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.
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.
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.
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 >
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.
Meet the Solidarity Network, a health and service union mostly led by women. Emerging as a response to increasing precarity, severe underpayment and hostile work environments faced by workers in Georgia, Solidarity Network fights for dignified compensation and work places.
Its goal? To create a national worker’s democratic movement. To do so, it has been branching out, organizing and teaming up with other local and regional unions and slowly creating a network of unions and empowering women workers to become union leaders.
Its political approach is a holistic one. For Solidarity Network, labor rights issues are directly connected to broader national political and economic agendas and reforms. That’s why they are pushing for tax justice, women and LGBTQIA+ rights, and fighting against the dismantling of the Georgian welfare state.
The Solidarity Network is also part of Transnational Social Strike (TSS), a political platform and infrastructure inspired by migrant, women and essential worker organizing that works to build connections between labor movements across borders and nurture global solidarity.
نعم! نريد أن نسمع منكم/ن عن تجربتكم/ن بالتمويل.
Welcome to Crear | Résister | Transform: a festival for feminist movements!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Nadine fue un ejemplo para muchxs por su trabajo en apoyo de las mujeres y lxs más vulnerables de su comunidad. Estaba comprometida con ayudar a l pobres, especialmente a las personas sin techo.
Aunque su muerte se informó como accidente, la familia Ramaroson, encabezada por su padre, André Ramaroson, llevó adelante una investigación que arrojó evidencias de que había sido asesinada. Se informó que había muerto en un accidente fatal ocurrido entre Soanierano - Ivongo y Ste Marie, una historia que fue desmentida por su familia. Ella había recibido numerosas amenazas de muerte por sus audaces posiciones políticas. Su caso todavía está en la corte de Antananarivo (la capital de Madagascar).
Al unirte a AWID, te sumas a un proceso organizativo feminista mundial, un poder colectivo surgido del trabajo entre movimientos y basado en la solidaridad.
"He dado testimonio de la discriminación que vi en las calles, he sufrido burlas y abusos verbales ahí. También he hecho numerosas amistades y he conocido a mucha gente. Puede que haya peligros ahí fuera, pero soy una sobreviviente y aquí es donde estaré por ahora." - Sainimili Naivalu
Exigió a las autoridades políticas y a otras partes interesadas que proporcionaran políticas y servicios favorables a la movilidad de las personas con discapacidad, como la construcción de rampas en pueblos y ciudades para aumentar su accesibilidad. Sin embargo, las barreras físicas no fueron las únicas que Sainimili se esforzó por cambiar. Por experiencia propia, sabía que era necesario que se produjeran cambios más complejos en las esferas sociales y económicas. Muchos de los retos a los que se enfrentan las personas con discapacidad tienen su origen en actitudes que llevan a la discriminación y al estigma.
Como sobreviviente y luchadora, Sainimili contribuyó a la creación conjunta de realidades feministas que fomentasen la inclusión y cambiasen las actitudes hacia las personas con discapacidad. Como afiliada a la Asociación de Lesiones de la Espina Dorsal de Fiji (SIA, por sus siglas en inglés) y a través del proyecto del Foro para Personas con Discapacidades del Pacífico “Pacífico Habilita”, Sainimili asistió a la formación de la Organización Internacional del Trabajo "Inicie su Negocio" en Suva, lo que le permitió transformar sus ideas en su propio negocio. Fue emprendedora en el puesto 7 del mercado de Suva, donde ofrecía servicios de manicura, y también se encargaba del puesto del mercado de las mujeres de SIA, donde vendía artesanías, sulus y otros objetos. El plan de Sainimili era expandir su negocio y convertirse en una importante empleadora de personas con discapacidad.
Además de su activismo, también fue medallista y campeona juvenil de tenis de mesa.
Sainimili era única, con una personalidad vivaz. Siempre podías saber si Sainimili estaba en una habitación porque su risa y sus historias eran los primero que notabas. - Michelle Reddy
Sainimili falleció en 2019.
Lutter contre vents et marées : le récit de la victoire sans précédent du Réseau Solidarité.
En janvier 2022, le Réseau Solidarité a organisé une grève avec 400 travailleur·euses. Sa principale demande ? L’augmentation des salaires. La grève a été déclenchée après des mois de discussions sans résultats avec le ministère géorgien des Affaires Sociales.
Après avoir manifesté, négocié, parlé à la presse, résisté aux représailles et enduré le froid de l’hiver géorgien pendant des semaines, les travailleur·euses ont obtenu des concessions sans précédent de la part du gouvernement: augmentation des salaires, congés payés de maternité, couverture des frais de transport, arrêt des licenciement, indemnisation des jours de grève, et plus.
La grève a non seulement abouti à des gains matériels, mais a également permis aux travailleur·euses de se sentir uni·e·s et habilité·e·s à se défendre et à lutter pour des conditions de travail décentes, dans le présent et à l'avenir. Iels sont devenu·es une source d'inspiration pour tous·tes les travailleur·euses du pays.
Pour en savoir plus sur leur victoire, cliquez ici.
Etendez vos frontières. Les membres de l'AWID représentent de plus en plus une section transversale dynamique et variée de féministes travaillant, entre autres, sur les questions foncières, les droits des travailleures, les droits sexuels et l'autonomie corporelle. En devenant membre, vous pouvez relier vos luttes entre mouvements.
Sim, é acessível para pessoas com uma variedade diversificada de capacidades auditivas, de movimento, visuais e cognitivas.