Voices to End FGM/C: A Survivor and an Advocate Reflect on the Power of Storytelling

Editor's Note: Two years ago, StoryCenter embarked upon a collaboration with Sahiyo United to End Female Genital Cutting, which has grown into a global program, Voices to End FGM/C. Last year, we completed three workshops with survivors and advocates—one session held entirely online, one in collaboration with Threads for Well-Being in Asheville, NC, and one in collaboration with the George Washington University School of Public Health in Washington, D.C. Here we share reflections from two of our Voices workshop participants, as we get ready to debut many new stories from this growing effort to elevate real people's real experiences, in efforts to end FGM/C globally.

Why I keep sharing my personal khatna story, again and again 

By Aarefa Johari
Age: 33
Country: India

I have shared my story of undergoing khatna, or female genital cutting (FGC), dozens of times in the past seven years. I have written about it in blogs, described it to journalists during interviews, shared it on camera, and also narrated it on stage, before live audiences. 

For each medium of storytelling, the first time has always been difficult. But with each retelling, I have grown more confident and articulate, not because I am now used to talking about the day I was cut, but because I have seen the tremendous positive impact of sharing my deeply personal story. 

Talking about one’s khatna publicly involves describing an invasion of one’s own person, in the most intimate part of one’s body. It requires opening oneself up to vulnerability before one can become strong. It involves bracing oneself for criticism, dismissal, and vicious trolling from those who seek to defend the cutting of little girls’ genitals. It is difficult, and contrary to what our detractors often claim, it is never a means of getting “publicity.” 

When I chose to share my khatna story, it was triggered by sheer rage. I was angry about being violated, and I wanted to voice it, in the hope that it would somehow prevent other seven-year-old Bohra girls from being cut. I did not know at the time how powerful storytelling can be. I did not know that each story told is like a pebble tossed into unknown waters, creating ripples that continue to radiate long after the pebble has come to a rest. 

Speaking out helped me realize that I was not alone in my rage and indignation about being cut. It helped me connect with others who shared my feelings—fellow sisters who also wanted to end the practice of khatna—and soon, a group of us founded Sahiyo. 

At Sahiyo, we create safe spaces to enable others to share their own khatna stories. For many, the experience of story-sharing has been cathartic, liberating, and empowering. Women have told us they feel less isolated when they read or hear the stories of other survivors. Because storytelling focuses on emotion, self-reflection, and the nuanced complexities of personal experience, it has been far more effective than didactic advocacy, at inspiring parents to abandon khatna. 

This is why Sahiyo constantly seeks to create new platforms for storytelling, and teaming up with StoryCenter for the Voices to End FGM/C workshop has been one of them. Despite having shared my story several times over the years, I chose to participate in Voices to End FGM/C’s global webinar-based workshop because this time, I wanted to share the story of my journey so far, and the role that my decision to speak out has played in it. 

Through my video story, created with the help of designer Esther Elia, I hope that I can inspire viewers to keep sharing their own stories, because their voices are needed more than ever today. Every voice counts, and the more our stories rain down on the world, the more likely we are to prevail in our efforts to end khatna. 

We should all speak up against female genital cutting

By Hatim Amiji

As a man, I found myself extremely nervous sitting in a circle of ten women at the Voices to End FGM/C workshop in Asheville. I had entered what I would consider a sacred space, to share my story related to female genital cutting (FGC), but more importantly, to listen to their stories. The air was dense, and it was obvious that what was about to be shared would be opening up deep and unhealed wounds. I took part in the storytelling workshop because I wanted to make a point that FGC is an issue males should be willing to stand against. My story highlighted how the practice alienated the relationship I had with my sister. Only when I listened to her story were we able to recreate a bond we once had, as innocent children. 

As the women in the workshop told their stories, I listened to their descriptions of the pain they underwent, both during the practice and throughout their lives. The metaphorical microphone had been passed, and I could hear what they had kept inside. As a man, and therefore, in many ways an observer, I was situated in a derivative of social voyeurism. I was listening to stories that had weighed the women down for decades, but I myself never went through such experiences. And yet, I was accepted into their circle; I was given the chance to listen because they felt it was important for me to listen. In turn, the story I told was important for them to hear as well. It was one of solidarity, one that depicted a mutual understanding that this practice needs to end.

It is common knowledge in the community in which I was raised that this issue is one males should not get involved in. As I have learned from women in the workshop, it’s the same for many communities around the globe. I had learned of the practice tangentially by skimming through an online pamphlet, and only learned of the prevalence of the practice by doing research on my own. It was never brought up in religious congregations, Sunday school, or in conversations with my parents. I had to bring it up to my mother in order to learn more about it, and I have yet to even speak with my father, because I know he is likely as shielded from the issue as I once was. 

Aside from the fact that males are less informed about the issue, it is also apparent that many men turn a blind eye, even when they have knowledge of the practice. We are expected to let the issue stay a “female issue”—one that we shouldn’t meddle in, because we don’t understand. It is true that I will never understand the actual manifestation and perception of pain and lifelong suffering that comes with the practice, but I do understand that this practice is a source of trauma that affects our daughters and sisters and mothers. This should be is enough for men to stand up and speak out against it. Around the globe, females are robbed of their innocence through genital cutting, and there is absolutely no good reason why. We must speak up, because this issue affects us all.