nobody has been held accountable for her murder. 


 

Riham Al Bader, Yemen

What will be different about this Forum?

With up to 2,500 participants on-site and 3,000 virtual/hybrid participants, it will be the largest AWID Forum ever. We envision multiple spaces for meaningful connection, learning, exchange, strategic conversations, healing and celebration. It is the first time we gather in this space since the pandemic, and we can’t wait.

Love letter to Feminist Movements #3

Love Letter to Feminism

By: Marianne Mesfin Asfaw

Scrapbook envelopes that say Love Letters to Feminist Movements. The envelope on top says From Marianne Mesfin Asfaw

I have many fond memories in my journey with feminism, but one in particular that stands out. It was during my time at graduate school, at a lecture I attended as part of a Feminist Theory course. This lecture was on African feminism and in it the professor talked about the history of Pan Africanism and the ways in which it was patriarchal, male-centric, and how Pan Africanist scholars perpetuated the erasure of African women. She talked about how African women’s contributions to the anti-colonial and decolonial struggles on the continent are rarely, if ever, discussed and given their due credit. We read about the African feminist scholars challenging this erasure and actively unearthing these stories of African women led movements and resistance efforts. It seems so simple but what stood out to me the most was that somebody put the words African and feminist together. Better yet, that there were many more of us out there wrestling with the complicated history, politics and societal norms in the various corners of the continent and we were all using a feminist lens to do this. I came out of that lecture feeling moved and completely mind-blown. After the lecture three of my friends (all African feminists) and I spent some time debriefing outside the classroom. We were all so struck by the brilliance of the lecture and the content but, more than anything, we all felt so seen. That feeling stood out to me. 

Falling in love feminism was thrilling. It felt like finally getting to talk to your longtime crush and finding out that they like you back. I call it my crush because in high school I referred to myself as a feminist but I didn’t feel like I knew enough about it. Was there a right way to be feminist? What if I wasn’t doing it right? Attending my first Women’s Studies lecture answered some of these questions for me. It was thrilling to learn about stories of feminist resistance and dismantling the patriarchy. I felt so affirmed and validated, but I also felt like something was missing.

Deepening my relationship with feminism through academia, at an institution where the students and teaching staff were mostly white meant that, for those first few years, I noticed that we rarely had discussions about how race and anti-blackness show up in mainstream feminist movements. In most courses we had maybe 1 week, or worse 1 lecture, dedicated to race and we would usually read something by bell hooks, Kimberly Crenshaw’s work on intersectionality, and maybe Patricia Hill Collins. The following week we were back to sidelining the topic. I dealt with this by centring race and black feminism in almost all my assignments, by writing about black hair and respectability politics, the hypersexualization of black women’s bodies, and so much more. Over time I realized that I was trying to fill a gap but didn’t quite know what it was. 

Encountering and learning about African feminism was a full circle moment. I realized that there was so much more I had to learn.

Mainly that my Africanness and my feminist politics did not have to be separate. In fact, there was so much that they could learn from each other and there were African feminists out there already doing this work. It was the missing piece that felt so elusive during my exploration of feminism throughout my academic journey.

Feminism to me is the antithesis to social and political apathy. It also means once you adopt a feminist lens, nothing can ever be the same. My friends and I used to talk about how it was like putting on glasses that you can never take off because you now see the world for what it is, mess and all. A mess you can’t simply ignore or walk away from. Therefore my vow to the feminist movement is to never stop learning, to keep stretching the bounds of my empathy and to never live passively. To dedicate more time and space in my life to feminist movements and to continue to amplify, celebrate, document and cite the work of African feminists. I also commit to centring care and prioritizing pleasure in this feminist journey because we can’t sustain our movements without this.
 

Florence Adong-Ewoo

Florence was a disability rights activist who worked with several disabled women’s organizations in Uganda.

She also held the position of Chairperson of the Lira District Disabled Women Association, as well as the Lira District Women Councilors’ caucus. Trained as a counsellor for persons with disabilities and parents of children with disabilities, she supported many projects that called for greater representation of persons with disabilities.

She died of a motorcycle accident. 


 

Florence Adong-Ewoo, Uganda

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Love letter to Feminist Movements #10

I never knew I have a close family who loves me and wants me to grow, My mum has always been there for me, but I never imagined I would have thousands of families out there who are not related to me by blood.

Collage of Kraft paper envelopes with the words "Love letters to Feminist Movements" written at the top. Near the bottom it says "From: FAITH ONUH". On the upper left corner there is a postal stamp. Under the envelope there is a card with a type writer printed on it.

I found out family are not just people related by blood ties, but people who love you unconditionally, not minding your sexual orientation, your health status, social status, or your race.

Thinking about the precious moments I listened to all my sisters around the world who are strong feminists, people I have not meet physically, but who support me, teach me, fight for me: I am short of words, words cannot express how much I love you mentors and other feminists, you’re a mother, a sister, a friend to millions of girls.

You are amazing, you fought for people you don’t know - and that is what makes you so special.

It gladdens my heart to express this through writing.

I love you all and will continue to love you. I have not seen any one of you physically but it seems we have known each other for decades.

We are feminists and we are proud to be women.

We will keep letting the world know that our courage is our crown.

A love letter from FAITH ONUH, a young feminist from Nigeria

 

Sylvia Rivera

Sylvia Rivera was a civil rights activist, a transvestite and sex worker.

Known as the New York Drag queen of color, Silvia was fierce and tireless in her advocacy, in defense of those who  were marginalized and excluded as the “gay rights” movement mainstreamed in the United States in the early 1970’s.

In a well-known speech on Christopher Street Day in 1973, Sylvia, shouted through a crowd of LGBT community members: 

“You all tell me, go and hide my tail between my legs.
I will no longer put up with this shit.
I have been beaten.
I have had my nose broken.
I have been thrown in jail.
I have lost my job.
I have lost my apartment.
For gay liberation, and you all treat me this way?
What the fuck’s wrong with you all?
Think about that!” 

In 1969, at age 17, Silvia took part in the iconic Stonewall Riots by allegedly throwing the second Molotov cocktail to protest the police raid of the gay bar in Manhattan. She continued to be a central figure in the uprisings that followed, organizing rallies and fighting back police brutality.

In 1970, Sylvia worked together with Marsha P. Johnson to establish Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (S.T.A.R.), a political collective and organisation that would set up projects of mutual support for trans people living on the streets, those struggling with drug addiction and in prisons and in particular for trans people of color and those living in poverty. 

Defiant of labels, Silvia lived life in a way that challenged people in the gay liberation movement to think differently. She said: 

“I left home at age 10 in 1961. I hustled on 42nd Street. The early 60s was not a good time for drag queens, effeminate boys or boys that wore makeup like we did. Back then we were beat up by the police, by everybody. I didn't really come out as a drag queen until the late 60s. when drag queens were arrested, what degradation there was. I remember the first time I got arrested, I wasn't even in full drag. I was walking down the street and the cops just snatched me. People now want to call me a lesbian because I'm with Julia, and I say, "No. I'm just me. I'm not a lesbian." I'm tired of being labeled. I don't even like the label transgender. I'm tired of living with labels. I just want to be who I am. I am Sylvia Rivera. 

Through her activism and courage, Sylvia offered a mirror that reflected all that was wrong within society, but also the possibility of transformation. Sylvia was born in 1951 and passed away in 2002. 

CFA 2023 - breadcrumbs Menu _ cfa-forum-en

The 2024 AWID Feminist Calendar

Image of a calendar on a wall. https://www.awid.org/sites/default/files/2024-02/calendar-mockup_gif_0.gif

This calendar invites us to immerse ourselves in the inspiring world of feminist artistry. Each month, as it gently unfolds, brings forth the vivid artwork of feminist and queer artists from our communities. Their creations are not mere images; they are profound narratives that resonate with the experiences of struggle, triumph, and undying courage that define our collective quest. These visual stories, bursting with color and emotion, serve to bridge distances and weave together our diverse experiences, bringing us closer in our shared missions.

This calendar is our call to you: Use it, print it, share it. Let it be a daily companion in your journey, a constant reminder of our interconnectedness and our shared visions for a better world.

Let it inspire you, as it inspires us, to keep moving forward together.

Image of a section of the 2024 calendar cover. Is show the top of a pyramid, a celestial object orbited by dancing naked bodies and a face with a third eye have open emerging from the water in the horizon.

Use it. Print it. Share it. 

Get it in your preferred language!

English
Français
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Português
عربي
Русский
Thai

Laurie Carlos

Laurie Carlos was an actor, director, dancer, playwright, and poet in the United States. An extraordinary artist and visionary with powerful ways of bringing the art out in others. 

“Laurie walked in the room (any room/every room) with swirling clairvoyance, artistic genius, embodied rigor, fierce realness—and a determination to be free...and to free others. A Magic Maker. A Seer. A Shape Shifter. Laurie told me once that she went inside people’s bodies to find what they needed.” - Sharon Bridgforth 

She combined performance styles such as rhythmic gestures and text. Laurie mentored new actors, performers, writers and helped amplify their work through Naked Stages, a fellowship for emerging artists. She was an artistic fellow at Penumbra Theater and supported with identifying scripts to produce, with a goal of “bringing more feminine voices into the theater”. Laurie was also a member of Urban Bush Women, a renowned contemporary dance company telling stories of women of the African diaspora.

In 1976, as Lady in Blue, she made her Broadway debut in Ntozake Shange’s original and award-winning production of the poetic drama For colored girls who have considered suicide / when the rainbow is enuf. Laurie’s own works include White Chocolate, The Cooking Show, and Organdy Falsetto

“I tell the stories in the movement—the inside dances that occur spontaneously, as in life—the music and the text. If I write a line, it doesn’t necessarily have to be a line that is spoken; it can be a line that’s moved. A line from which music is created. The gesture becomes the sentence. So much of who we are as women, as people, has to do with how we gesture to one another all the time, and particularly through emotional moments. Gesture becomes a sentence or a state of fact. If I put on a script ‘four gestures,’ that doesn’t mean I’m not saying anything; that means I have opened it up for something to be said physically.” Laurie Carlos

Laurie was born and grew up in New York City, worked and lived in Twin Cities. She passed away on 29 December 2016, at the age of 67, after a battle with colon cancer.



Tributes:  

“I believe that that was exactly Laurie’s intention. To save us. From mediocrity. From ego. From laziness. From half-realized art making. From being paralyzed by fear.
Laurie wanted to help us Shine fully.
In our artistry.
In our Lives.” - Sharon Bridgforth for Pillsbury House Theatre

“There’s no one that knew Laurie that wouldn’t call her a singular individual. She was her own person. She was her own person, her own artist; she put the world as she knew it on stage with real style and understanding, and she lived her art.” - Lou Bellamy, Founder of Penumbra Theater Company, for Star Tribune 

Read a full Tribute by Sharon Bridgforth

CFA 2023 - Forum Theme - thai

 ลุกขึ้นพร้อมกัน: เชื่อมต่อ เยียวยา และเติบโต

ประเด็นหลักของเวที – ลุกขึ้นพร้อมกัน (Rising Together) เป็นการเชิญชวนให้ทุกคนกลับมาอยู่กับตัวเองเพื่อเชื่อมต่อซึ่งกันและกันอย่างมีสมาธิ เอาใจใส่ และกล้าหาญ เพื่อให้เราสามารถรู้สึกถึงจังหวะการเต้น ของหัวใจของการเคลื่อนไหวทั่วโลก และลุกขึ้นมารับมือกับความท้าทายในยุคนี้ไปด้วยกัน

นักสตรีนิยม นักปกป้องสิทธิสตรี ความยุติธรรมทางเพศ LBTQI+ และขบวนการพันธมิตรทั่วโลกกำลังอยู่ ในช่วงหัวเลี้ยวหัวต่อที่สำคัญ คือเผชิญกับแรงตอบโต้สิทธิเสรีภาพที่เคยได้รับก่อนหน้านี้ ช่วงไม่กี่ปีที่ผ่านมา ลัทธิอำนาจนิยมเติบโตอย่างรวดเร็ว การปราบปรามภาคประชาสังคมอย่างรุนแรง และการทำให้สตรีและ นักปกป้องสิทธิมนุษยชนที่มีความหลากหลายทางเพศกลายเป็นอาชญากร สงครามและความขัดแย้งที่ ทวีความรุนแรงขึ้นในหลายส่วนของโลก ความอยุติธรรมทางเศรษฐกิจยังคงดำเนินต่อไป รวมทั้งวิกฤตการณ์ ด้านสุขภาพ นิเวศวิทยาและสภาพภูมิอากาศ

การเคลื่อนไหวของเรากำลังสั่นคลอน และในขณะเดียวกันเราก็พยายามสร้างและดำรงความเข้มแข็งและ อดทนเพื่องานข้างหน้า เราไม่สามารถทำงานนี้โดยลำพังในห้องเล็กๆของเราได้ การเชื่อมต่อและ การเยียวยาจึงเป็นสิ่งสำคัญในการปรับเปลี่ยนความไม่สมดุลของพลังงานและข้อบกพร่องภายในการเคลื่อน ไหวของเราเอง เราต้องทำงานและวางยุทธศาสตร์ในลักษณะที่เชื่อมโยงกัน เพื่อที่เราจะสามารถเติบโต ไปด้วยกันได้ เวที AWID จะส่งเสริมองค์ประกอบสำคัญของการเชื่อมโยงถึงกันกับพลังความสามารถ การเติบโต และการสร้างความเปลี่ยนแปลงของนักสตรีนิยมทั่วโลก

Esther Mwikali

Esther Mwikali’s home was in Mithini village, Murang’a County, Kenya. A prominent and valued land rights activist, she looked into abuses against squatters who are living on land claimed by tycoons. The investigation Esther was part of also involved land rights’ violations in Makuyu by powerful individuals.

After failing to attend a village meeting, a search party went looking for Esther. On 27 August 2019, two days after her disappearance, her body was found on a farm near her homestead, displaying signs of torture. She was brutally murdered. 

“Esther was renowned for her work to prevent community members being evicted from land claimed by tycoons. Local activists had no doubt her murder was related to the area’s ongoing land struggles, a tragic reminder of the alarming regularity with which extra-judicial killings are routinely carried out in Kenya,” - Global Witness Report, July 2020

“We associate Mwikali’s death with land struggles around here. We are asking the Government to investigate the matter without delay.” - James Mburu, spokesperson for the squatters

“Action should be taken on individuals who are alleged to have threatened the squatters including Mwikali's family.” - Alice Karanja, National Coalition of Human Rights Defenders

“The impact of her work and tenacity will remain alive in Kenya for decades. CJGEA consoles with the bereaved and it calls for justice.” - Center for Justice and Governmental Action (CJGEA) Press Release, 13 September 2019

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