The actress noted that she’s a survivor of “all forms of sexual abuse, including three rapes,” in addition to being subjected to rape and death threats on the internet. Some of the worst harassment Judd received online came after she weighed in about a Kentucky Wildcats game.
Bans like this are based in right-wing lies and won’t stop abortion, just make them less safe. When news outlets report on this, they should be explaining that fact.
“White women elected Trump. Black, brown, trans and queer women have been doing this for far longer and at far greater peril.” Any kind of real solidarity from allies has got to start with acknowledging these truths.
Acknowledge white privilege, and acknowledge who has been fighting for equality from day one, and then use that privilege to help put marginalized people in charge.
Very good post. Eradicating white supremacy within the self is the hardest and most important eradication – and it requires constant tending.
Also would like to note one thing: that OP states white women organized the march. There may have been white women organizers, but the march could not have happened without three organizers: Tamika Mallory, Carmen Perez, and Linda Sarson. x
Let’s recognize that this women’s march, the largest protest march in US history, was started by three women of color.
A Pence presidency probably has less chance of accidental nuclear war, but a much greater chance of extremely socially conservative legislation which would be devastating to civil rights in America. Trump just wants to make money and feel important; Pence has an agenda.
Nixon was impeached for corruption. We already know Trump is corrupt. Bill Clinton was impeached for lying about inappropriate sexual conduct. We already know Trump has lied about inappropriate sexual conduct.
It’s only a matter of time before he lies about something too big for his press aids to smooth over and Congress gets to have his way with him, because he is a mess of a man and makes mistakes, and makes them loud.
If Pence is allowed to take his place, Pence will not make the same mistakes.
Pence is a career politician. He’s well-spoken. He’s relatively attractive. His positions are clear and well-established. He has a law degree. He’s on the conservative end of Republicans, but he’s a committed member of the party. In everything that made Trump unpopular among Republicans as well as Democrats, Pence is the opposite.
There were jokes comparing Trump to Emperor Palpatine, and a good rebuttal of them. Compared to Pence, Trump is Jar-Jar Binks. Pence is Palpatine.
Trump is wildly unpopular because both liberals and the Republican establishment don’t like him. He’s ugly and crass and obviously incompetent, he’s the perfect figurehead to rally against.
Pence is not. Pence is dangerous in different ways, and one of the worst is that he won’t make nearly as good a symbol for his opponents. If Trump gets kicked out, we have to keep protesting, even as people try to say that we got what we wanted, that everything can go back to normal.
Remember this, when the impeachment happens, whether it’s a month from now or three years. Trump is bad. Pence might be worse.
Pence will be worse.
There is no might. Talk to the queer kids and the women and the religious minorities and the ethnic groups he targeted while he served as Governor of Indiana. This man should scare you more than Trump.
I got pregnant three years ago. I was 22, it was a brand-new relationship, but I was adamant that I was having a baby. I’ve always taken motherhood very seriously. I was abused — the product of people who shouldn’t have had kids — then adopted. I felt so strongly that this was the most important job of my life.
I wasn’t at risk of genetic defects, so during the anatomy scan it didn’t even occur to me that they were looking for abnormalities. Me, my boyfriend, and my parents all went to the appointment, and when they said I was having a girl, my mom jumped up and down hollering as if she were at a football game. My boyfriend cried.
I was home alone when I got a call from the genetic specialist who told me that the tests were positive for trisomy 13. I thought that was Down syndrome and thought, Okay, I can do that. But then she started apologizing: “I’m so sorry, these babies usually miscarry. It’s a miracle she’s made it this far.” I said I didn’t understand, and she explained that my baby could pass any day, be still-born, or die soon after. I Googled “trisomy 13” and saw horrific pictures of babies without noses or mouths. I sat there and sobbed while I held my belly apologizing to her over and over and over again. I called my mom and said, “My baby’s going to die. My baby’s going to die.”
The doctor cleared her schedule and saw me later that day. She said: “You need to make a decision. You’re already 23 weeks and the state of Ohio has restrictions that impact your options.” She explained I could terminate or carry the pregnancy to its extent. At the time, 24 weeks was the cutoff for abortion in Ohio or else you had to travel to another state. [In December 2016, Republican governor John Kasich signed a law that reduced this cutoff to 20 weeks.] We only had days to decide, and even then there were waiting lists and the expense was horrendous. I had never felt so alone.
The counselor said my baby wasn’t in pain and there was no risk to either of our lives if we continued the pregnancy. I thought, Let’s try to make some memories while we can. I really enjoyed being pregnant. I loved having this purpose, and I thought as long as she’s not suffering, I think that her being here with us right now is the best we can do. And so … we tried.
At 29 weeks, my ankles and legs got extremely swollen. I was disassociating and became lightheaded, so I left work. I started cramping and ended up in the hospital. There were so many tests, which ultimately concluded that this was an emergency situation. [Jessica was at risk of having a seizure, and potentially dying, if labor wasn’t induced.] I wasn’t thinking, I’m terminating this pregnancy in order to save my life, but that’s what my paperwork said.
The doctor was very clear. He said, “You need to decide whether you want to induce now or come back in a week and get your blood pressure checked again — and I will induce you then.” I lived 45 minutes away from any hospital, on a farm without neighbors. It was a bitterly cold January. He was afraid I’d have a seizure and not get to them in time. That worried me, too.
But I knew that if I was induced, there was no chance my daughter would survive. Even if I carried her to term, her survival rate was very low, less than 5 percent. Another decision I had to make was telling the doctors that I did not want them to resuscitate the baby.
I was in labor for 32 hours.
I declined to have her monitored during labor because I didn’t want to sit there listening to her pass away. So they’d periodically come in and quietly listen for a heartbeat. The last time, at 1 a.m., they couldn’t hear it. I made them bring my family back into the room, and about a half an hour later it was time. She was born after three pushes, and at just two and a half pounds. Her heart was still beating, but she didn’t cry or breathe or make any sort of sound. There was mention of oxygen, but I said, “Please, just let her go.” They put her on my chest, and my boyfriend came and cut the cord.
She stayed alive for two and a half hours. They called it when her heart stopped.
When I made the decision to “voluntarily” induce, I felt like I was picking myself over my child. I wouldn’t wish that on the most evil person on Earth. A funeral director arrived with a huge white cloth. He said, “I have to cover her face so people don’t know when I’m walking down the hall [with such a small body].” I handed her over, and that was the last time that I saw her. I didn’t want a casket on display at the funeral; that tiny box would have been way too much. I collected her ashes a week later.
Many people don’t understand why this experience reinforced my pro-choice beliefs. Now more than ever, I firmly believe: No conditions. No restrictions. I can’t imagine being in that situation and being denied the dignity of making a choice. That little bit of control was so empowering. Nobody just wakes up after being pregnant for over 20 weeks and says, “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
When Trump said those things about late-term abortion during the debate, I was so angry. What must the rest of the world think of us? I have friends in the U.K. and Canada saying, “What the hell? You can have 30 guns but you can’t have a dignified, comfortable abortion?”
And while we’re getting abortions and making painful decisions about our bodies, Trump is fucking tweeting.
i love that barrowman’s response also distances him from the contestant “hahahaha women do laundry right john? you with me, john?” “don’t lump me in with you, you fucking martian”
This is what I’m talking about when I keep saying that men have to deny the endorsement. This guy wanted Barrowman’s tacit support or agreement for his sexism, as part of bonding through humour. John went nope.
i hope all u ugly white feminists realize that the founders of the women’s march are a latina woman, a black woman, and a palestinian muslim woman. they didn’t create this march for all of you to talk about your pussies and spew cissexism. :^)
myblog 