FGM testimony: Healing in the intersection of being non-binary and a survivor
One of the misconceptions about Female Genital Mutilation/Cutting (FGM/C) is that is primarily rooted in religious practices. Dena was nine when they undergone FGM/C in Indonesia due to the cultural belief that it was the only way to secure their purity. Being a non-binary person while being a survivor, instilled in Dana feelings of shame, distrust in their own body and a general discomfort. Their story sheds light on the fact that this a form of Gender-Based Violence based on numerous factors within societies, which share a single social system: patriarchy.
Discover the other powerful testimonies in our report “The Time is Now: End Female Genital Mutilation/Cutting (FGM/C)”
“My name is Dena. I’m 27 years old, an Indonesian Muslim writer, poet, and playwright born and raised in Queens, New York. My work explores the histories of migration, queerness, anticipated grief, and the archives of Indonesian communities in the U.S. My writing often serves as both an expression of identity and a means of advocacy. It is through this lens that I have chosen to publicly share my experience as a survivor of female genital cutting (FGC).
I was nine years old when I underwent FGC during a family visit to Indonesia. This was my first trip to the country, a significant moment connecting with my heritage and relatives. Yet, this journey also marked a profound and painful event in my life. I didn’t know what was happening when my aunt took me to a different area far from my grandmother’s house. The trip felt unusually long, and I remember feeling a growing heaviness in my chest.
When we arrived, I was taken into a back room that looked clinical. There was a metal table and medical supplies, but it wasn’t a hospital. My aunt pushed me onto the table, held me down, and instructed me to keep my legs open. I was scared, confused, and crying but felt compelled to obey. The woman performing the procedure used a scalpel. I vividly remember the coldness of the blade and the sharp sensation of being cut. The pain was immediate and overwhelming, and the feeling of gauze being pressed into the wound was agonizing.
When it was over, I couldn’t walk properly for days. My aunt’s reassurances did little to ease the physical or emotional trauma I was experiencing. At the time, I didn’t fully understand what had happened to me.
My family explained it as “Sunat Perempuan,” a cultural practice rooted in the belief that cutting a girl’s genitalia reduces her sexual desires and ensures her purity. For my aunt, this was a preventative measure to protect me from premarital sex, abuse, or being perceived as promiscuous, issues she believed were especially prevalent in the United States where I was being raised. It was not until years later that I realized the full extent of what I had undergone and its implications.
The long-term impact of FGC has been multifaceted: physical, emotional, and social. Physically, I experienced discomfort and challenges in navigating intimacy and body awareness. Emotionally, the procedure instilled a complex relationship with my identity as a non-binary person and a survivor. I grappled with feelings of shame, confusion, and distrust of my own body, particularly during my teenage years and early adulthood.
My journey toward healing and advocacy began with writing. Sharing my story publicly was both cathartic and terrifying. It gave me a platform to connect with other survivors and shed light on a practice often hidden in silence and stigma. Yet, being open about my experience has also come with challenges. As a writer, I’ve had to navigate the lack of agency often afforded to survivors in how their stories are told and shared. I’ve seen my work misquoted, reframed, and used without consent in ways that perpetuate Islamophobia or pity driven narratives. Despite these difficulties, I continue to speak out because I believe in the power of survivor-centered storytelling.
I advocate for approaches that respect intersectionality, acknowledging how socioeconomic disparities, racial prejudice, and systemic gender-based violence intersect with FGC. Survivors face barriers to accessing healthcare, mental health resources, and safe housing, and these factors must be addressed as part of the larger conversation. In my advocacy, I emphasize the importance of shifting the narrative around FGC. This practice is not an isolated cultural issue; it is part of a broader web of gender-based violence and patriarchal control.
By framing FGC as a global issue, we can challenge the systems that allow it to persist while ensuring that efforts to end it do not vilify the communities where it occurs. Education, survivor agency, and intersectional approaches are key to addressing FGC. We need survivor-led initiatives that inform policy without increasing surveillance of marginalized communities. We must also provide healthcare professionals with trauma-informed training to ensure survivors receive compassionate and culturally responsive care.
Today, I remain committed to raising awareness and supporting survivors. Through my writing and advocacy, I hope to create a world where survivors are heard, their stories are honored, and no child has to endure the pain I did.
My journey is far from over, but every step forward is a step toward justice and healing for myself, my community, and the generations to come."