To my beloved feminists living with HIV,

We’ve been together for over 20 years and how deeply I’ve treasured your love and support. It is interesting to think that you too are a similar age to AWID - both trying to figure out how to engage and support the community on a similar timeline. To the mothers in the movement, your leadership and guidance has been unmatched. I think of Prudence Mabele, Kate Thompson, Darien Taylor, Patricia Perez, Martha Tholanah, Deloris Dockery, Iris De La Cruise, Doris Peltier, Cecilia Chung and so many more. While not perfect (as none of us are), you always put your community first and champion the inclusion of ALL women living with HIV in feminist spaces.

I love the way you have held me when no one else has been able to, but more importantly how we hold each other. While you understand stigma, discrimination, violence and pain, you also understand joy, love and forgiveness. As feminists living with HIV, we are glorious and powerful in our intersectionality. We understand that feminism includes and is led by communities - our Black, Brown and Indigenous sisters, communities who are trans and gender diverse, sex workers, queer/lesbian, those who have been incarcerated, and those who use drugs - as set out in the GIPA (Greater Involvement of People Living with HIV) principles. Your feminism is all encompassing. We talk about the hard issues and about criminalized communities, because as people living with HIV, we ourselves are criminalized. 

I would be remiss if I didn’t send special love to the young women living with HIV, the heartbeat of the movement. I see you Kia Lebejia, Keren Dunaway, Liz Onyango, Faith Ona, Sara Thapa Maga, Doreen Moraa, Yana Panfilova and millions of others incredible activists living with HIV. You are the power that will continue to propel us forward and allow us to be seen as important in mainstream feminst movements. Thank you for taking our movement further to ALWAYS include trans and gender diverse folks, to talk about the links between climate change and sexual and reproductive health and rights. 

With love, 
Jessica Whitbread

Información general

La comunicación del deseo

y otras praxis políticas del cuerpo

Tendemos a pensar en la comunicación del deseo como algo circunscrito a la intimidad de la alcoba y nuestras relaciones personales. Sin embargo, ¿podemos también pensar este tipo de comunicación como una estructura, una práctica que nutre nuestro trabajo, y cómo somos, y cómo actuamos en el mundo?

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Sobre el amor por un movimiento

¿Cómo comienza un movimiento?
los fantasmas nos expulsan de una casa, una familia, y una nación
llegamos fatigadas a un espacio (a veces un domicilio real) pero fundamentalmente a un estado de ser
precedidas por una estrella fugaz
quizás nuestra llegada no está acompañada por la fatiga,
quizás está acompañada por el miedo
quizás nuestra llegada no está acompañada por el miedo
quizás está acompañada por la rabia
ante cuestiones que siguen repitiéndose:
una puñalada en el corazón (léase pena)
una bala en la espalda (léase traición)
desapariciones forzadas
cuerpos sentenciados por el matrimonio, la desfiguración y la fatiga crónica,
sin embargo, llegamos, nos reunimos, susurramos, hablamos y lloramos.
Así es como nuestros movimientos comienzan cuando llegamos unas a otras
Nos convertimos en semillas,
Así es como nuestros movimientos comienzan cuando nos plantamos unas a otras
Convirtiéndonos en flores, a veces solo espinas, a veces frutas,
somos el oasis de las otras
para cantar por las batallas
para preparar remedios
para ubicar los rostros de nuestras amantes, la forma de sus sonrisas, el sonido de su risa
el secreto de convertir los silencios en lenguaje
las detalladas instrucciones de las brujas
nuestro movimiento es para todas nosotras,
cuando llegamos como semillas con el propósito de florecer. 

Sara AbuGhazal
www.badiya.blog

Convocatoria para Actividades

Luz de Plenilunio: Una experiencia BDSM africana

Más que una divertida excentricidad para explorar las sensaciones, el BDSM puede ser una forma de abordar el dolor y el trauma emocionales. Ha sido un medio de sanación sexual para mí, pues me ha permitido una forma radical de liberación. 

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We’re beginning a new year--2023. COVID-19 continues to infect and re-infect many, many people around the world. We are witnessing the resurgence of right-wing and fascist governments, even in places we may not have expected like Sweden. War, armed conflict, and dramatic increase in militarization, militarism, and military spending are enabling the unbridled capital accumulation by the few, with participation of seemingly “strange” alliances locking arms, both visibly and invisibly, where economic and political elites of the Global North and Global South are benefitting beyond our wildest imagination. In the meanwhile, our people and the natural environment pay enormous costs and suffer all the expected and unexpected consequences.

As all of you and all of us at AWID know, feminists in multiple movements around the world are resisting and organizing against multiple faces of tyranny, creating alternative structures, implementing grassroots strategies, and building transnational alliances. We are generating joy, inspiring one another, singing, and dancing within and against the prevailing culture of killing and cynicism that seems to have engulfed so much of the world.

We--Staff and Board--of AWID are prepared and inspired more than ever before to face challenges by strengthening our relationships with our members and organizational partners, meeting and getting to know those who we are yet to meet and do what we do best: support the global feminist movements. Although we were sad facing the departures of our beloved former Co-Eds Cindy and Hakima, our wonderful new Co-EDS Faye and Inna along with committed and creative staff have embraced the moment that encapsulates both opportunities and threats.

For sure, all of us at AWID and all our movement folks know:  As the Caribbean US poet and activist June Jordan wrote to the South African women activists during the height of the apartheid regime, “We are the ones we have been waiting for”!

Les Forums de l’AWID ont toujours été des espaces où les difficiles mais nécessaires conversations ont lieu. Nous accueillons ces propositions dès lors que la personne ou organisation qui la suggère garantit un espace à la fois respectueux et sûr pour celles et ceux qui y prennent part.

On Wednesday a note arrives
with an address on the back.

    5 pm, tonight.

The handwriting on the invitation—
coily and brusque—
I’ve seen it five times in five years.

My body rouses,
feverish.

I need to fuck myself first.

The tide is high tonight and
I get 
off.

I want to slow everything down,
taste time and space, etch them 
into memory.

*

I’ve never been to this part of town before.
Unknown places excite me,
the way limbs and veins and bones
resist decay, 
their fate uncertain.

At the door, I think twice.
The hallway is pitch black 
and it makes me pause.

On the other side,
a portal of smell and color 
opens like a curse,  
into a sunny afternoon.

The breeze
makes my hair dance,
piques its curiosity,
compels it to move.

I hear the wheelchair whirring, 
shaping the shadows.
Then I see them:
a lynx face
and a body like mine
and I find myself desiring both
again.
 
The creature motions me closer.

Their gestures write a sentence;
as I move toward them,
I notice its details:

    wither, flesh, bliss

On their command, the vine that covers the hallway
hugging warm stones,
snakes up the wall.

It becomes a verb,
“to climb,”
and I’m reorientated when their claws point 
to the vine-bed in the center.

I hear the wheels behind me, 
then that sound. 
It reverberates
like no other.
Their long black wings
elevate toward the ceiling
then they lunge forward.

The feline vision scans every detail,
every change,
every longing.

Can desire liquefy your muscles? 

    Can it act sweeter than the strongest 
of tranquilizers?

A lynx sews the world
across our differences,
weaving lace around my knees.

Can desire crush the distance of the world, 
compressing the seconds?

They come closer still,
lynx eye meeting human eye,
sniffing the air,
turning body into
urgency.

They beat down their wings.
Stirred,
the vines tangle around my waist/waste.

Their tongue thins time,
shifting grounds,
soothes, with their magic,
what stirs beneath.

    I see the world in you, and the 
world is exhausted.

Then they plead:

    Let me feast on you.