WHO WOULD WIN?

(like those books – I tried without success to use a font similar to to the one on their covers)

Don’t get me wrong here – I’m grateful as hell not to have a conservative and outwardly bigoted family. I’m thankful that I can (generally) be myself without fear at family gatherings. I have one uncle (married in) who voted for Trump, but he knows better than to cause issues over my being gay.

Unfortunately, though, the blue votes and detest for Donald Trump don’t mean much for their overall views.

I’ve been taken aback before at how readily a different uncle views conservatives as poor, stupid, uneducated, white trash, and plainly said if that makes him classist then he’s classist. Instead of focusing on how poor education is a systemic issue in the South, he just wants to focus on how that turns them into poor, stupid Trumpers.

My Nana likes to flip-flop her views on men and sex as is convenient to her argument. If she wants to argue that men are trash, it’s “You don’t need men, get yourself a vibrator!” If she wants to argue with me about my being a lesbian, it’s “Plastic will never beat the real thing, you’ll see one day…” She’s sure that one day my body will realize how good a real, biological, flesh-and-blood penis feels. Lesbians get more shit from her than gay men, cause at least she can still find gay men sexy. And at least gay men aren’t birthing babies regardless.

What is the future of women’s rights going to look like in United States under the Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025 and the return of Donald Trump. The weakening of women’s rights has become a major concern since Roe v. Wade was overturned, particularly for those residing in conservative states with restricted access to reproductive health and support networks.

A few week ago we discussed how exactly change happens and looked over a few moments of resistance and activism which made me think to myself what movement of large scale change would change how United States politics operates ?

What radical movement could change help women through theses next four year ?

The 4B Movement, is an grassroots feminist movement in South Korea that questions conventional around dating, marriage, sex, and Childbirth. In actuality, what at first seems to be a personal lifestyle decision to what some my think of a cat lady lifestyle or a life of a spinster but in actuality is a daring political stand against patriarchal structures that are trying to take the country by to the 1950’s.

Many people have noticed following the election how successful the 4B Movement has been in bringing about social change since it first appeared in the early 2010s. As the movement’s impact increases, the government of South Korea, which was previously sluggish to address gender disparity and the falling birth rate, is now compelled to act. The 4B Movement has shown structural weaknesses in South Korea’s social and economic frameworks by opposing traditional roles of marriage, childbearing, and traditional family arrangements.Policymakers have been awakened by the country’s dropping birth rate, which is among the lowest in the world. The birth rate has decreased so dramatically over the last ten years that it has resulted in labor shortages, an aging population that places a tremendous burden on the welfare system, and the closure of schools in remote areas. In response, the government has offered financial incentives, including cash grants, tax breaks, and childcare subsidies, to encourage people to have children. The underlying, structural problems that the 4B Movement draws attention to, like employment discrimination, a lack of support for working mothers, and ingrained gender norms, have mostly gone unaddressed by these initiatives.

Women are coming up with new strategies to fight against institutions that don’t work for them, whether in South Korea or the US. One powerful illustration of how defying social conventions may be used as a means of political protest is the 4B Movement. The lessons learned from the 4B Movement serve as a reminder of the strength of unity, mutual support, and group effort as women in red states and abroad fight for their rights in a changing political environment. Women around the world are influencing a future that places a higher priority on justice, equality, and autonomy by adopting radical reimaginings of traditional roles but would this movement have the same effect in the United States

Growing up, I was a reading kid. The stories told in the books I read would captivate me, bringing me into a fantasy of a world that felt magical to experience. Then, with a snap of the teacher’s fingers, my beautiful bubble in dreamland went *pop*. Another lecture, another complaint to my parents about how I didn’t pay attention in class; all I did was read. I did try to focus, I really did. But it was so boring. I kept reading; my books kept getting taken away, but I would bring more.

School was weird for me. College is, too. I’m smart, but sitting in a classroom just listening to someone talk at me for ages is one of the most agitating experiences to sit through. I engage with new information by asking questions- sometimes in the first week of a new semester, I will raise my hand in a new class to ask a question, and in turn recieve a curt, impatient answer from a professer who prefers to be the sole talker and I, the passive listener. And I can’t do that. So I check out. Going to class becomes something I dread, it becomes a painful moment in my day that takes so much energy out of me to not fidget, not move, and just sit still and listen.

I was in special ed in high school. I had one class period every day where I was with other kids who needed a break from the intense informational overload that we experienced constantly. In other classes, though, the non-special ed teachers would treat me with irritation or disdain for dawdling or getting up and pacing (in the back, not distracting others) while listening to them teach. I had an accomodation to be able to leave class 3 minutes early to avoid crowded hallways, and I got yelled at by teachers regularly in front of the entire classroom because they kept “forgetting”.

I identify as neurodivergent, but I don’t ruminate on all the different ways that the education system and the workplace have behavioral norms and expectations that don’t align with the way that I naturally show up. I would crumble. I do crumble. I experience burnout constantly from the fact that many of my responsiblilites that I need to show up for are not structured to accomodate my needs or my best interest. The reading “The normalisation agenda and the psycho-emotional disablement of autistic people” aligns with the social model of disability, though I like this article more because the social model still largely unacknowledges mental disability. I resonate with the biggest point made in the article- It isn’t someone’s inability to fit into society that makes them feel psychologically harmed, it is society’s inability to accomodate their needs as someone who naturally diverges from the norm.

(Content Warning: Fatness and ED mention)

I’m fat. I’ve been fat. I will be fat. Fatness is just another item on the laundry list of my descriptors, and yet it is always at the forefront of my mind. I find myself reflecting on a meal debating my total carb versus fiber versus protein intake despite having stopped macro counting years ago. I quite literally cannot or it sends me into an episode of hypomania. And yet I still find myself falling into my old unhealthy habits and I can’t seem to stop wondering why. I have an incredible community, some fat some not, who operate and speak in ways that have nothing to do with weight. My opinion on my body tends to lean positive. And I’m sure you could bring up the fact that social media, especially TikTok, is slowly transforming into ED tumblr 2.0 – every other post being a scary WIED or thinly veiled body checks under the guise of an outfit video. But I think there’s something more there. I think fatness, moreover, a fear of fatness is so deeply ingrained in our culture that there’s nothing I can do to escape it. I find myself stifling my labored breaths after trekking up 5 flights of stairs, tugging at the corners of the clothes, sucking it in, all in an attempt to “feel better” about myself. I live in constant fear of people “finding out” that I’m fat. Newsflawsh, buddy I am fat. Anyone who can see me knows this and in that reminder I find myself more free than I ever have been.

Ft. A poetry video I used to love in 2014 (a little cringe now but powerful nonetheless — same content warnings)

In light of our recent readings, I wanted to dedicate this post to my dear friend (without spilling too much of her tea). Obviously, this post does not even come close to embodying our 10 year friendship.

We met in high school, and I knew from the beginning that my friend was someone special. There was a fire in her soul, similar to mine, and we were destined to be lifelong friends. She was chaotic, messy, and downright sassy but most of all she was kind. As close as we were, I could tell she was holding something back, like a part of her had not been unleashed yet. A beautiful butterfly yet to emerge from its cocoon.

The changes were gradual, from experimenting with makeup to doing drag for the first time. Each step of the way I was there to support her and supply her with anything materials she may need or want to try. I remember feeling so grateful that I had such a unique and special friendship with her. She trusted me to be a part of her journey. And over the years, I had the privilege of watching her blossom into her true, authentic, and unapologetic self.

However, the transition wasn’t easy and there were struggles. I watched as her family tried to tear her down each step of the way, unable to accept her. Already a family of gay sons and lesbian daughters, but a trans daughter? That was unacceptable. Family members, straight and queer, struggled with using her new preferred pronouns and chosen name, both out of habit and resistance. After years of confrontation and conflicts her family eventually grew to accept and understand her. I believe that they were afraid because of what they did not know or understand at the time. Fear of the unknown.

I do not want to put too much of her life on blast but being her friend through this beautiful yet challenging journey has taught me so much. I’ve learned about resilience, about self love, and about the POWER of living as your true self, no matter what comes your way. I’ve seen firsthand that everyone deserves to be celebrated for who they are, not for who the world expects them to be. I am endlessly proud of her and her strength to move mountains. My friend you are so loved and I will always support you no matter what.

Since I was a wee little lad I have always felt a sense of otherness between me and other kids. Having no friends throughout elementary school certainly did not help this sentiment. Being constantly told you’re annoying, you’re loud, you’re a troublemaker and this is excluding the comments made on my general appearance. All this tends to take a toll on the mind. To my knowledge I don’t remember being disruptive in school but according to my teachers asking too many questions is an offence as well as being generally under stimulated with their slow paced classes and I couldn’t get in any higher classes due to my test anxiety. My earliest memory of ever interacting with anyone autistic was my mother best friends daughter. She was this cute little girl same age as my brother. I noticed she didn’t talk she made sounds to indicate if she wasn’t comfortable with something but none of it really bothered me we just vibe. Her mom seemed really happy that we got along. However when I on my way back home my mom gave me and my brothers a lecture about thank god that we are ‘normal’ and to make sure we don’t have kids to late so they don’t end like ‘that’ and all I could think about was how heartless to describe such a sweet child like that.

As i continued to grow up that strange sense of otherness didn’t disappear I just learned to ignore and try and act more like the people around me so that way I felt less out of place. In middle school i had made friends with a person who I thought shared a similar sense of strangeness and I confided to them about my fears of being perceived as strange and they told me they didn’t find me strange and thought I acted pretty similar to them and told me that I might have adhd like them. After that I spent several nights researching symptoms and signs and reading about peoples experiences with adhd and how they knew they had it and once I felt confident enough I brought up these concerns to my mom. What i failed to realize is that my mom is a west african pentecostal christian and if there’s one thing christians love to do its ignore real world problems. So obviously when I told my mother I wanted to get tested she got mad and defensive and insisted that she couldn’t have given birth to a ‘wayward’ child. After that I never asked again till this day I still wanna get tested its just a matter of when cause.

We had a reading titled the “Normalization Agenda and the Psycho-Emotional Disablement of Autistic People” this reading kinda heightened my fears about being confirmed to have adhd because really what would a therapist do about it? Give me Pills? Tell me to just fit? I’ve already been doing that. The author talks a lot about how a lot of neurodivergent people are just treated like afterthoughts in society and are taught to conform and if they dont they risk being seen as social pariahs and “disruptions” in the world of the neurotypical and Ive already spent a large part of my life being seen as a disruption and socially awkward weirdo so I just feel like medications or telling me how to adapt is gonna make it any better. But who knows mabye if I eventually come around to that therapy thing Ill find a therapist who’ll change my mind until then

I know the depths of that joy and excitement in planning to have a child, but for me, it’s layered with fear. My partner and I have been having conversations about having a child sometime in our lives but still, there is something like heavy, unshakeable dread. My partner is a Black woman, and the more we forge ahead, the more the stories and statistics about the alarming rates of complications and even mortality that Black women face in childbirth haunt me.

It terrifies me, actually, just to think that only because of a certain somebody whom I hold so dear, she will be at risk because some system is broken and not because the natural risks involved in childbearing are at play. To be so in love and so excited about family, only to be burdened with the fact that for Black women, having children presents a certain unique and profound peril. I imagine her being dismissed, her pain being chided, and my heart goes out.

You wouldn’t know that by looking at us. Still, it is part of my day: visualizing hospitals and staff of medical professionals, creating options, and even finding an advocate to hire, in a desire for her to get the respect, care, and empathy that are due to her. Nothing every plan, every reading, every advocacy can eliminate one terrible fact: Black women in America have added risks due to systemic racism and neglect.

I hate that this fear even exists, that I have to think about it, that our joy is clouded by an injustice so deep it’s shaped by centuries of prejudice. This fear lives here in the quiet spaces: in the way I think about a future, in the way I look at her and feel in my heart the love we share, the life we want to build. It’s in those fears that, on a day that’s supposed to be nothing less than perfect, I’ll have to fight for her to be seen and heard.

We really don’t talk about this enough weight carried by families like ours. I truly hope sharing this brings to light what has been a reality for many but understood by few. This should not happen to anyone, and it is high time things change.