(John McCann/M&G)
Late last year, I received a letter from Purposeful, a feminist center for girls’ activism based in Africa, informing me that I had been selected as the recipient of the first $50,000 Feminist Scholar Award.
The award allowed me the space and time to focus on my next book “away from the burden of institutional fundraising or commercial income”, and to be able to center work with girls as part of my process.
The best part is that this award is unconditional – and there is no requirement to apply for money or to submit a narrative report.
The only question is that I attend reflection sessions and presentations around the six and 12 month periods.
“Yesssssss,” I quickly typed again. “I accept this award. I have no words. I’ll write more when I write more.”
I remember calling my mother afterwards and explaining to her that the organization, which had previously invited me to Sierra Leone to run a workshop for young girls on sex, sexuality and the body, had a lot of faith in what I was doing, so they decided. support me so I can focus on the next book.
He struggled to believe me. “What do you want for him?” he asked.
“No, Ms. They don’t want me to do anything. They just think the work I do is important.
It took some time for parents to see the work – speaking up about sex and sexualities, often revealing intimate details of their own sex life in the process – as something worth doing. This changed when I began to gain public recognition, although the fear (in the case of my mother who is now the only surviving parent) continued for a very different reason.
Recently, I was proud to share with him a feature about me in a famous Western publication and what he picked up on that I have been described as “Queer”, which makes him worried because of the draconian anti-gay Bill that is going through the Ghanaian parliamentary system.
I feel privileged that an organization based in Africa sees my work as worthy of support. Recognition always feels more special when it comes from “home”, and I want other philanthropic organizations, especially Black and African, to step up and meaningfully support artists whose work sparks social change and justice.
And here lies the rub. It is very difficult for Black artists and activists, who are also an important part of the ecosystem of the Black feminist movement, to access resources.
Philanthropy is a traditionally fixed and unimaginative sector. Anyone who has had to apply for funding knows that the process can be soul-crushing.
Traditional donors usually have a long list of requirements.
Proving you are a registered non-governmental organization, having an audit report for at least three years and submitting an online application form in the colonial language (usually English) are just some of the things you need to do to prove your eligibility. supported work.
These requirements stifle the most creative forms of activism or, at the very least, mean that artists struggle to access the resources they need to do their best work. This is especially true for black women, trans people and gender non-conforming people according to new research by the Black Feminist Fund.
Cynthia Eyakuze, researcher and co-contributor to the report “Where is the money for Black feminists?” spoke to the “trust gap” that the Black feminist movement faces and challenges they access resources for that reason.
He further highlights: “There are many ways in which bias is seen and experienced in funding, from perceptions of capacity and risk to opaque processes, to the accessibility of funders and funding opportunities, the distance of funders to certain organizations, plus the distance from marginal contexts and communities, and onerous application and reporting requirements.
“We need to be clear that these barriers are not technical barriers to diligence, but systemic barriers rooted in white supremacy that stem from the roots of ‘civilized’ and ‘charitable’ development and philanthropy.”
As someone who has worked in, and has been affiliated with, the NGO sector for almost twenty years, I see from the strict and strict funding application process, as well as the heavy reporting requirements that come into play when you manage to access resources. to support your activities.
Therefore, I have never applied for funding to support the work I do on sexual rights unless the donor has clearly approached me and expressed an interest in supporting my work.
This means that some of the projects that I have started, including Adventures from the African Women’s Bedroom and Abena Korantemaa’s Oral History Prize, have remained small because they have been fully supported by me, my family and friends (in the latter case. , for example) or have only one donors (in the case of the former), which means that the work is also heavily subsidized by the labor of my co-founder Malaka Grant and myself, as well as a small team of staff and volunteers.
Imagine how much inspiration and creative work could flourish if artists had a wealth of resources. Imagine how the world would change if people saw themselves reflected in books, movies and art in different ways.
Since I published my book Types of African Women’s Lives, people have often asked me what kind of reaction I have to it, especially in the continent, where same-sex relationships are often criminalized according to laws that come from colonial times. I always share the most consistent feedback. A Queer DMing me, and said something along the lines of, “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
Imagine a world where we all feel exposed. The arts across the spectrum – literature, music, film, theater, poetry, dance – have the most powerful potential to move hearts and minds to a better world. One that we live in synergy with each other and in a way that preserves the planet for future generations.
Nana Darkoa Sekyiamah is the author of The Sex Lives of African Women, which the Publishers Weekly published as “a fascinating report on the sexual liberation efforts” in a starred review.
The views expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect official policy or position Mail & Guardians.
Late last year, I received a letter from Purposeful, a feminist center for girls’ activism based in Africa, informing me that I had been selected as the recipient of the inaugural $50,000 Feminist Scholar award. space and time to focus on the next book “away from the burden of institutional fundraising or the generation of commercial income”, and to be able to center working with girls as an intentional part of my process.
The best part is that this award is unconditional – and there is no requirement to apply for money or to submit a narrative report. The only question is that I attend reflection sessions and presentations around the six and 12 month periods.
“Yesssssss,” I quickly typed again. “I accept this award. I have no words. I’ll write more when I write more.”
I remember calling my mother afterwards and explaining to her that the organization that had previously invited me to Sierra Leone to run a workshop for young girls on sex, sexuality and the body had so much faith in what I was doing that they decided to support me. so I can focus on the next book. He struggled to believe me. “What do you want for him?” he asked, “No, Ms. They don’t want me to do anything. They just think the work I do is important.
It took some time for parents to see the work – speaking up about sex and sexualities, often revealing intimate details of their own sex life in the process – as something worth doing. This began to change when I began to gain public recognition, although the fear (in the case of my mother who is now the only surviving parent) continued for a different reason. Recently I was proud to share with him a feature of me by a famous Western media publication and what he picked up on that I have been described as Queer, which makes him worried because of the draconian anti-gay bill that is going through the Ghanaian parliament. system.
I feel privileged that an organization based in Africa sees my work as worthy of support. Recognition always feels more special to me when it comes from “home”, and I want other philanthropic organizations, especially black, and African, to rise and meaningfully support artists whose work sparks social change and justice.
And here lies the rub. It is very difficult for black artists and activists, who are also an important part of the ecosystem of the black feminist movement, to access resources. Philanthropy is a traditionally fixed and unimaginative sector. Anyone who has had to apply for funding knows that the process can be soul-crushing.
Traditional donors usually have a long list of requirements. Proving that you are a registered non-governmental organization, having an audit report for at least three years and submitting an online application form in the colonial language (usually English) are just some of the problems that people have to go through to prove that they are genuine. his work deserves to be supported.
These requirements stifle the most creative forms of activism or, at the very least, mean that artists struggle to access the resources they need to do their best work. This is especially the case for black women, trans and gender non-conforming as recent research by the Black Feminist Fund shows. Cynthia Eyakuze, researcher and co-contributor for “Where is the money for Black feminists” said in the “confidence gap” that the black feminist movement faces and challenges they access resources for that reason.
He further emphasized that: “There are many ways in which bias is seen and experienced in terms of funding, from the perception of capacity and risk, opaque processes, the accessibility of funders and funding opportunities, proximity to certain organizations, coupled with distance from marginalized contexts and communities , and onerous application and reporting requirements. We need to be clear that these barriers are not technical barriers that are important to persevere, but systemic barriers based on white supremacy that stem from the roots of ‘civilized’ and ‘charitable’ development and philanthropy.
As someone who has worked and been affiliated with the NGO sector for almost twenty years, I know the rigorous and rigorous funding application process, as well as the heavy reporting requirements that come with it when you can access the resources to support it. your activism. Therefore, I have never applied for funding to support the work I do on sexual rights unless a donor has approached me directly and expressed an interest in supporting my work.
This means that some of the projects that I have started, including Adventures from the African Women’s Bedroom and Abena Korantemaa’s Oral History Prize, have remained small because they have been fully supported by me, my family and friends (in the latter case. , for example) or have only one donors (in the case of the former), which means that the work is also heavily subsidized by the labor of my co-founder Malaka Grant and myself, as well as a small team of staff and volunteers.
Imagine how inspiring creative works could flourish if artists had ample resources. Imagine how the world would change if people saw themselves reflected in books, movies and art in different ways.
Since I published my book Types of African Women’s Lives, people have often asked me what kind of reaction I have to it, especially in the continent, where same-sex relationships are often criminalized according to laws that come from colonial times. I always share the most consistent feedback. A Queer DMing me, and said something along the lines of, “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
Imagine a world where we all feel exposed. The arts across the spectrum – literature, music, film, theater, poetry, dance – have the most powerful potential to move hearts and minds to a better world. One that we live in synergy with each other and in a way that preserves the planet for future generations.
The views expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect official policy or position Mail & Guardians.