This year the Commission on the Status of Women (CSW) felt different. Not because the language had changed—many of the same calls were made, the same frameworks revisited—but because something in the spirit of the space had shifted. Particularly in spaces around the Arab region, where I am from (this, of course, was not the case across the board. In many conversations, especially those reflecting other regional realities, I heard exhaustion, frustration and even grief). Beneath grand statements that matched the significance of the space, I could discern a subtle, albeit greater, power: solidarity, thoughtful movement, and hope rooted in shared experience.

In various sessions, women from countries across the region spoke about programs that were already underway, laws already passed, changes already felt in homes and schools and workplaces. From active engagement of women at the grassroots in policy processes to the establishment of centers dedicated to research, documentation, and knowledge-sharing around women’s contributions and development, progress was discernible. They did not use the language of “hope,” but hope was there—in the way they spoke, in what they had already set in motion. It was a grounded, specific kind of hope, rooted in results, in action, and in a deep sense of responsibility to the generations coming next.

There is often a tendency (both globally and at times within the region) to describe Arab women as either oppressed or exceptional. Both narratives flatten reality. What I witnessed at CSW this year was far more textured. Women speaking about the future of their countries with clarity, offering their experiences not as exceptions but as part of a broader movement in the region. There was a collective sense that something is shifting—and that we each have a role to play in responding to, shaping, and sustaining that movement.

At the same time, this forward motion was not detached from grief, from frustration, or from the unevenness of progress. No society, East or West, has realized the full meaning of gender equality— perhaps none of us know what it truly looks like, it remains something we are still trying to understand. Conversations across CSW (particularly in side-events and civil society spaces) made clear that while some countries in the region are accelerating efforts, others are facing ongoing constraints. When one participant shared the progress unfolding in her setting, another responded—not critically, but with care—“How can your experience support others in the region?” What followed was not a policy answer, but an invitation: a willingness to share, to learn together, and to stay connected. The tone was not triumphant, but collaborative—and that spirit of regional solidarity, though unassuming, felt significant. These kinds of moments, rooted in regional solidarity, rather than competition, offer a glimpse into the spirit that may well carry this work forward.

Intergenerational presence was another thread that ran through this year’s Commission. Many of the women who shaped the Beijing Declaration and Platform for Action were in the room, not only reminding us of where we have come from, but also showing us what it looks like to stay the course. Listening to their reflections and then sitting in sessions with younger women—some just beginning their engagement with global processes—I was struck by how much of this work happens not just in institutions, but in families. At home.

This question of home has stayed with me. I have been reflecting on how much of the transformation in our region (and beyond) is not just happening in formal policy spaces, but within families, homes, and communities. It shows up in how mothers speak to their daughters—and to their sons. In how conversations shift at dinner tables. In how responsibilities are reimagined within the household. Home can be a site of tension, but it is also where new patterns are seeded, where values are tested and translated into daily life.

This, too, is something I have been reflecting on in my own research: how policy change and personal change are interwoven, how the language of rights must often be translated into the language of responsibility, care, and relationship in order to take root in certain contexts.

As I continue to explore the connection between global feminist frameworks and the lived experiences of women across the region, I have become more attuned to the gaps between how gender justice is discussed internationally and how it is experienced locally. In some spaces, empowerment is framed as visibility, assertion, disruption. But in others, it takes the form of steady perseverance, of navigating change within the intimate spaces of daily life while building something new, of allowing long held values to evolve in ways that support shared responsibility and a greater sense of justice. This does not mean we settle for the status quo—it means we work for change in ways that are coherent with the realities and identities of the people we hope to serve.

What I carry with me from this year’s Commission is not a declaration, but a question: What are we learning from the places where change is unfolding slowly, quietly, and with intention? Because there is something remarkable happening. Not everywhere, not perfectly—but undeniably. If we listen closely, we can hear the voices of women, across generations, communities, and countries—speaking not just of hope, but from within it.

There is still much to be done. But there is also much to be honored.  Progress, I am learning, is not always marked by milestones. Sometimes, it is felt—in shared direction, in mutual care, in the willingness to walk forward together.

Lotus Mohajer was a member of the Bahá’í International Community’s delegation to the 69th session of the Commission on the Status of Women. She is a policy professional and doctoral student whose work and research focus on gender equality, participatory policymaking, and the relationship between global discourse and local experience, particularly in the Arab region.