If people think about protests, they will imagine large crowds marching, shouting, and holding hands. But not all protests must involve violence to make a difference. At times, something as simple as sitting down, refusing to move, or even refusing to eat can send powerful messages.

In Susan Leigh Foster’s Choreographies of Protest, she talked about how Black students participated in peaceful sit-ins during the Civil Rights Movement. These students sat at segregated lunch counters and refused to leave even when they were denied service. Instead of fighting back, they remained calm and stood up for their rights. This is a powerful example of how people can challenge injustice without using violence.

Another example that stood out to me was the documentary The Strike. I really enjoyed this documentary, and it discussed how thousands of prisoners in California went on a hunger strike in 2013 to protest the conditions of solitary confinement. Many prisoners had spent years being isolated from others, and they wanted their treatment to change. Since they had little control over their lives in prison, refusing to eat became one of the ways they could make their voices heard. What surprised me was how something as basic as eating could become a form of resistance. Even though the prisoners were not physically attacking anyone, they were putting their own health at risk to fight for better conditions.

Prison food that is usually served to prisoners. Prisoners went on a hunger strike to prove that they were willingly to risk their health just to make their voices heard and to go against the prison solitary confinement system.

This also connects to Sami Schalk’s Black Disability Politics, which talked about how health, inequality, and the treatment of people’s bodies are connected. Schalk explained how activists used protest to bring attention to Black health and well-being. Like the prisoners in The Strike, these protestors wanted society to recognize problems that were often overlooked.

All these examples connect to how people use their bodies to challenge authority and unfair treatment. Whether it’s sitting at a lunch counter, blocking a bridge or refusing to eat, these actions show that peaceful resistance can still be disruptive. These protesters were not doing anything violent, but their actions still challenged the people and systems that had power over them. The Black students had challenged segregation by sitting in places where they were not allowed to receive service. The prisoners in The Strike challenged the prison system by refusing to eat and putting their lives at risk. Although their situations were different, both groups were using their bodies to make a statement. This connects to the idea of people using their bodies in ways that to protest and make their voices heard without being violent. Rather than accepting their treatment and letting it just happen, they used the control they still had over their own actions to bring attention to injustice. This shows how something that might seem small can become powerful depending on the situation.

These readings and the documentary helped me realize that protests do not always have to be loud or violent to create change or make their voices heard. One thing I learned is that peaceful protesting does not mean that the protesters are safe. The students participating in the sit-ins faced harassment and violence, while the prisoners participating in the hunger strike risked their own health. Despite these risks, they continued to stand up for what they believed was right. This shows how much courage and determination peaceful protesting can require. It also made me realize that we sometimes take things for granted such as being able to sit wherever we want or having control over what we eat. For some people, these everyday actions became ways of fighting against unfair treatment. These examples demonstrate that even when people have very little power in society, they can still find ways to make their voices heard. To refuse to follow an unfair system can be one of the strongest ways to stand up for yourself and others.

While reflecting on Jess Whatcott’s “Still a Locked Door,” I wondered how much freedom we actually have whilst naively believing that everyone deserves equal opportunities and the ability to make their own choices. How much of these “privileges” actually exist when society has already decided who belongs and who doesn’t. Whatcott provides a very good analogy with a locked door; representing the invisible boundaries that society creates around certain groups of people according to what they believe is normal or not.

Society can claim to be progressing toward equality while still maintaining systems and practices that exclude people. Often, we associate blatant acts with discrimination but sometimes there are invisible barriers that are built within institutions and society collectively. Not everyone experiences the system equally, some people can have the same rights but still face complexity different limitation and boundaries even when trying to exercise these rights and freedoms and it is up to us as a society to be aware and as inclusive as we can and making productive steps towards these systems.

What specifically stood out to me was how we define inclusion and view responsibility. When someone struggles with access to opportunities, society faces that problem personally towards that individual and what they could do differently. A lot of this shifts attention and responsibility from institutions and systems in place for creating inequality and therefore being counterproductive. This places a heavy burden on the people experiencing this exclusion. Society is proven to be more comfortable making minimal adjusting to existing systems rather than questioning why those systems were exclusive in the first place. Collectively, we find ways to make these barriers appear less restrictive without really removing them.

It is extremely important in order to be a progressing society that we hold ourselves and institutions accountable as well as ourselves. We need to acknowledge that these barriers in our society actually exist and who all benefit’s from keeping them in place and why they continue to exist.

Think of being unable to contact your loved ones, seeing them face to face, or even leaving your cell for an indefinite period of time. That is the situation that befell thousands of California prison inmates in June 2025, when the state introduced sweeping restrictions in as many as 24 prisons. As described by CalMatters, almost 34,000 inmates were restricted in terms of their activity and movement, due to security concerns regarding violence, overdoses, and contraband. All phone calls, visits, communications via tablets, as well as rehabilitation programs were suspended. Although it might have been claimed that these restrictions were justified for the sake of security, I believe that it brings up a bigger question of when protection becomes punishment of all involved parties, regardless of whether they deserve it or not. The thing that made me realize the gravity of the situation the most is the fact that there had not been any announcement about the end date of these restrictions.

What makes this case even more disappointing is the fact that prisons are already facilities that limit the freedom of those who are confined there, which makes one wonder how limiting most forms of contact with the outside world may affect an already challenging experience. As it is reported in the article, family members were concerned about their relatives’ well-being and did not know if they were safe. Personally, I cannot comprehend what kind of stress it must be to have my relative in prison and not be able to reach out to him or her. Sometimes, a simple call may do wonders for the well-being of a person, and depriving people of such opportunity can certainly harm their psychological state. The measures were introduced to address the issue of potential violence that exists in prisons, and all staff members should feel safe in the workplace; however, it is still hard to see the difference between tackling certain issues and introducing limitations to thousands of people without setting any date.

Here, too, the hunger strike becomes relevant to our discussion. Less than a day after the restrictions came into effect, the inmates of Salinas Valley State Prison started a hunger strike in response to what they perceived as unjust restrictions, collective punishment, and violation of their rights. According to an advocate, there were around 500 participants. As for me, the fact that the people chose this type of action to make their voices heard demonstrates the desperation they felt. Moreover, the chosen action relates to another reading on this week’s agenda: in the article “Still Burning: Self-Immolation as Photographic Protest”, Michelle Murray Yang talks about the use of extremely violent protests by the individuals to bring attention to the injustice done to them. In particular, Yang refers to the famous picture of the Buddhist monk Thich Quang Duc, who staged his self-immolation in 1963 as a protest against religious persecution in South Vietnam. Despite the fact that this type of protest action differs greatly from a hunger strike in a prison, both cases are similar in terms of people’s willingness to engage in such an extreme type of protest when other means are no longer effective.

Another interesting aspect of Yang’s article is the fact that strong visual images and stories may challenge what is going on rather than accept it as it is. For example, the photograph of Quang Duc’s protest attracted the attention of the whole world and was later used by those who opposed the war to persuade people to speak out. This is an example of the power of media to spread the word about someone’s experience. In my opinion, the same concept should be applied to the incarceration stories. When hearing the word “prisoner,” people tend to stop thinking about a real person whose emotions, family, and needs are important. Incarcerated people are not animals that have no right to voice their experiences. I thought about the same thing when reading about the new California restrictions because it became clear to me how much the way of thinking depends on one’s side of the story. For example, hearing the explanation of the government, one may consider the lockdown measures to be just necessary steps for the sake of security. That does not mean every protester’s claim should automatically be accepted as fact, but it does mean their concerns should not be dismissed without being examined.

Overall, both articles brought to my mind the importance of having a chance to protest when one believes that something goes wrong. The act of protest may come in many different forms, but the truth is that it might uncover the issues that might remain unnoticed at first glance. In my opinion, maintaining safety within prison institutions and treating inmates like real human beings should not be two contradictory concepts. On the contrary, the way that, in my opinion, should be adopted involves dealing with particular security issues and letting people access their families, get proper treatment, and have an opportunity for rehabilitation as much as possible. The main question that comes to my mind in this case is: what if people start feeling like there is no one who listens to them? In this sense, Yang’s article indicates that there are some acts of protest that might force the public to ask: “What now?” I think that this question is quite appropriate in our case as well. Once we understand the issue and the people who have to face it, we will have to think about the future actions to be undertaken. At the end of the day, being willing to listen is a small step, but it can be the beginning of real change.

I’ve spent most of my life believing I was fat, and thinking that was a bad thing. I was born with a stomach that stuck out, as stomachs tend to do, and I grew up thinking I was fat because of it. That was pretty much the only reason. I remember feeling insecure about my body as my mind compared it to others in every situation I found myself in. I was one of the fattest kids in my large extended family. I was one of the fattest kids in most of my classes. I was one of the fattest kids I knew.

That’s what my mind told me. None of it was true.

I was born with a stomach that stuck out, and thin fingers that were paler compared to the rest of me. I have a short, boxy torso, and bony joints. For about 18 years, that’s how I thought about my body.

I am fat.

But some parts of me are skinny.

I didn’t think they could coexist as partial truths when I was younger. There was usually just one truth, and sometimes it was replaced by another.

Looking back, I can say that regardless of the connotation or context of the word, deeming myself fat was inaccurate at best and idiotic and harmful at worst. But because of the way society sees fatness as a moral failure that’s constantly being redefined, I grew up thinking that being fat was a justifiable reason for disrespect. Not necessarily because of how I felt personally, but because I don’t remember anyone disagreeing. I thought that inevitable disrespect applied to me too, but I was never fat. The world just convinced me I was.

It’s crazy to me how widespread fatphobia’s become in the past few decades alone, with things like “heroine chic”, GLP-1s, being obese/overweight, diet culture, and so much more. It’s all just normalized. It’s infinitely harmful to people, but it’s inescapable. There are no exceptions. I just wish the lenses we examine ourselves through were a little kinder.

We cant help but relate things we see to anything similar we have seen before, this trait we have developed we apply to everything people included. We love to put people in a box based on their appearance, their identity and their way of life, but no box is large enough to describe all that a person is.

TW: Discussions of Transphobia

When people go for a walk outside, they admire the atmosphere, surroundings, and the weather. But eventually, during that walk, they start to think about whatever topics are on their mind that day. Like what’s for dinner, how long it’ll take to get home, what their friends are doing, their hobbies, their lives, etc. But when you’re trying to exist in a society that has done everything to reject or be repulsed by you, it’s hard not to internalize it and ponder it. You start to wonder if your clothes look okay, how your face looks, your hair, and eventually you start to question your entire appearance and take it apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left. All just to make sure that you fit within this version or idea of yourself- what you should be or what’s “authentic” to your personality and ideals- but what truly defines authenticity?

This is what I thought of while I walked home after reading ‘My Words to Victor Frankenstein’ by Susan Stryker. In the reading, the author discusses how society viewed people who were transgender as otherworldly and perverted, and found disgust in their existence. They made a connection to Frankenstein because society thought that they mutilated their bodies to fit in and would never be accepted. By society’s standards, they could “never truly be whoever they want to be”. But the author triumphantly combated those views and wanted society to recognize that just because people feel uncomfortable, unseen, and not right in the bodies they’re currently in, they’re still human nonetheless and not just some inhumane creation that society draws them out to be. They’re actual human beings just like everyone else, with families, friends, thoughts, passions, and emotions. Yet society’s bias towards what’s authentic enough is what prevents them from acting like decent human beings to others who may just be even a sliver bit different than what they can fathom.

Like the trash you ball up and toss next to the trash can,
You leave me as though it wasn’t so easy to have just put the trash inside the can
You leave me on the ground.

Hold on to these words above, and let me hold your hand while you read the words below.

That’s you, with your hand on the trash, crumpling it up while you recite your morning affirmations to avoid responsibility.

“I am worthy. I am enough. I am needed”

Some people really relied on those affirmations, but you’ve turned them into the therapy-speak that you use to evade allegations of ableism.

“I am an empath”- says everyone who spends the most time vomiting too many details about their trauma to strangers whose history they don’t know and have decided isn’t as important to theirs.

The empath consumes conversations. The space they demand is like food; it fuels them. The person on the other end of their words could be begging for room to speak, and they would never know. They don’t sit in silence long enough to become aware of the needs that surround them. They spend so much energy defending their titles that they have no energy left to defend taking half of a minute to give a granola bar to a man whose life depends on it.

They affirm their behavior just like how they leave their trash so close, but so far, from the trash can.
“BUT IM AN EMPATH, I literally FEEL the trash’s pain! You’re already on the ground, why are you making me do it? No one understands how hard my life is!”

Yes, I am already on the ground.

I’m on the ground because you always find a reason to leave me here.

“I’m one hard day away from being on the ground with you, so I can TOTALLY feel your pain.”

You can feel my pain, which is why you can’t do the right thing?

“I have to protect my peace.”

That is not an excuse.

“I’m disabled too”

Disabled people don’t leave eachother on the ground.

There is an overlap of white people who identify as queer and/or disabled with those who identify as empaths.

Over the last three years, I have been on the receiving end of a massive spike in the “I have EDS and POTS, I assume you do too?” statement/question that every white queer has become so uncomfortably confident in asking/telling me. When I put them in their place about assuming disabilities, I am met with more labels. “Oh, I’m autistic and don’t know social ques”. That’s not a reason to be ignorant. “I’m just so excited to have a diagnoses and have disabled friends”. Bold of you to assume I want to be your friend just because I am also ill. 

I have learned through existing as a minority that people feel entitled to my time while they prove their connection to me. They want to be familiar to me so badly. They want to BE me. 

No, I am not flattered and I am not sorry, because when it comes time to throw out their garbage, I am the only one who tends to the litter, and they run away from my reality while my cheeks kiss the pavement.
To them, I am also trash.
They will leave me on the ground just the same when the time comes to acknowledge the disparities that separate us from being even remotely similar. 

They aren’t met with remorse because they abandone the harm they’ve done before they are ever asked to feel remorseful. They have so much support and ultimately only have to tend to their labels. They want to be a minority SO BADLY, until the time comes to actually experience minority status. They get to walk away from the consequences of their ignorance. Heaven forbid you try to tell an empath that they hurt you… They will step into the role of the victim and turn you into the perpetrator. You will end up their therapist.

What is taking place now is gaslighting on a large scale.
These self-proclaimed “empaths” seem to have far less empathy than the common man.

If it really does make you so sad to see me on the ground, you are not AN empath, you just HAVE empathy. Congrats, you’re a human. Maybe give me a hand?

When it’s no longer cute to be disabled, and when the trends fade,

 I will still be picking up your trash.