Reproductive Justice: A University of Minnesota Women's Center Zine Collaboration

Reproductive Justice

A University of Minnesota Women’s Center Zine Collaboration

A message from the women’s center

Well before the overturning of Roe v. Wade in June 2022, Women’s Center staff had begun to brainstorm ways to incorporate education about reproductive justice into our programming. We had been and continue to be in conversation with various students, staff and faculty, as well campus partners and collaborators in gender equity work. We paid attention to the conversations and the questions and ideas being raised by members of our communities. When the news came of the Supreme Court’s decision to overturn Roe v. Wade, Women’s Center staff knew that we wanted to not just focus on reproductive rights or reproductive health, but on reproductive justice (RJ).

SisterSong Women of Color Reproductive Justice Collective defines reproductive justice as “the human right to maintain personal bodily autonomy, have children, not have children, and parent the children we have in safe and sustainable communities.” Abortion access is part of this framework, but it also is expansive enough to include “contraception, comprehensive sex education, STI prevention and care, alternative birth options, adequate prenatal and pregnancy care, domestic violence assistance, adequate wages to support our families, safe homes, and so much more.”

(https://www.sistersong.net/reproductive-justice)

This zine is a recognition of the RJ framework, an acknowledgement that our communities need support on multiple fronts to ensure our collective survival, health and joy. As we work to envision a world centered in reproductive justice, we are not advocating for utopia. Instead, we encouraged submissions that were willing and eager to flip the idea of utopia on its head — to create an anti-utopia if you will. A just world is not perfect by any means. Think of moments when you have moved through conflict with loved ones; the moments where you acknowledged that you were

scared, but chose to move through activation to speak your truth; the moments where you and a friend mutually decided on a difficult boundary to grow on your own, but still continued to hold care for one another. This collection of art, writing, and other creative modalities invites us to step into all of those complexities and more.

We hope to illustrate this moment of change we are all living through, and capture a process that is sometimes overwhelming and broad, but also often simple and deeply personal. Within this zine, you will find stories of love and loss, trauma and hope, imagination and remembering, grief and joy, and many other connected contradictions of transformational times. You will encounter pieces that might feel tender, and possibly triggering to move through; seeking justice in an unjust world does not come without hurt, questioning and challenge. There will also be elements of softness and ease — and potentially healing — to greet you as well. We encourage you to tend to your heart and give yourself care through it all.

May we continue moving towards a reproductive justice future, and find ways to honor — whether through battle, through enjoyment, or through just being — the past and present.

In solidarity, Women’s Center staff

solo act

Destanee Ulrich

[ audience stirs, hissing softly, silence insisted ]

i sit before you with violin legs and piano key fingers, songs spill from notebooks sprawled on the floor; somewhere i wrote the lyrics to purity, humanity, equality how there was a world with women as queens and men as kings ruling side by side on thrones of unity. but their kingdoms were stories of their daughters (sisters, mothers, and lovers) and the pages promised success.

[ heads nod, eyes wander ]

but the spines un-spiraled and the corners of papers burned, treating each girl the same means nodding one’s head in shame–

[ whispers trickle through the room ]

and take your secrets, rip them apart. your dreams devastations i ache you to wash until your knuckles bleed; ‘cause we’re not monolithic : your daughters sisters mothers lovers nor do we want monolithic things, there’s just similarities overlapping that humanity blends together like art on the canvas we call bodies.

[ complete silence. speaker drops a pin. ]

hear that? when no one speakers the world hears everything, but in the mouth of mundane beings nothings ever quite enough, you never hear each girl screaming. and if you ask me for a solution, i know you’re just taunting.

[ speaker stands ]

the solution is your silent recognition, listen–hear the breathe of every women shaking, give her a chance as you would a man. and perhaps then you’ll hear the music she’s playing knowing the audience, emotion, feeling.

"PRO-LIFE" IN SCARE QUOTES

by KTM/Guante | www.guante.info

And the counterprotestor shouts: what if your mother had decided to abort you? He’s wearing a bright green t-shirt that just says PRO-LIFE; no link or organization or anything, just PRO-LIFE. And in a split second, my brain cycles through all of the possible ways I could reply:

I could say… why is it that the loudest "pro-life" voices, are also, always, the loudest anti-social safety net, anti-access to childcare, anti-access to contraception, anti-living wage, anti-environment, anti-peace, anti-democracy, antisex ed, anti-education in general, anti-healthcare voices?

I could say... if you really believe abortion is murder, you should be on the front lines supporting comprehensive sex ed, universal healthcare, and yeah, Planned Parenthood too: the programs, services, and initiatives that reduce abortion rates more than outlawing it ever could.

I could say... the “pro-life” movement has never actually been about life; it has always been about control. It has always been about enforcing an extreme view of family, sexuality, and authority, and punishing women (and anyone who can get pregnant) for daring to think differently. It has always been about cynically using people’s deeplyheld beliefs as a way to get-out-the-vote to keep the most immoral, manipulative, hypocritical politicians we have in power.

I could respond with any variation on one or more of those points…

And would any of them change his mind?

Is changing his mind the point? How loud do you have to be to put out a house fire with just your voice? How wellconstructed must your argument be to convince the ocean not to take your drowning friend? Do we preach to the choir because it’s easy, or do we preach to the choir because they’re the people who might actually do something?

The counterprotestor asks: what if your mother had decided to abort you? He’s not actually concerned with my metaphysical well-being. He doesn’t care about my young, scared, single mother.

He’s trying to tell a story.

So my response is also a story. It’s just not a story for him.

Someday, we are going to live in a world that truly values life. Where people have not just the choice to have or not have children, but the right to raise them in a community with all the resources and opportunities and freedom and justice and joy they could ever need. Talk about “life” all you want, but I know who’s fighting for that world.

And I know who isn’t.

What They Say

Christina Drown

“Why is there blood in my underwear?” Am I dying? Am I going to be okay? I am 12 years old and I don’t know what a menstrual cycle is.

“Abstinence is your only option.” They don’t tell me what else I can do. They scare me with facts and figures. I am 14 years old and I don’t know what safe sex means.

“The pill is only for people who are having sex and that’s not you.” I feel ashamed for asking. I feel like I am doing something wrong. I am 16 years old and nobody will help me with birth control.

“There are many side effects, it's very dangerous.” They told me I could get birth control without a parent. They said that it would be easy. I am 17 years old and I can’t get access to contraceptives.

“Why don’t we just risk it.” I thought men wanted to wear condoms. I thought they would always be prepared. I am 18 years old and I don’t have any protection.

“This is a really terrible thing you are doing.” They didn’t tell me there would be fake clinics. They told me that everyone has access. I am 20 years old and I can’t get an abortion.

“Welcome to your first day of Women and Gender Sexuality Studies”. I know now I need to seek out my own information. I know that I have other options than what “they” said. I am 22 years old and I am finally learning about my own body.

“I got my period today.” There were tons of hygiene products in the bathroom so I wasn’t worried. I am 12 years old and I know how to handle my menstrual cycle.

“The most important thing you can do is practice safe sex.” I have

everything I need in case I decide to engage in sexual activity. I am 14 years old and I am confident in how to have safe sex.

“There are many options for birth control and we will find the right option for you.” I feel empowered and confident. I am 16 years old and I can access contraception.

“You can ask me any questions you want about using birth control.” I have the knowledge I need to be safe. I am 17 years old and I know how to use birth control.

“I brought protection.” I am prepared, I feel ready to have sex. I am 18 years old and I have access to protection.

“Whatever you decide, we will support you through the process.” I know my options and I have the resources I need. I am 20 years old and it is my choice if I get an abortion.

“Welcome to your first day of Women and Gender Sexuality Studies”. I can’t wait to teach this class and empower others. I am 22 years old and I am making a difference.

Genesis 18: Chapter and Verse

Natan Paradise

Sarah laughed, though it was not funny, this decision on her behalf that she would become a mother.

Did they consult her, these men claiming to speak for God, before informing Abraham, “Your wife Sarah shall have a son”?

A rhetorical question, of course: once again, used to being talked about, Sarah learned this eavesdropping at the entrance of the tent, staring down no doubt at her dried, chapped hands, dried from decades of kneading cakes at his command, feeling the weight of breasts also dry, and withered. Ninety years is old enough, she must have thought, to know what you want.

Maybe I wanted a child once, the thought even now suggests some little joy, but forty years past my last period I think I can say I made a life for myself without motherhood, a life of value.

If Sarah laughed in disbelief, it was not that God could do such a thing, wondrous or whatever, knowing from long experience it was the way of women to be told their role–that part had never stopped.

Maybe it was disbelief

that once again, after all these years, Abraham would decide her fate for her, without consultation, or informed consent, this man who let Pharoah take her, thinking her just a sister (and though she does not know it yet, Abraham will betray her again with Abimelech).

Have a child with this imperfect hero of a man? Maybe she wanted to laugh in his face but feared to, but still laughed, quietly, sardonically perhaps–but somebody snitched on her, so she lied, and said, No dear, I did not laugh. It must have been somebody else.

And when Sarah heard her husband that very day rebuke God himself, “Shall not the Judge of all the earth deal justly?” was she reassured? Or did she fear a man so filled with self-righteous zeal, fear that man who might one day sacrifice her child on some mistaken altar not of life, but of duty.

Forces Against Scarcity

Kristen Reynolds

1 bed, a hot plate, a window for hazy light. A small sink where she can brush her teeth or clean her dishes. She shares the bathroom at the end of the hall with 6 flatmates. This is affordable luxury.

Today she will visit her family. She pulls at her loose clothes, anticipating her father’s comments.

“You’re not eating” he’ll admonish from the stove. “I’m eating,” she’ll reply, taking a too-hot plate in one hand and passing off rations with the other. Today will be a mix of root vegetables and dried meat, ingredients he’ll be eager for.

Nonetheless, he’ll refuse them. “Take it home, Che.”

She’ll ignore him. He’ll acquiesce.

Her sisters will squeal and Che will take the opportunity to join their games. She’ll tell them how much they’ve grown, how pretty they are. They’ll be delighted, she’ll revel in their joy – a reminder that she can be happy here, too. This is her ritual. Without it, she would be incomplete. Her yearning to have her own children uncoils in her womb. Her fear of what this hostile world will do to them curdles the desire. She wonders how her parents confronted this fear.

She lifts her barcoded wrist to the biometric scanner securing her flat. She is also tracked by this code – her pulse, temperature, hormones. How much she eats, drinks. How frequently she evacuates waste. Noted. She exchanges her labor for this surveillance.

Formerly known as Forces Against Scarcity, FAS promised to blend the power of the imagination with automation to provide jobs and housing for anyone suffering from wage exploitation. It worked. The country became a pock-marked cornucopia of FAS company towns. With expansion came new business interests and as quickly as human suffering became profitable, FAS became VidaTech: Tech for humanity, tech for life.

VidaTech intervenes if their assets seem “unwell.” Her last encounter with their doctors left her curled in the fetal position for days and made clumps of her hair fall out. The hair was normal, they said. The horrific cramps she still experienced–those were a curious development.

The scanner beeps. A gruff voice barks at her through the device. “Medical’s approaching.”

“Please. I was just going to see my family.” Static crackles. Her door clicks open. A mousy man enters. She stares. “I am not ill.”

“I’m aware” he says, skimming a digital file. “But we’re exploring declining birth rates this quarter and you still get periods.”

She recoils. “Being child-free was a condition of my enrollment.”

“Currently, you are.”

“Then I’ll go.” Other options for work were grim. But that was tomorrow’s problem

“Unfortunately, you won’t be able to request disenrollment for 6 months.”

He turns toward the open door, “shall we?”

She seizes the opportunity. He’s unprepared for her to rush him, push him to the ground. She steps on, then over him, running out of the building. Running towards home—the last place that honored her choices. The sound of her sisters’ laughter peals in her ears.

Eulogy.

Alexis Tarter

On the day you came, I didn’t know what you were. I held the spotted leotard up to my mom and asked, “What is this?”

That same day we went for ice cream to celebrate the beginning of a new chapter, and already I was too embarrassed to embrace you.

For months, I learned every nuanced feeling between my legs, tried to identify every ounce of fluid, so that I could accurately anticipate you.

On the days you showed your colors to the world, I covered you in shame. I would call myself stupid, silly, or juvenile for not mastering the art of hiding you.

But I was wrong.

You were power. You were strength. You were a monthly reminder, a constant companion, an external manifestation of an internal transformation. You were a gift.

The procedure I used to stop you was simple, but you did not leave swiftly. Once again came the months of shame and worry, trash cans filled with evidence of my efforts to conceal you.

In the end, even your power was not enough. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, until I no longer anticipated your return.

Now I sit sterile and clean with no crimson beacon, no glorious chaos, no tangible proof of my internal struggle, utterly empty.

Twice Selena Rosin

I have fallen in love twice in 2022

Twice I felt joy ignite my mind, body, and spirit

Twice I thought I would actually burst from elation

I saw the delighted surprise in my partner’s gorgeous blue eyes

I heard the shaky exhilaration in his voice in disbelief

Twice I have had my dreams come true

Twice I have had haunting anxiety thinking that it couldn’t be real

I became even more connected to my partner

We talked about our future in illustrious detail

Twice I noticed the gradual changes in my body

Twice I embraced and accepted myself

We talked about how our lives would change

We were ready to do whatever necessary

Twice I experienced tiny heartbeats

Twice I saw legs and arms dance

We wanted to pick the best names

We imagined their futures

Twice we made it to the second trimester

Twice we thought the risk was low

We almost made it halfway through

We were not prepared

Twice I have experienced birth

Twice I have been traumatized

We knew what to expect the second time We didn’t feel it any less

Twice I have held my daughters’ bodies

Twice I have seen my face reflected

We didn’t want to let go of them We said it was a bad dream

Twice I had milk to feed no one

Twice I bled for weeks

We went right to work and school We shoved our pain aside

Twice I have been crushed by grief

Twice I didn’t know if I would get through

We have been angry and fought We have been tired and cried

Twice I have searched for hope

Twice I have yearned for optimism

We are hesitant to try again We are learning to trust our Creator

I fell in love twice in 2022.

Twice.

Deep gratitude to:

Our many creative collaborators featured in this zine and our digital designer, A. Halbmaier (alhalbmaier@gmail.com); all those who applied and shared their ideas with us; our students Annika Mellum and Damiana Karger for their hard work and dedication; Women’s Center staff, past and present; and to all those who are committed to reproductive justice for today’s and tomorrow’s communities.

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