Women human rights defenders (WHRDs) worldwide defend their lands, livelihoods and communities from extractive industries and corporate power. They stand against powerful economic and political interests driving land theft, displacement of communities, loss of livelihoods, and environmental degradation.
Why resist extractive industries?
Extractivism is an economic and political model of development that commodifies nature and prioritizes profit over human rights and the environment. Rooted in colonial history, it reinforces social and economic inequalities locally and globally. Often, Black, rural and Indigenous women are the most affected by extractivism, and are largely excluded from decision-making. Defying these patriarchal and neo-colonial forces, women rise in defense of rights, lands, people and nature.
Critical risks and gender-specific violence
WHRDs confronting extractive industries experience a range of risks, threats and violations, including criminalization, stigmatization, violence and intimidation. Their stories reveal a strong aspect of gendered and sexualized violence. Perpetrators include state and local authorities, corporations, police, military, paramilitary and private security forces, and at times their own communities.
Acting together
AWID and the Women Human Rights Defenders International Coalition (WHRD-IC) are pleased to announce “Women Human Rights Defenders Confronting Extractivism and Corporate Power”; a cross-regional research project documenting the lived experiences of WHRDs from Asia, Africa and Latin America.
We encourage activists, members of social movements, organized civil society, donors and policy makers to read and use these products for advocacy, education and inspiration.
AWID acknowledges with gratitude the invaluable input of every Woman Human Rights Defender who participated in this project. This project was made possible thanks to your willingness to generously and openly share your experiences and learnings. Your courage, creativity and resilience is an inspiration for us all. Thank you!
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Snippet - CSW69 On anti-rights resistance - ES
Sobre la resistencia contra las fuerzas antiderechos
Nota de prensa | CSW69: One Step Forward, Multiple Steps Back— The Resolve for Gender Equality Continues! Download here(en inglés)
Aïssata Kane, also fondly known as “Yaye Kadia” (Mother Kadia), was a feminist with a lifelong committment in advocating for African and especially Mauritanian women’s rights.
In her career as a politician, she was appointed Minister of Family Protection and Social Affairs in 1975, the first time a woman held such a position and in which Aïssata fervently worked to improve the status of women in her country.
This work included advancing girls’ and women’s education, fighting against the practice of force-feeding of young women, lobbying for an inclusion of a marital rights provision, and advocating for a female representation quota to be created in the Parliament.
“[Aïssata] realized all her passions with humility, courage and determination. She didn’t want to disturb anyone by her fight on all these fronts at the same time.” Ball Halimata Dem, Aïssata’s niece
She founded the National Union of Women of Mauritania (UNFM), co-creating and publishing Marienou for them, a magazine dedicated to the emancipation of Mauritanian women. Aïssata also directed several sub-regional and local organizations, including as the President of the International Association of Francophone Women (AIFF) and as a resolute ecologist, she was President of the Association for the Protection of the Environment in Mauritania (APEM).
In 2018 she received the Pioneer Woman Award. It honors her work in advancing Mauritania’s women’s status and recognizes her strong leadership and sense of innovation.
Aïssata passed away on 10 August 2019.
A Collective Love Print
The Circle’s Conspiracy of Writers | Wazina Zondon
Also known as the Teta Research Network, The Conspiracy of Writers was founded in 2021 in the context of Kohl’s weekly writing circles. The Network is a transnational group of queer and feminist writers who engage in collective writing, thinking, and world-making.
Wazina Zondon is an Afghan raised in New York City. Her storycollecting and storytelling work centers collective memories and rites of passage in the diaspora. Currently, she is working on Faith: in Love/faith in love which (re)traces her parent’s love story and family’s inherited love print.
Love is a contraband in Hell,
cause love is acid
that eats away bars.
But you, me, and tomorrow
hold hands and make vows
that struggle will multiply.
The hacksaw has two blades.
The shotgun has two barrels.
We are pregnant with freedom.
We are a conspiracy.
It is our duty to fight for freedom.
It is our duty to win.
We must love each other and support each other.
We have nothing to lose but our chains.
- “Love” by Assata Shakur
“If we can inherit trauma, can we inherit an imprint related to love?”
That is the question Wazina Zondon asks in her collective memoir Loveprint. Loveprint is a wandering, an overlap, a deviation that (re)creates, at the intersection of interviews and personal essays, our family’s stories and insights on love, partnership and romance. Under Wazina’s guidance, the circle’s conspiracy of writers came together and attempted to reproduce this literal blueprint in the form of collective writing, where our different stories, our genders and sexual identities complement and contradict each other. With our voices overlapping, we complete each other’s sentences to create a conversation, a memorial, pieces of ourselves that speak to a “we.”
What are the origins of your love print?
I am a so-called “happy accident.” There is much narration about this – an accidental life, one that is entirely wanted at the same time. I feel this shaped my way of loving, I don’t just fall in love; I risk the slips that lead to the fall. Perhaps it made me an amor fati kind of person.
I was told that I was an unwanted child. So I grew up to become an unwanted adult. The origins of my love print are based on being eternally unwelcomed. I am not a fruit of love or any happy feelings but rather one pain and burden. I don’t have a love print – at least not in this sense.
I know for a fact that both my parents were in love at some point, but mental health is such a demon, and until one confronts their demons, there is no winning.
I will never associate “love” with my parents or normative family. Love growing up was full of violence and responsibilities I didn’t sign up for or was even ready for. For the longest time, it felt like life and love were about carrying a big rock uphill. While my parents “loved each other,” it was a toxic ethos of violence, jealousy, and insecurity to grow up in. I grew up wanting to crave stability, and this is what is me now. I am a risk taker, but never in my “love space.”
I don’t know why my mother chose to host a child (me) within her. She does not love in this form.
My mother tells me that if I have to think about “finding” love, I should never look at her marriage as a template. My love print comes instead from my raising dogs for the last two decades (18 years to be precise). The other way around is true as well – they raised me. I understand more and more about love and its many layers in their company.
I haven’t known love from a “print.” In our household we don’t talk about love. I had to teach myself how to love. It was hard work. Still, I fail and still, I keep on trying and I fail everyday. Perhaps failure is my love print.
My love print is the care, warmth, and understanding I give to others
surrounding me, whether a stranger, a friend, a relative, a lover. My love print is political – uncalculated and unthought of.
I was born under heavy shelling.
My love print is the negative
print of that.
Lessons learned about love
I know more about what love is not than I know about what love is.
Love is neither anxiety nor panic.
Love is not asking permission to live or breathe. It is always about love and there is no love without freedom.
Everything you do is about using your heart except love. Love is about using your mind.
Sometimes I fear that my love language is lost in translation.
--- There are many ways
to map the origins
of how to
how not to
love
not love
love just enough
love far too much
some love
some loss
to love
to love lost ---
I cannot stand the idea of the couple. I cannot stand the idea of living alone while aging either. I am tired of doing the chores alone, moving houses alone, paying rent and bills alone... I imagine getting a stroke alone, and it scares me. I have no plan of “partnering up.” I want a world where I can get married to a friend, buy a house with a friend, not have sex.
Loving many does not corrupt a love shared between two, and whether love is romantic or not is really not that important.
When I reflect on the shoddy state of my relationships, I realize that I am in the relationship I was trained to be in. With all my “radicalness” I have not yet unlearned shitty gendered norms.
My need for stability feels “not radical” enough. I want to get out of this labeling. I want something I never had. I want to make it beautiful. I want to feel beautiful and safe – and only stability makes me feel that. Safe, sound, knowing home is neither about violence nor strife.
--- Love print – love to smell the books to see
where they were printed
I try to think of the origin of my
understanding and practice of love
Do we need origin, it is not the same as purity?
No purity or origin of love.
Why is it understanding and practice,
and not “emotion” that comes to mind? ---
When I call my parents, I don’t hang up the phone after we’ve said
goodbye, so I can hear the sounds of home.
What do we need to be/feel loved in death?
During my Sunni burial, I want all the women and men to come together for my burial. What’s with not being able to go say goodbye to dead people from a different sex? It will be Sunni because my mother would want it to be. It will be eco-friendly; no need for the headstone. I love all burial rituals. Quran is good, but I also want music. I really like Asmahan, Um Kulthum, and The Stone Roses.
I have a Monday-Friday playlist and two different ones for the weekend: one for Saturday and one for Sunday playlist. I would like those who loved me to play the music that I used to listen to, respecting the days – with some margin of tolerance as long as they stick to the playlists.
I want to be surrounded by the one(s) who have loved me, even for a moment. And in music and embowered in fresh cut flowers. I don’t want to be discovered dead; I want to pass away mid-laugh with loved ones.
I want to be remembered as someone who loved.
I don’t need to feel loved in death. I need the people around me to feel I loved them, even after I die. Being loved in death is about those who are alive. So I think more about how we come together as a living and loving community in the death of those we love and live with. How we take their memories with us. How we become archives of their lives.
--- Sometimes, you can only love people in their death. ---
I have to think back to the body being connected to a space. My family is very tiny and although we come from different places, it is as if every generation moved somewhere new. Perhaps this is the reason why death is not connected to a special place, a cemetery. It is common in our family to bury the dead without names or gravestones, or to distribute the ashes in the wind. I feel at peace with this kind of spaceless remembrance. The idea that my ashes fertilize new life gives me the sense of being loved, being remembered through recreation. My grandmother died earlier this year due to complications after the vaccination. Two hours after she died, my family sat laughing tears about her jokes, her hilarious way to tell stories. We laughed and loved, and it was as though she sat with us again. This is what would make me feel at peace – fertilizing soil, fertilizing conversations, and collective remembrance.
--- There were
Two streets that I used
To walk
To run
To play
To stay
There were
Five hours when the sun
Was hot
The sky was blue
The earth was green
There was
A flower I could
Smell
Touch
Squeeze
Crush
There were
The friends I could
Caress
The food
I could
inhale
The language
That would roll off my
lips
There might still be
Those many places
And things
And people
After me ---
Perhaps a promise that I will be “spatially commemorated” as a plant and taken care of in turns until it becomes a tree is enough. No name, no plaques – just the plant/tree, and knowing that it will be cared for. As for my body, I want to be cremated without any rituals and my bone ashes set free in the Arabian sea.
I need my body to be treated as subversively as it’s lived.
I do not want to be buried next to my family. In this tiny drawer next to all of the people who never knew me. Trapped in death as I was in life. I want to be cremated, and my ashes finally set free.
I want to be allowed to pass, not hang in the in-between, so it is a presence, an active process, a trespassing.
I will ask of you:
To release me and let me pass
To not let nostalgia muddy this moment because I will ask only for the normalcy of your expressions
I have snuck the gentle glimpses and hoarded away the already small and large ways you loved me in order to be sustained. I kept myself alive on these
To set a finite amount of time to grieve
To be be reminded there is no separation in the beauty of loving; it is infinite and it regenerates without the body
I want to be remembered for the love I put into the world.
I want my body to be given away, and my organs
to further fuel love in (an)other live(s).
--- The smell of jasmine ---
ExploreTransnational 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.
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.
Incluso en tiempos de crisis climática, los gobiernos continúan alentando el crecimiento de las industrias agrícolas a gran escala. Estas actividades envenenan la tierra, amenazan la biodiversidad y destruyen la producción de alimentos y los medios de vida locales. Mientras tanto, aunque las mujeres producen la mayoría de nuestros alimentos en el mundo, casi no poseen tierra.
¿Qué pasaría si percibiéramos la tierra y la Naturaleza no como una propiedad privada para ser explotada, sino como una totalidad con la cual aprender y coexistir en armonía? ¿Y si repararíamos nuestras relaciones con la tierra y adoptaríamos alternativas más sostenibles que nutran tanto al planeta como a sus comunidades?
Nous Sommes la Solution (Somos la Solución, NSS) es uno de los muchos movimientos liderados por mujeres que se esfuerzan por lograr este objetivo.
Esta es su historia.
FRMag - Resistance from the Kitchen
Nuestra arepa: Cocina en resistencia
por Alejandra Laprea
Vivo en un país de lo imposible, donde no caen bombas pero padecemos una guerra. (...)
Rosane Santiago Silveira era conocida afectuosamente como «Rô Conceição». Fue una activista ambiental y por los derechos humanos que luchó fervientemente para proteger el medio ambiente en las zonas más amenazadas.
Esta lucha incluyó la defensa así como también la protección ambiental en la isla de Barra Velha, cuando estuvo amenazada por la exploración petrolera, mediante campañas contra la apropiación de tierras y la expansión de las plantaciones de eucaliptus en el Estado de Bahía, donde Rosane integraba el Consejo de la Reserva Extractivista de Cassurubá.
«La Reserva Extractiva es un área protegida donde las familias residentes se ganan la vida con productos naturales extraídos del bosque. Estas actividades ayudan a mantener la integridad del bosque.» - Global Justice Ecology Project (fuente original: Rede Brasil Atual)
Rosane participó en actividades sindicales, y en movimientos culturales y por los derechos humanos. Dedicó gran parte de sí misma, no solamente a las causas que la afectaban directamente, sino a problemas de la tierra, los bosques, los ríos y las comunidades cuyos derechos y vidas están continuamente en riesgo.
Fue torturada y asesinada el 29 de enero de 2019 en Nova Viçosa, una ciudad del sur de Bahía.
«Lamentablemente, hoy existe un sentimiento de inseguridad total, por la ausencia del Estado en la investigación de estos delitos. Estuvimos con ella en Navidad, todos se dieron cuenta de que estaba preocupada, y ahora sabemos que había recibido tres amenazas de muerte.» - Tuian, hijo de Rosane, en una entrevista con Rádio Brasil Atual (fuente original: Rede Brasil Atual)
Chers mouvements féministes : Une lettre du conseil d'administration
Chers mouvements féministes,
Au nom du Conseil d’administration, je souhaite exprimer notre plus profonde gratitude, notre appréciation et tout notre respect pour Hakima Abbas et Cindy Clark, nos deux extraordinaires codirectrices exécutives ces cinq dernières années, qui quittent leurs fonctions pour laisser place à un nouveau leadership de l’AWID, alors que nous entrons dans une nouvelle phase de la vie de notre organisation avec un nouveau plan stratégique. Elles ont systématiquement mis en application les meilleurs principes de leadership organisationnel féministe et d’éthique du soin lorsqu’elles nous guidaient, lors des temps bien troubles et imprévisibles de la récente histoire du monde, cette syndémie de COVID-19 et la spirale politique mondiale descendante qui s’en est suivie. Elles ont tenu l’AWID, notre personnel et notre CA fermement, doucement et avec amour alors que nous éprouvions toutes et tous ces situations inconnues. Elles se sont également accrochées à la vision et à la mission de l’AWID lorsqu’elles ont dû, avec respect et stratégie, réagir aux différents changements, dont la difficile annulation du forum de l’AWID.
La nature, la portée et le poids des responsabilités de la direction de l’AWID nous incitent à choisir de conserver, à l’avenir, ce modèle de codirection. Notre première expérience de cette codirection a été une véritable réussite, comme tout le monde a pu le constater.
Reconnaissant tout à fait le potentiel immense qui existe au sein de l’équipe actuelle, le CA a décidé de privilégier un processus de recrutement en interne dans un premier temps. Nous pensons terminer cette transition d’ici la fin de l’année 2022. Hakima et Cindy décaleront leur départ, pour permettre une transition en douceur vers le nouveau leadership.
Il est difficile pour le Conseil d’administration et d’autres, qui ont travaillé étroitement avec elles et qui les aiment, de voir Cindy et Hakima quitter l’AWID. Rassurez-vous, le CA de l’AWID mène ce processus de transition de manière à ce que les belles marques indélébiles et inspirantes que laissent Hakima et Cindy soient inscrites dans les quatre décennies de notre histoire. Nous assurerons l’arrivée et le soutien de la nouvelle direction et veillerons à ce que ce processus nous inspire à faire mieux encore à cette étape de la vie de l’AWID.
Les grandes transformations dans les organisations ne sont jamais simples ni faciles. Elles sont parfois contraintes, hors du contrôle de quiconque, tendues, voire destructrices. J’ai vu, mais vous aussi, des exemples de telles transitions. Il arrive également que les besoins et les aspirations du personnel soient alignés avec ceux de l’organisation. Bien que nous n’ayons ni choisi ni souhaité le départ de Cindy et Hakima, leur décision et l’entrée de l’AWID dans un nouveau plan stratégique et une nouvelle décennie d’existence sont alignées. Et mieux que tout encore, nous sommes entre les mains merveilleuses, super compétentes, créatives et féministes du personnel et du CA de l’AWID.
Nous vous remercions, chers mouvements féministes, pour votre confiance dans l’AWID. Nous vous demandons également de soutenir notre transition de leadership au cours des mois à venir. Continuons à construire, approfondir et renforcer nos connexions, comme nous le faisons depuis 40 ans.
Nous reviendrons vers vous dans les prochaines semaines pour vous tenir au courant de nos mises à jour et des évolutions concrètes.
Avec solidarité et amour féministes, Margo Okazawa-Rey,
Présidente, Conseil d’administration de l’AWID
Gender Impact Investing & The Rise of False Solutions:
An Analysis for Feminist Movements
Gender Impact Investing (GII) is now trending as a solution to gender inequality. Yet, as our report indicates, it is actually part of the problem. Public and private institutions marketing GII equate it with promotion of gender equality and with increased resources for women and girls.
Neither claim is evidence-based.
Rather, GII is another expression of subjecting our lives and societies to the same financial logic that has shaped, and continues shaping, the profound inequalities in our world.
With this report, AWID offers the readers - feminists, gender justice advocates and stakeholders in gender impact investing - a critical analysis and substantiated evidence to understand GII, its narratives, and economic and political implications for feminist movements.
FRMag - Armenians
Arménien·ne·s, le féminisme est notre passé et notre avenir
par Sophia Armen
Que cela vous plaise ou non, les ungerhouis font partie intégrante de nos histoires de résistance et elles ne disparaîtront pas de sitôt. (...)
« Je suis un miracle… Je suis donc née d’une mère! Moi qui commence à bégayer, J’ai eu une vie à nulle autre pareille... » - Ayanda Denge (lisez le poème entier ci-dessous)
Ayanda Denge était une femme trans, travailleuse du sexe, activiste et poète. Elle était une Xhosa de Port Elizabeth, dans la province du Cap-Oriental en Afrique du Sud. Après avoir traversé différentes villes du pays, elle s'est installée au Cap.
En tant qu’activiste fervente et engagée de la justice sociale, elle s'est battue pour les droits des travailleures du sexe, des personnes trans et des personnes vivant avec le VIH et le sida. Elle a également été une conférencière motivatrice sur la sensibilisation au cancer ainsi que fait campagne en faveur de logements sociaux et abordables, en particulier au profit des pauvres et des travailleures. Ayanda s'est dressée comme une montagne contre les différents visages souvent violents de la discrimination.
« Lorsque vous êtes transgenre, ce n’est pas une double dose, mais une triple dose de stigmatisation et de discrimination que vous recevez. Vous êtes discriminé·e en raison de votre identité sexuelle, en raison de votre travail et en raison de votre statut sérologique VIH. » - Ayanda Denge, 2016
Elle a été présidente par intérim de la Sex Workers Education and Advocacy Taskforce (SWEAT, groupe de travail sur l’éducation et la défense des travailleures du sexe) et coordonnatrice de liaison pour Sisonke, un mouvement national de travailleures du sexe sud-africain.
« D’ici, de notre siège régional à SWEAT, où je siège au conseil d'administration, en passant par Sisonke, un mouvement de travailleures du sexe au Cap, nous ne faisons qu’un. Nous avons un même cri et c'est un cri qui est reconnu dans le monde entier par les travailleures du sexe de toute la planète. Nous voulons la décriminalisation du travail du sexe ». - Ayanda Denge, 2016
Elle vivait dans la maison Ahmed Kathrada, qui était occupée par la campagne Reclaim the City en faveur de logements sociaux. En 2018, Ayanda avait été élue responsable de la maison. Le 24 mars 2019, elle a été poignardée à mort dans sa chambre. L'année précédente, un autre résident avait été tué.
Reclaim the City fait le lien entre la sécurité des résident·e·s des maisons et le gouvernement de province qui les prive d'électricité et du droit humain à l'eau potable :
« Nous ne pouvons dissocier la sécurité des femmes et des personnes LGBTQI vivant dans le squat du refus du gouvernement de la province du Cap-Occidental de rétablir l'électricité et l'eau potable dans la maison Ahmed Kathrada.
La maison est dans le noir complet le soir. Nous avons besoin de lumière pour nous protéger les un·e·s les autres. On a l'impression que la province veut punir les pauvres et les ouvrier·ère·s, dont le seul crime était d'avoir besoin d'un toit. Certes, ils ont le droit de ne pas être d’accord avec nos raisons de squatter, mais ils devraient avoir honte de faire passer la politique avant la sécurité et la dignité des résident·e·s de cette ville.
Repose en paix, camarade Ayanda Denge, nous reprenons le flambeau et nous nous souviendrons de toi dans cette lutte pour un logement décent et central. »
Poème d’Ayanda :
Je suis un miracle…
Je suis donc née d’une mère!
Moi qui commence à bégayer,
j’ai eu une vie à nulle autre pareille.
Née dans la douleur
Nourrie par la pluie
Pour gagner en hauteur
Je vivais dans les égouts.
Là je verse une larme,
je me relève et brandis ma lance.
Les voix résonnent, n’ayez pas peur
Des défis à relever dans l’année,
Des défis de souffrance dans mon dossier;
La communauté applaudit, croyant que j’ai gagné la course;
Mais en réalité mon travail avance à pas de tortue;
À genoux je m’incline et demande grâce.
Car le Seigneur
Est mon épée;
Pour rappeler à l’humanité
Qu’il apporte la sérénité.
Pourquoi, Seigneur, suis-je ce miracle?
Le Seigneur me répond par la pluie et le tonnerre,
Pour avoir interrogé mon père
Qui a dans le livre des agneaux
Un prénom nommé Ayanda.
Dans la rue ma vie n’a jamais été douce
Les personnes que j’ai dû croiser;
Parfois, je ne les saluais jamais;
Et même lorsque j’avais besoin de manger;
Je préférais tirer ma révérence
Plutôt que de prendre place.
« Car ma vie est pareille à celle d’une fleur de lotus, hors des eaux sombres et troubles, j'ai fleuri pour être belle et forte… »- Ayanda Denge, regardez et écoutez
Hommages :
« Ayanda, je voudrais te dire que dans nos coeurs, dans nos esprits, tu es toujours une survivante. Tu n’es plus là mais tu es partout, parce que tu es amour. Comme c’est merveilleux d’être aimé·e, et de donner de l’amour. Et c’est là, Ayanda, le cadeau que tu nous as fait. Merci pour tout cet amour, nous avions vraiment besoin de toi. Je te promets qu’à l’avenir, nous nous engageons tou·te·s à poursuivre la lutte à laquelle tu as consacré tant d’énergie et de temps. Et nous nous engagerons à obtenir justice pour cette fin de vie abominable que tu as connue. » - Transcription d’un message, lors d’un hommage d'adieu à Ayanda
« Ayanda était une activiste par nature. Elle connaissait ses droits et n’hésitait pas à se battre pour les droits des autres. En ce qui me concerne, je n’ai pas été surprise qu’elle s’implique auprès de nombreuses organisations, il était évident qu’elle aimait les gens. Elle ne défendait pas nécessairement les droits des LGBTI, mais les droits de toutes et de tous. » - la soeur d’Ayanda
Love letter to Feminist Movements #3
Love Letter to Feminism
By: 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.
There is an old, hazy picture laying in front of me. In it I am dressed in all white, from the pearl beads fastened into my hair and tucked against my ears, to the ones that trail loosely around my tiny wrists. (...)
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Carta de amor a los movimientos feministas #5
Feministas sudanesas: «Una revolución dentro de la revolución»
«Mientras estaba en la primera línea de la protesta, fui sometida a violencia sexual, a lesiones físicas y a otras formas de violencia. Pero no me detendré hasta que logremos pleno gobierno civil en Sudán. Debemos impedir la militarización del Estado. Nuestros cuerpos no deben seguir siendo tratados como campos de batalla»
Durante los últimos cuatro años, las mujeres lideraron la revolución en Sudán. Su liderazgo no fue solo callejero, sino que constituyó el poder que impulsó la resistencia constante en todos los niveles. Las mujeres y las jóvenes feministas se convirtieron en la conciencia alerta del movimiento de cambio y democratización sudanés. Desde la primera protesta del 13 de diciembre de 2018 contra el régimen anterior, en la ciudad de Aldmazein, en el área de conflicto del Nilo Azul, las jóvenes estudiantes fueron las voces que demandaron el fin de la dictadura de los militares y los Hermanos Musulmanes, que ya lleva treinta años en el poder.
El movimiento feminista, liderado por mujeres de entre 16 y 35 años, ha entablado una revolución dentro de la revolución en Sudán durante los últimos cuatro años de lucha ininterrumpida. Las potentes voces de las jóvenes que ocupan espacios en las calles, las redes sociales, la sociedad civil y las organizaciones políticas se elevaron lo suficiente como para reconfigurar la opinión pública y desafiar las normas sociales. Por primera vez en la historia de Sudán, las discusiones sobre violencia sexual y de género y sobre los tabúes de la violencia doméstica y los procesos de toma de decisiones dominados por los hombres se convirtieron en debates generalizados. Los equipos de fútbol de mujeres designaron voceras ante los comités de resistencia, y los sindicatos profesionales liderados por mujeres son parte de la expresión de la nueva ola del movimiento feminista de Sudán. El logro más importante es que las jóvenes se identifican como feministas en forma orgullosa y pública, en un país regido por el fundamentalismo islámico durante tres décadas. Los jóvenes varones que apoyan el activismo feminista -y se identifican como feministas- son otra señal de progreso notable.
Bajo el actual régimen del golpe militar, las jóvenes que lideran estas iniciativas y los grupos de mujeres que trabajan en el territorio no pueden mencionarse aquí debido a varios problemas de seguridad. Pero su resiliencia, su fuerza y su valentía serán incluidas en los libros de historia. Las audaces jóvenes que encabezan la resistencia en las calles y detrás de las pantallas, y que trabajan en diferentes profesiones y áreas de activismo están dando forma al futuro de Sudán. Las jóvenes feministas de Sudán están creando nuevos espacios para que las narrativas y los discursos feministas reestructuren la distribución del poder a nivel político, económico y social.
A pesar de la inmensa violencia, del resurgimiento del islamismo fundamentalista, de la militarización y de la reducción de los espacios cívicos, las activistas feministas de Sudán se mantienen arraigadas en su sororidad. Siguen siendo una gran inspiración para los movimientos feministas de todo el mundo.
Nazik Awad
1 «Amal» es un seudónimo utilizado para proteger a la joven activista citada. 2 Desde 2018, Sudán vive en una revolución constante. Una nueva ola opositora arrancó a partir del golpe militar del 25 de octubre de 2021.
