1/2
I don't know if I told this story here or not. I was 17. And had just moved into my older sisters house to attend university. She was a radical feminist, and running consciousness raising groups out of her living room. In '67. One day she thought I was out, and a bunch of women came over. They were all talking in hushed voices. Telling each other the story's of their rapes. The horror, the fear, and eventually their horrendous illegal abortions. I was shocked into silence. Frozen in place.
2/2
When my sister found me. She introduced me to all, and now I had faces, and names. To this day I remember each. Not one of those women was untouched by rape. All had suffered beyond my comprehension. This then led to my radicalization. My involvement in direct action. Through these brave women, I began to get involved in an underground organization that helped secure abortions. At great danger, and unbelievable trauma.
I know well the world before roe.
And Fuck That Shit.
@corlin As someone with multiple experiences of that type, I want to extend so much thanks and love to your sister for creating the space for those vital conversations, and to you both for the material actions that ensued.
If the world were a just place, all your efforts, and hers, and everyone else's in your activist circles, would have yielded a more secure legacy. But in the absence of justice, thank you for your experiences in the struggle.
We will all press on together. 💙