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.
Después del amor la primera vez,
nuestros cuerpos y mentes desnudas:
un salón de espejos.
Totalmente desarmadxs, íntegramente frágiles,
nos echamos en los brazos del otrx,
respiramos con cuidado,
por miedo de romper
estas figuras de cristal". - Fahmida Riaz
Fahmida Riaz rompió tabúes sociales al escribir sobre el deseo femenino en su poesía, creó narrativas alternativas sobre el cuerpo y la sexualidad de las mujeres y estableció nuevos estándares en la literatura urdu.
Su trabajo se enfrentó a duras críticas de los frentes conservadores, que la acusaron de utilizar expresiones eróticas y "pornográficas" en su lenguaje poético.
Eventualmente, Fahmida fue incluida en una lista negra y acusada de sedición en virtud del artículo 124A del Código Penal de Pakistán, durante la dictadura de Zia Ul Haq. Fahmida fue obligada a exiliarse en 1981 y pasó casi siete años en la India antes de regresar a Pakistán.
En el prefacio de "Badan Dareeda" ("El Cuerpo Desgarrado"), una colección de poesía publicada en 1974, escribió:
Si, de hecho, me veo obligada a pararme ante este maqtal hoy y enfrentarme a la horca, debería enfrentarme a ellos con la cabeza bien alta. Mis poemas son el rastro de una cabeza destrozada de la que emanan sonidos incluso mientras cuelga de las cuerdas... El cuerpo desgarrado ha tomado la forma de una razmia, o el sonido de la ruptura. Y si tal ruptura escandaliza a un pueblo, entonces consideremos que la poeta ha logrado su propósito: ha logrado perturbarlos. (Traducción del urdu por Asad Alvi)
La brillantez de Fahmida fue la de desafiar cualquier lógica singular o categoría de género, nación, religión o cultura. Ella se negó a ser colocada en el rol de la "mujer poeta", rompió con las definiciones tradicionales de la poesía y los conceptos y temas femeninos (que van desde la conciencia política, el cuerpo, la cultura, el deseo, la religión, al hogar) y derribó las inhibiciones impuestas a su género.
"Tienes que entender que la cultura no puede tener esencia. Las culturas se mueven, fluyen unas en otras, formando nuevas culturas. La cultura nace de esa manera. No hay choque de culturas".
Fahmida es autora de más de 15 libros de poesía y ficción, incluido su poema "Taaziyati Qaraardaaden" ("Resoluciones de condolencia" - en inglés), que podría servir como un tributo apropiado a su vida y legado, y una colección de poemas (Apna Jurm To Saabit He "Mi crimen está probado") publicado en 1988, durante su tiempo en exilio.
Fahmida Riaz nació en Meerut (India) el 28 de julio de 1946 y falleció el 21 de noviembre de 2018 en Lahore (Pakistán).
¿Por qué AWID eligió Taipéi como sede del Foro?
AWID dedicó casi dos años al trabajo de identificar una sede para el Foro en la región Asia-Pacífico (la ubicación del Foro rota entre las distintas regiones).
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.
En nuestras visitas encontramos movimientos feministas locales impresionantemente vibrantes y diversos.
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).
Sopesamos las consideraciones de infraestructura con la oportunidad potencial de impulsar algunas agendas feministas a nivel nacional, y el contexto político nacional.
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.
El proceso ha sido una reflexión aleccionadora sobre el contexto increíblemente complicado para el activismo por los derechos de las mujeres y la justicia de género en todo el mundo.
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.
Teniendo en cuenta toda esta complejidad, AWID seleccionó Taipéi como ubicación para el Foro porque:
ofrece un cierto grado de estabilidad y seguridad para la diversidad de participantes que convocamos al Foro;
tiene también un alto nivel de capacidad logística, y resulta accesible para muchxs viajerxs (con la facilitación de un trámite de visa electrónico para conferencias internacionales); y
el Foro es bien recibido por el movimiento feminista local, que está muy interesado en interactuar con feministas de todo el mundo.
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!
Snippet FEA Unio Otras Photo 2 (ES)
Membership why page page - to join as a member block
« Ce n’était pas une personne. C’était une puissance », compagnes et compagnons de lutte se souvenant de Navleen Kumar
Née le 15 octobre 1948, Navleen Kumar était une fervente militante pour la défense des droits fonciers et de la justice sociale en Inde.
Avec implication et intégrité, elle a œuvré pendant plus d’une décennie à la protection et la restitution des terres aux populations autochtones (les adivasi) dans le district de Thane, une région confisquée sous le régime de la force et de l’intimidation par les promoteurs immobiliers et fonciers. Elle a combattu cette injustice et ces crimes en menant des procédures juridiques au niveau de différents tribunaux, réalisant que la manipulation des registres fonciers était une opération courante dans la plupart des acquisitions de terres. Dans l’un de ces cas, celui des Wartha (une famille tribale), Navleen a entre autres découvert que la famille avait été dupée avec la complicité de fonctionnaires du gouvernement.
Grâce à son travail, elle a aidé les Wartha à récupérer leurs terres, de même que continué à défendre plusieurs affaires de transferts de terres d’adivasi.
« Son rapport sur l’impact de l’aliénation des terres sur les femmes et les enfants adivasi retrace l’histoire et les complexités de l’aliénation tribale depuis les années 1970, alors que les familles de la classe moyenne ont commencé à venir vivre dans les banlieues éloignées de Mumbai, suite à la hausse des prix de l’immobilier dans la ville.
Les complexes immobiliers se sont multipliés dans ces banlieues, et les tribus analphabètes en ont payé le prix. Les meilleures terres le long de la voie de chemin de fer valaient cher et les constructeurs se sont jetés dessus comme des vautours, pour arracher les terres des tribus et autres résidents locaux par des moyens illégaux », Jaya Menon, Justice and Peace Commission.
Au cours de ses actions militantes, Navleen a reçu de nombreuses menaces et survécu à plusieurs tentatives d’assassinat. Malgré tout, elle a continué son travail sur ce qui était non seulement important à ses yeux mais qui contribuait à transformer les vies et les réalités de tant de personnes qu’elle soutenait dans sa lutte pour la justice sociale.
Navleen a été poignardée à mort dans son immeuble le 19 juin 2002. Deux gangsters locaux ont été arrêtés pour son meurtre.
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.
Nous vous présentons Sabrina Sanchez, incroyable femme trans, migrante, travailleuse du sexe, organisatrice, transféministe et l'une des fondatrices du syndicat OTRAS.
Originaire de Mexico, elle a émigré en Espagne il y a 17 ans après avoir obtenu son diplôme en communication et a commencé à travailler comme travailleuse du sexe.
Il ne fallut pas longtemps avant qu'elle ne s'implique dans l'activisme trans et l'activisme des travailleur·euses du sexe à Barcelone. Après avoir rejoint l'Association des Professionnel·les du Sexe (Asociación de Profesionales del Sexo, Aprosex), elle a commencé à travailler dans son secrétariat et a fondé le syndicat espagnol des travailleur·euses du sexe OTRAS.
Да. Ваши ответы будут удалены по окончании обработки и анализа данных и будут использованы исключительно в исследовательских целях. Данные НИКОГДА не будут переданы за пределы AWID и будут обрабатываться только сотрудниками AWID и консультантками(-тами), работающими с нами над проектом «Где деньги?». Для нас ваша конфиденциальность и безопасность– приоритет. С нашей политикой конфиденциальности можно подробно ознакомиться здесь.
Cynthia Cockburn was a feminist sociologist, writer, academic, photographer and peace activist.
She explored the gendered aspects of violence and conflict and made significant contributions to the peace movement through her exploration of the themes of masculinity and violence as well as her local and international activism.
Cynthia brought a feminist power analysis to militarisation and war, and was among the academics whose writings and analysis clearly demonstrated how gender-based violence played a key part in perpetuating war. Working closely with peace activists in countries experiencing conflict, her findings covered diverse contexts including Northern Ireland, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Israel/Palestine, South Korea, Japan, Spain and the UK. She helped bring in her research and academic writings, an understanding that violence was experienced as a continuum of time and scale and perceived very differently when seen from a gendered lens.
In her words, “Gender helps us to see the continuity, the connection between instances of violence.”
Cynthia bridged her research with the activism she did locally and internationally with movements for demilitarisation, disarmament and peace. She helped start the Greenham Common women’s peace camp, which advocated for universal nuclear disarmament in Britain and was part of establishing the London chapter of Women in Black.
Over the decades, Cynthia organized and participated in local weekly vigils and the political choir Raised Voices, singing in the choir, and writing several of the lyrics to the songs that have made up its repertoire. She was also active in the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom (WILPF), the European Forum of Socialist Feminists as well as in Women Against Fundamentalism.
“Cynthia shed feminist light, wove together feminist communities, sang songs of peace, listened, listened, listened, watched the birds – and stopped traffic. I’ll be forever and gratefully in her debt, the other ‘Cynthia’” – Cynthia Enloe
Cynthia was born in July 1934 and passed away in September 2019 at the age of 85.
Principles of Engagement
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.
Hevrin Khalaf fue una destacada líder política siria-kurda de la región autónoma de Rojava, donde las mujeres kurdas están arriesgando sus vidas para resistir la ofensiva turca y construir un sistema feminista.
Hevrin fue Secretaria General del Future Syria Party [Partido de la Futura Siria] (FSP, por sus siglas en inglés), un grupo que tenía como objetivo la construcción de puentes, la reconciliación entre diferentes grupos étnicos y el trabajo hacia una "Siria democrática, pluralista y descentralizada".
Hevrin fue un símbolo de este esfuerzo de reconciliación. También trabajó para promover la igualdad entre mujeres y hombres y fue una representante para periodistas, trabajadorxs de ayuda humanitaria y diplomáticxs que visitaban la región.
Hevrin era también una ingeniera civil de Derik, y fue una de las fundadoras de Foundation for Science and Free Though [(Fundación para la Ciencia y el Libre Pensamiento] en 2012.
El 12 de octubre de 2019 fue torturada y asesinada por la milicia Ahrar al-Sharqiya, sustentada por Turquía, durante una operación militar contra las Fuerzas Democráticas Sirias en Rojava.
"El asesinato de Khalaf es un punto de inflexión en la historia moderna de Siria. Demuestra una vez más el viejo proverbio kurdo "no hay amigxs sino montañas". Siempre seré amigo[NC1] de Khalaf y su visión de un mundo mejor." - Ahed Al Hendi
Upasana Agarwal
“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.
