Over the past few years, a troubling new trend at the international human rights level is being observed, where discourses on ‘protecting the family’ are being employed to defend violations committed against family members, to bolster and justify impunity, and to restrict equal rights within and to family life.
The campaign to "Protect the Family" is driven by ultra-conservative efforts to impose "traditional" and patriarchal interpretations of the family, and to move rights out of the hands of family members and into the institution of ‘the family’.
“Protection of the Family” efforts stem from:
rising traditionalism,
rising cultural, social and religious conservatism and
sentiment hostile to women’s human rights, sexual rights, child rights and the rights of persons with non-normative gender identities and sexual orientations.
Since 2014, a group of states have been operating as a bloc in human rights spaces under the name “Group of Friends of the Family”, and resolutions on “Protection of the Family” have been successfully passed every year since 2014.
This agenda has spread beyond the Human Rights Council. We have seen regressive language on “the family” being introduced at the Commission on the Status of Women, and attempts made to introduce it in negotiations on the Sustainable Development Goals.
Our Approach
AWID works with partners and allies to jointly resist “Protection of the Family” and other regressive agendas, and to uphold the universality of human rights.
In response to the increased influence of regressive actors in human rights spaces, AWID joined allies to form the Observatory on the Universality of Rights (OURs). OURs is a collaborative project that monitors, analyzes, and shares information on anti-rights initiatives like “Protection of the Family”.
Rights at Risk, the first OURs report, charts a map of the actors making up the global anti-rights lobby, identifies their key discourses and strategies, and the effect they are having on our human rights.
The report outlines “Protection of the Family” as an agenda that has fostered collaboration across a broad range of regressive actors at the UN. It describes it as: “a strategic framework that houses “multiple patriarchal and anti-rights positions, where the framework, in turn, aims to justify and institutionalize these positions.”
« Mais quand le maître
s’est-il laissé éloigner du pouvoir?
Quand un système a-t-il jamais été brisé
par l’acceptation?
Quand le CHEF te remettra-t-il le pouvoir avec amour?
À Jobourg, à Cancun, à l’ONU? », Molara Ogundipe.
Dans un entretien à la Foire internationale du livre du Ghana en 2010, Molara Ogundipe s’est présentée avec ces mots : « ... Je suis une Nigériane. J’ai vécu absolument partout, sauf en Union soviétique et en Chine ».
À travers les continents et les pays, la professeure Ogundipe a enseigné la littérature comparée, l’écriture, le genre et les études anglaises, se servant de la littérature comme outil de transformation sociale, de même que pour revisiter les relations de genre.
Penseuse, écrivaine, rédactrice, critique sociale, poète et activiste féministe, Molara Ogundipe est parvenue à allier le travail théorique et l’action créative et la créativité. Elle est considérée comme l’une des principales voix critiques du(des) féminisme(s) africain(s), des études de genre et de la théorie littéraire.
Molara est connue pour avoir créé le concept de « stiwanisme », à partir de l’acronyme STIWA, pour Social Transformations in Africa Including Women (transformations sociales en Afrique incluant les femmes), reconnaissant la nécessité de « s’éloigner de la définition du ou des féminismes en lien avec l’Euro-Amérique ou avec toute autre région, et de la déclamation de loyautés ou déloyautés ».
Avec son ouvrage fondateur « Re-creating Ourselves » de 1994 (publié sous le nom de Molara Ogundipe-Leslie), Molara Ogundipe a laissé derrière elle un immense éventail de connaissances qui ont décolonisé le discours féministe et « recentré les femmes africaines sur leurs récits entiers et complexes... menées par une exploration de la libération économique, politique et sociale des femmes africaines et la restauration de la capacité d’agir féminine dans plusieurs cultures en Afrique ».
À propos des difficultés rencontrées en tant que jeune universitaire :
« Lorsque j’ai commencé à parler et à écrire sur le féminisme à la fin des années soixante et soixante-dix, on me considérait comme une bonne et admirable fille qui s’était égarée, une femme dont l’esprit avait été gâté par trop d’apprentissages ».
Molara Ogundipe s’est démarquée grâce à son leadership alliant activisme et université. En 1977, elle comptait parmi les fondatrices de l’AAWORD (Association of African Women for Research and Development). En 1982, elle fonde WIN (Women in Nigeria) pour défendre des « droits économiques, sociaux et politiques » entiers pour les Nigérianes. Elle crée et dirige ensuite la Foundation for International Education and Monitoring, et passe plusieurs années à oeuvrer au comité de rédaction de The Guardian.
Ayant grandi avec les Yoruba, leurs traditions, leur culture et leur langue, elle a un jour déclaré :
« Je pense que célébrer la vie, célébrer les personnes qui décèdent après une vie bien remplie est l’un des plus beaux aspects de la culture yoruba ».
Le nom de fête « oiki » de Molara en yoruba était Ayike. Née le 27 décembre 1940, Molara est décédée à l’âge de 78 ans, le 18 juin 2019 à Ijebu Igbo, dans l’État d’Ogun au Nigeria.
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.
Forma parte de una organización feminista de membresía internacional y de una comunidad. Nuestrxs afiliadxs residen en todas las regiones del mundo. Aprenden entre sí y se brindan apoyo mutuo en una red global fundada en la solidaridad.
Реалии обеспечения ресурсами и состояние финансирования феминистских движений быстро меняются – является ли этот опрос единичным?
Нет, не является. Он основан на 20-летней истории AWID по мобилизации более объемного и качественного финансирования для социальных изменений под руководством феминисток(-ов) и является третьим этапом исследования «Где деньги для феминистских организаций?». Наша цель – проводить опрос «Где деньги?» каждые 3 года.
Mereani Naisua Senibici, also called ‘Sua’, was a longstanding member of the Fiji Young Women’s Christian Association (YWCA) movement.
She worked with diverse groups of women in multi-racial, rural and urban settings and was committed to supporting and promoting women’s and young women’s rights.
In the Lautoka YWCA, she worked with women of Indian descent, and was a leading figure in the sports development and participation of women and of trans athletes in Lautoka.
“Sua is greatly loved by Fiji YWCA members for her dedication and long-time support towards all that the organisation endeavoured to do.” - Tupou Vere
Mereani was part of the House of Sarah (HoS), an initiative of the Association of Anglican Women (AAW), launched in 2009 and aimed at raising awareness of the issues around gender-based violence, as well as providing support to women who face violence. She started as a dedicated volunteer and offered support to women throughout the Pacific.
“A people’s person and an all-rounder in women's empowerment and movement work at community level. Rest in Peace, Sua.” - Tupou Vere
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.
Body
Snippet FEA Sopo Japaridze Quote (FR)
"Nous savons que tout est contre nous et il y a très peu de chances de changer cela. Mais nous croyons en l'intervention et je pense que nous avons une opportunité et nous devrions l'utiliser. C'est pourquoi nous faisons tout ce que nous faisons. Nous sommes prêt·e·s à pousser pour des choses inouïes."
Participez au Forum international de l'AWID - un rassemblement féministe mondial majeur - et bénéficiez de réductions spéciales et de points d'entrée pour le dialogue virtuel réservés aux membres de l'AWID. Co-créé par des mouvements féministes, le Forum est un espace unique de discussion profonde et d'imagination où nous remettons en question et renforçons notre organisation, et joignons nos luttes et nos réalités féministes.
Posso entrar em contacto se tiver dúvidas ou questões?
Se tiver alguma dúvida ou questão, entre em contacto connosco através deste formulário, indicando "Inquérito WITM" (WITM Survey) no título da sua mensagem.
"La vida se trata ... de vivir en alegría – despertarse con objetivos, sentir tu propia energía creativa, responder a tu llamada." - Sylvia Robinson
Sylvia Robinson, una incansable organizadora y líder comunitaria, fue la fundadora y directora ejecutiva de Emergence Community Arts Collective [Colectivo de Artes Comunitarias de Emergencia] (ECAC, por sus siglas en inglés ), en Washington DC.
Este centro y espacio de performance combina la educación, el compromiso cívico, las artes, los servicios sociales y espirituales y las prácticas ambientales sostenibles. Sylvia lo concibió como un hogar donde " hubiera equilibrio y sinergia con las actividades que la gente necesitaba para sostener la vida".
También fue una de lxs co-fundadorxs del Georgia Avenue Community Development Taskforce [Grupo de Trabajo de Desarrollo Comunitario de la Avenida Georgia], un grupo vecinal que trabaja por la justicia social y la organización de la comunidad en el noroeste de DC, para asegurarse de que esta tenga una voz en la reurbanización y gentrificación del área.
"Estamos pidiendo viviendas asequibles. Estamos pidiendo que los pequeños negocios que han estado aquí desde siempre no sean aniquilados por nuevos comercios. Estamos pidiendo espacios verdes y espacios para que la gente se pueda reunir y socializar. Estamos pidiendo mejoras en el paisaje urbano – mejores calles y mejor iluminación en los tramos de carretera." - Sylvia Robinson sobre el Grupo de Trabajo
Antes de convertirse en organizadora y después de recibir un título en informática, Sylvia trabajó en sistemas de control de tráfico aéreo por más de una década. Después se dedicó al asesoramiento en materia de drogas y alcohol, a través de lo cual se involucró cada vez más en el trabajo comunitario.
"Involucrarme con la comunidad era mi vocación". - Sylvia Robinson
Sylvia nació en Washington D.C. el 14 de agosto de 1961, y falleció el 18 de septiembre de 2017, después de una batalla contra el cáncer.
"El espíritu y el legado de Sylvia seguirán inspirando a esta comunidad durante muchos años." - ECAC
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.
We work towards a world based on social, environmental, and economic justice; and interdependence, solidarity, and respect. We work towards dismantling systems of oppressive power and against all its manifestations, including patriarchy, fundamentalisms, militarisms, fascisms and corporate power that threaten our lives and our world. We want a just world where resources and power are shared in ways that enable everyone to thrive.
