When I found a lump in my breast several years ago, I couldn’t bear to tell my mother.
“How come you have black mother?” an inquisitive young boy asked me. We were four, playing at a park near my childhood Chicago home. I stared at him blankly but never responded – I had no idea what he meant.
My existence challenges everything that you’ve been told to believe about me, which makes you uncomfortable.
Despite reproductive justice being rooted within the experiences of women of color, white reproductive justice organizations claim to struggle with “diversity” or “finding” women of color with which to collaborate.
If we truly believe that all people should have the ability to make the best decisions for themselves and to determine the course of their lives, we should take action to promote individual freedom and facilitate exercising of personal autonomy.
For me, Valentine’s Day is not just about celebrating romantic relationships, but also a day to celebrate the multi-faceted relationships with the numerous people in our lives, particularly my friendships with the amazing black women in my life.
I frequently hear variations on these themes: “abortion is a white feminist thing,” “black people are against abortion,” or “abortion is black genocide.”
Forty years after abortion became legal in the United States we are still wading in waters that run deep.
The shame that is associated with abortion and other difficult reproductive health decisions forces women to display an act of grieving whether they feel that way or not.
In order to arrest, incarcerate, and institutionalize pregnant women for legal acts like “noncompliance” with a doctor’s orders, prosecutors distort state homicide, child abuse, and “feticide” laws