We’re thrilled to introduce Ainagul Amatbekova, a civil society organiser and intersectional feminist activist from southern Kyrgyzstan.
Ainagul’s feminist journey began at the
youth-led organisation Novi Ritm, formed after the inter-ethnic clashes in Osh in 2010, where she cultivated spaces designed by and for young activists to foster collective solidarity.
Her commitment continued with FRIDA | The Young Feminist Fund, where she held multiple roles, including Translator, Programme Officer for Teenage-girl* organising, Senior Officer for Grantee Partner Accompaniment, and managing the Focal Point System.
Ainagul actively supported security groups navigating complex contexts such as border conflicts between Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan, the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict, and Russia’s war in Ukraine. She also closely collaborated with FRIDA’s Global Advisory Committee, particularly the Girl Advisory.
Currently, Ainagul collaborates with grassroots and local NGOs, bringing critical Central Asian intersectional and decolonial perspectives to the forefront. She passionately advocates for marginalised communities, including Kyrgyzstan’s Mugat (Roma) community. Ainagul is also a member of the Gypsy Lore Society, which she joined while working on her MA thesis focused on the identity, belonging, and citizenship of the Mugat community in Osh. Her thesis also highlights the situation of girls’ and women’s rights within the community.
Recently, she established her own consultancy and initiative group named FemActHub (Feminist Action Hub), to support grassroots organisations in sustaining their work with a strong focus on resource mobilisation. One of the key intentions behind the group is also to build a community and database of local experts in the fields of feminism, gender, human rights, strategic planning, and resource mobilisation so that local expertise is not only recognised, but actively valued and used.
Ainagul has also joined IOM’s Central Asian Youth Advisory Board. One of her intentions in joining the board is to bring feminist perspectives and challenge the negative narratives about girls and women in migration, which remain widespread in the region.
“Intersectional and decolonial feminism in Kyrgyzstan and across Central Asia is about reclaiming erased voices and agency. It’s about uplifting not only Kyrgyz and Uzbek women, but also Mugat (Roma) communities who have been historically excluded both locally and globally. It’s about reclaiming the power to speak, to resist, and to belong.”
— Ainagul Amatbekova
Your activism began in the aftermath of inter-ethnic violence in Osh, and you’ve since built spaces for collective feminist solidarity in complex contexts. How has this shaped your vision of intersectional and decolonial feminism in Central Asia today?
My activism began after the inter-ethnic conflicts in Osh, Kyrgyzstan. Along the way, I witnessed how colonial legacies, systemic marginalisation, and patriarchy shape our lives. In Central Asia, the intersections of gender, ethnicity, power, and geography are particularly complex — something I grasped early on as a young activist. I realised that without an intersectional and decolonial approach, we cannot meaningfully address the systemic issues embedded in our context.
At Novi Ritm, we created safe spaces for Kyrgyz, Uzbek, LGBT+ youth, girls, and others to gather, share experiences, and imagine alternative futures. These spaces helped us reclaim agency and build alternatives, even when our work around feminism, bodily autonomy, or youth organising was dismissed as “too political” or “Western.” This perception deeply shaped our activism. We kept questioning how issues so central to our lives could be labelled “foreign,” as if our realities didn’t count. Sometimes it felt like we didn’t belong — “too political to belong, too Westernised to fit.” But we kept resisting.
Intersectional and decolonial feminism in Kyrgyzstan — and in Central Asia more broadly — now means reclaiming what we, as women, have always possessed: our silenced voices, our erased knowledge, and our agency. It entails uplifting not only Kyrgyz and Uzbek women, but also Mugat (Roma) communities, who have long been excluded from both local and global spaces. At its core, it is about reclaiming the power to speak — and to resist the frameworks that have consistently spoken about us, but never with us.
You’ve supported feminist and security groups working on the frontlines of border conflicts in Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Nagorno-Karabakh, and Ukraine. What have you learned about sustaining care, safety, and resistance in such volatile settings?
I’m deeply grateful for the opportunity to support feminist — especially security — groups working on the frontlines of war and conflict in the CEECCNA regions and beyond. In moments of crisis, feminist and youth-led initiatives often respond first: organising shelters, offering support, and providing accompaniment. They — not governments or those violating fundamental human rights — consistently show courage and a readiness to care.
Witnessing and supporting these groups has been profoundly inspiring and empowering for me as a young feminist activist. I have come to understand that, in such contexts, care is inseparable from resistance; to care is, in essence, to resist. These are not discrete concepts but integral parts of a single, living whole. Yet, the contributions of young feminist groups are often overlooked. As an activist, ally and a representative of the donor community, I’ve learned how essential it is to recognise and amplify their roles, and ensure their work is visible, valued and celebrated.
I’ve also seen how care is too often treated as a crisis response, when it must be long-term and sustainable. True care is rooted in trust, not one-time interventions. It requires flexibility and alignment with the lived realities of those on the frontlines. But funders often expect tidy timelines and plans — completely misaligned with the urgency and unpredictability of grassroots work. In those realities, a logical framework isn’t care — it becomes another barrier. We need to reimagine care — as radical presence, resistance, trust, and flexibility.
In your experience across local and global spaces, what practices help us move beyond symbolic inclusion and toward real, collective solidarity and just futures — especially in regions shaped by colonial legacies and ongoing conflicts?
This is a great question, as I’ve experienced both local and global spaces where the inclusion of youth activists and feminist activists has been mostly symbolic. And it’s not just governments doing this to check boxes — it’s also actors in the non-governmental sector, who are supposed to uplift the voices of marginalised communities. Moving beyond symbolic inclusion is slow and challenging. It’s easier to invite people to panels or consultations just for appearances. But real inclusion and collective solidarity require discomfort — they demand a shift in power.
The first step toward just futures is redistributing resources fairly to those most affected — not only giving them space to speak, but to lead. And they must be resourced to do so. Secondly, we must listen — really listen — without interrupting, softening the message, or judging. Let radical voices speak. Let uncomfortable truths be heard. They are essential for showing us what matters, what is real, and what keeps us moving. Third, inclusion must go beyond performative participation. In most cases, those most affected are still excluded from decision-making. True solidarity means engaging them in setting strategies, defining roles, and shaping outcomes — especially in regions marked by colonial legacies and conflict.
Collective solidarity means refusing to leave anyone behind simply because their truth is inconvenient. We must honour every process of organising toward justice — even when it doesn’t fit the donor mindset, especially for funders from the Global North.
How can intersectional and decolonial feminist approaches reshape traditional resource distribution practices in Central Asia to ensure greater responsiveness to the lived realities of historically marginalised groups?
In Central Asia, resource distribution is still shaped by top-down, formalised systems that privilege urban centres and demand formal registration. This model excludes many grassroots feminist groups that don’t meet these bureaucratic standards — often due to structural insecurity, lack of long-term funding, or political positioning. This is why intersectional and decolonial feminist frameworks are so important. They ask critical — and often uncomfortable — questions: Who is missing? What does trust look like in resource distribution? How are donors accountable to communities — not just the other way around?
To be more responsive to the realities of marginalised groups, we must ask: what does it really mean to fund in a feminist way?
It starts with trust. Then, it’s about supporting any group or collective — registered or not — that is working toward radical, systemic change. Right now, registered NGOs hold the most access to funding, while the most excluded groups — often unregistered — remain invisible.
Flexibility is also crucial. Grassroots groups often operate in unstable, urgent contexts, while donors expect complex applications and rigid reporting. These requirements consume time and energy that grassroots actors can’t spare.
Accessibility is another core principle of feminist resourcing. Funding processes must reach rural areas — where many of the most excluded communities live — not just urban centres.
In many traditional funding models, those most affected are not invited to the decision-making table — they are merely labelled “beneficiaries.” A feminist approach challenges this dynamic by shifting power: it centres those most affected as the ones who define priorities, determine how resources are used, and lead the way toward solutions. We must rethink not only what we fund, but how, why, and who decides.
